Chapter 9 Daniel
Daniel
“You what?” Cassandra gasps at Derek, shock written all over her frowning face.
I’m right there with her, my heart sprinting like crazy and my mind swirling like a whirlpool. Derek Salinger is crazy. I can’t believe he wants to hold an exhibition of my stuff just from looking at my portfolio. It makes no sense.
But making no sense doesn’t mean I won’t grab with both hands this golden opportunity he’s given me. I’d be even crazier than him not to.
“Yes! I’ll do it!” I blurt out before he can get to his senses and take back the offer.
Cassandra’s shock redirects to me, but I just smile sweetly at her and shrug. Your boss did this, not me.
Derek walks over to me and offers me his hand.
I swallow hard, staring at it like it’s a snake about to bite me.
But I take it. His hold is firm, but his gaze is firmer, alight with purpose.
It takes my already shaky breath away, because I see in it something deep and raw, something that my art has done to this man.
My chest feels about to burst as tingles crawl all over me and heat concentrates in my core. I bite on my lip, drawing his eyes there. Fuck, this is the best, I’ve really done it. My art has made him feel something, and that something is strong enough so he’s impulsively trying to hold onto it.
What is it? What did he see? I want to know.
Derek explains to Cassandra where he wants my paintings and which ones can go down. “I’ll handle Haggins myself if he complains.”
She nods, still looking like a rabbit in crosshairs, but doesn’t rebut him. I take that as a good sign. They discuss between themselves a few more of the logistics, but I miss all of it because I still can’t believe this is happening.
“Just to confirm, Daniel, we will be looking to sell your works. A standard sixty-forty percent split. I’ll have the contract drafted in the next couple of days and will send it to you along with a list of the works we are interested in.”
Would anyone even want to buy my stuff? I sneak a glance Derek’s way, averting my eyes quickly when his gaze catches mine. Two or three people, counting Molly, liking my works doesn’t mean they will be popular with the masses, but I guess there is no way to find out unless I do this.
“Yes, sounds good,” I quickly agree before either of them gets one last chance to back out of this madness. “I am looking forward to working with you.”
Despite the nerves and doubts that bubble up inside me, I leave the gallery happy.
I draw from my heart, by feeling, and having someone like my paintings so much so they want to feature me in their posh gallery is something I wouldn’t have even dreamed of.
Molly will be so proud of me when I tell her.
The one thing that worries me as I board the light rail to get to work is whether I’ll need to speak in front of people.
The gallery opening was one thing, but I hope that they don’t do artist features unless it’s a special occasion, which this isn’t.
I’m a nobody, so there wouldn’t be anyone interested in meeting me, at least not unless my art suddenly got popular.
I want it to, but I also don’t, and thinking about it makes my head hurt, which is why I distract myself by trying to guess which of my works they’ll likely request.
A couple of the landscapes and one or two portraits, maybe? It would showcase my skill and the variety of subject matter I like to paint.
The train stops at an overground intersection and waits for the traffic light to change to green.
What if Derek was choosing them? A spark of heated curiosity travels down my spine.
What would he pick? Somehow, I think he would go for the demon creature.
I don’t know what he likes and I don’t know what kind of a person he is, but whatever it is that he saw in my mural, I think he would’ve seen it in the demon painting, too.
Would Molly’s brother let the gallery display it if they asked?
I make it to work on time despite the heavier traffic once I change from rail to bus. My shift is busy today and I have little time to mull over the events of the afternoon and then when I get home, I’m too tired to do more than grab a bite, shower and flop onto my bed.
Despite my long day, I can’t fall asleep, so I shoot my Mystery Guy a message. He’s been slow to answer lately, so I don’t hold out hope that he will respond in a timely manner today either. He surprises me.
Him: Congratulations. I’m so proud of you. I knew you had it in you, and as you can see, the gallery has recognized your talent, too.
He’s so formal about it. It’s so him. But I don’t mind it, it’s part of his charm.
Me: Still busy with work?
He doesn’t respond immediately. I stare at my ceiling for a few minutes and just when I’m about to give up waiting, his message pings.
Him: More or less. But I think I have time for you now, Daniel.
My heart lurches into my throat. Daniel? How does he know my name? I don’t remember ever telling him or exchanging names. It’s why he’s my Mystery Guy.
Me: How do you know my name?
All I get is a smiling emoji which only makes my chest feel tighter. Really, how does he know? Who is he?
Me: I don’t know yours.
Him: Do you want to?
Do I? Having this anonymous sexting friend is nice, but wouldn’t it be nicer to actually meet him? To know what he looks like, how his voice sounds, what he tastes like? My heart decides to go for a sprint just thinking about it.
Me: Yes.
Him: Tomorrow then.
I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. Ten minutes pass, then twenty, but I’m pretty sure he’s gone even if we haven’t agreed on a location. I try to sleep, but I just can’t, my brain too active in trying to solve this mystery of who my Mystery Guy could be.
I must have eventually fallen asleep after hours of turning and tossing in bed, because when I wake up, sun sifts into my bedroom through the half-open curtains.
The first thing I do is check the time to make sure I haven’t overslept for work, and after confirming that despite not going to bed until the early morning, I still woke up when I should, I go about my morning routine.
A shower and some clothes, then I whisk together something to eat. I still can’t believe Mystery Guy knows who I am when I haven’t got the slightest idea who he might be. It’s both exciting and kind of scary. What if he is a stalker? One of the bad ones?
I’m just heading out the door when my phone notifies me I have a new email. It’s from Cassandra. My heart thumps loudly in my chest as I open it and skim through the contract. At the bottom, she’s also listed the pieces she’d like to put up in the gallery.
Wow, that was fast.
Unsurprisingly, the demon creature is among them.
I’m happy Molly’s brother was okay with me borrowing it for a while, and of course, I’ve already let the gallery know that one isn’t for sale.
I am more than happy to paint them a similar one though, if they insist. You can never have enough demon creatures with hearts of gold.
The other pieces she has requested include the fantasy landscape in the purple forest, the portrait of an albino girl I did by mixing up a few references, and the sunlit marina with the storm clouds that I spent two days painting last summer.
After I read the contract carefully and Molly double-checks it for me, I sign it online and agree to bring the paintings to the gallery after work.
The staff are expecting me when I show up and I get directed straight to Cassandra’s office.
As I make my way there nervously, I try once more to contact Mystery Guy.
He hasn’t replied to any of my messages and neither has he elaborated on what he meant when he said we’ll meet today.
I’m positive we haven’t met yet, or I’d know, but there is only so much left of today.
Anyhow, I can worry about this later—I’m in the middle of having my art put up for an exhibition. Mystery Guy can wait.
I stop in front of Cassandra’s office and take a deep breath before I knock. Her voice sounds excited when she lets me in.
“Good afternoon,” I say and stop dead in my tracks, because, holy shit, why is Derek Salinger here again? I squeeze the handles of the canvas carrier as his eyes zero in on me like I’m his bounty target. “Cassandra, Mr. Salinger.”
“Derek is fine,” he quickly jumps in, showing off something between a frown and a smile.
“Hi, Daniel.” Cassandra indicates the couch near the cute glass coffee table. “You should’ve really let me send someone to collect your works. I feel bad now that you had to carry them all the way here.”
“It’s no problem.” The carrier is a bit bulky, but since none of my paintings are framed yet, it wasn’t so bad.
“Okay then. Let’s see them in person.”
With her help, I carefully take out my works and lay them out across her floor.
As she thinks out loud about frames and locations, I can’t help my gaze darting to Derek.
What is he doing here? Shouldn’t he be at his office, closing another billion-dollar deal?
I mean, it’s his gallery, so obviously he can visit whenever, but this seems unnecessary.
Or was he this excited to see my art in person?
My heart does that flip thing, but instead of settling down after that, it repeats it multiple times as our eyes meet.
There’s a shiver-inducing intensity in his gaze that feels like ghostly fingers all across my body. It sends heat straight to my core, and I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s the first time anyone has affected me the way he does.
“Shall we go frame them and put them up?” Cassandra asks, her voice somehow overcoming the inappropriate thoughts flooding my mind.
“Yes!”
With more effort than I’d like to admit, I take my eyes off Derek and follow her.
We go to a smaller room down the hall, Derek trailing behind.
Two men are waiting there with tools and four dark wooden frames.
They aren’t too thick as not to overshadow what’s on the canvas, their engraved designs tasteful rather than opulent.
It doesn’t take long to get all my paintings ready and as we carry them to the gallery and put them up on the wall, I’m overwhelmed by how real they look now just because they are framed and about to hang on a gallery wall.
I’ve never thought it would make such a difference, that it would make me feel so accomplished just to be able to look up and see something I have created.
“They look even better now, don’t you think?
” Cassandra comments from next to me, her arms crossed in front of her chest as a pleased smile stretches her lips.
I think she can see the answer on my face even though I say nothing, a chuckle leaving her as she squeezes my shoulder and lets me have this moment for myself.
Once my heart has settled, I decide to check out what the gallery has on display, since I didn’t really get the chance during the opening.
There are a few new pieces and at least a third of all the exhibits have the yellow label that says sold.
Wow, that was fast. A full circle of the second floor brings me back to my mural.
My paintings are leaning against it, beautiful in their new frames and awaiting their spots on the walls nearby.
But that’s not what catches my eyes and sends my heart into a mad dash.
It’s Derek. He’s standing there, staring at them with his hands in loose fists at the sides of his body as tension and determination roll off him in palpable waves that crash straight into me.
With his dark suit and heavy expression, he looks like a prince deciding the fate of his kingdom, mysterious and gorgeous and so out of this world.
He’s so focused that he doesn’t notice me at first, only realizing he’s not alone when someone greets me as they pass by.
I flush when our eyes meet, caught in the act, but that just makes him give me a rare, real smile that I know will haunt my dreams tonight. My stomach flips when he starts walking toward me, but I’m rooted to the ground, unable to look away or run away even though my heart is trying to burst out.
“They look like real paintings,” I blurt out as he comes to a stop in front of me, my voice a little shaky and my nerves too much to handle.
“They are real paintings,” he counters, raising one eyebrow.
“They already were before they got framed.” He pauses, the determination in his eyes intensifying.
I feel like I’m about to be hit by a storm.
“I never doubted you could do this, Daniel, or I wouldn’t have encouraged you to sign up for the competition. ”
I blanch. My brain struggles to compute.
What did he just say? These words… This means…
My head spins, more confused but also excited.
There’s no way… I search his smiling eyes, which only makes the shivers worse.
My stomach twists and squeezes and fills with all kinds of fluttering things.
Holy shit, there’s no way! He can’t be… This kind of lines up though, and that’s crazy.
But I mean, surely this is one big coincidence and Derek Salinger can’t be the Mystery Guy I’ve been texting… right?