Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
N ick looked into the camera and held his smile a beat.
“That’s a wrap,” Sherra hollered.
Cheers and applause erupted, and Nick gave a nod and began gathering tools. His time behind the camera was almost over, which meant his time in New York City would also come to an end. Unless he found another reason to stay.
“Okay, we’ll take a look at all the raw footage and see if we need any additional shots,” Sherra told Nick. “If not, we’re ready to get this in the can and get it scheduled.”
“Great. My flight’s booked for Saturday.” That gave him two days of being on call.
“Let’s clean up and head over to the studio,” Sherra said.
Nick didn’t expect they’d need much more.
Throughout the process, she and the team had complimented him and praised how smoothly the spots were coming together.
He’d heard “You’re a natural” more than once.
Nick had been allowed several glimpses of the tapes along the way.
Though he was relieved to be finished, he was proud of his performance.
Not many awkward pauses. No sweat stains on his shirt or other glaring signs of nervousness.
Overall, it had been a fun experience. His only regret was that Kat hadn’t made it to Connecticut.
No rendezvous at a beachside hotel. No hanging out with the team.
No visits to the set. Those thoughts consumed him the entire ride back into the city.
If he was going to contact her before going home, it was now or never.
He wouldn’t do it here in the van with all these people, though.
He’d wait until he had a quiet minute at his hotel.
But he took the opportunity to check his messages and emails. One of them screamed out to him. He nearly laughed out loud as he scanned the response from Pete Collison, Loft Images owner.
Sure, Nick. Be happy to pull those pieces together for you.
O’Brien has sold the large Trees of Autumn, but he has one similar he’s willing to ship if you’re interested.
Photos attached. I have another artist who creates some stylized mountain meadow works that include some fabric and metal that you might like.
They’re bold. Pics attached. Let me know what you think and what time would be good for you to stop by on Friday.
I have a stack of options for you to look at in the gallery.
I’ll need twenty-five percent down to hold any pieces.
Good. The jerk was already thinking money and counting his chickens.
He’d spent valuable time on Nick’s request—and had talked to some artists.
Wasn’t out any money but might experience some embarrassment when he had to tell the artists no deal.
Nick looked forward to their meeting. He sent a brief reply then tucked away the phone and joined the conversation around him.
At headquarters, the day wore on. Every time he thought they were done, someone asked a question that led to more discussion. And then someone suggested celebratory pizza and beer for dinner. Nick considered opting out, but they were a good group, and it was better than eating alone.
At eight o’clock, he finally returned to his room and sank onto the small sofa, cell phone in hand.
He thought about sending Kat a short clip from the video footage Sherra had given him.
Could be an ice breaker. Or she might take it as rubbing his success in her face.
Starting with an apology was probably the smart choice
—Hey, Kat. Can we talk? Finished filming today. I’m in the city for a couple more days. I’d like to see you. I want to apologize for that morning at your place. Meet me at a coffee shop?—
He plugged in the phone to charge, turned the volume way up so he wouldn’t miss a notification, and switched on the television just for something to do.
Two hours later, the phone was still silent. And he didn’t know whether to be frustrated or worried. Was she simply ignoring him? That didn’t seem like her. Why not tell him in no uncertain terms to go away? He’d given her time to calm down, to think.
Looked as if he had two options—wait her out or let go and get on with his life.
* * *
Kat hit enter on her laptop to place the order, lifted her glass of sparkling water, and flopped back on her sofa. The past two weeks had been exhausting both mentally and physically, but she’d forced herself to keep going. Giving up was not an option.
She’d done as Nick suggested and created new postcards for a snail mail blitz.
They should arrive in five to seven business days.
In the meantime, she needed to continue researching galleries across the country to send to.
That meant an entire spreadsheet with contact information, making sure she knew the owner’s name and proper spelling and looking at their websites to determine if they’d be a good fit.
Gathering all the details took a lot of time.
The new design couldn’t give all the information the flyer provided, but it might be striking enough to attract some attention.
On Saturday, she and a couple of guys from the museum would photograph her framed pieces, and then she could upload them to her website.
Everything was coming together. She just needed to stay focused.
And she had—from the moment her dad and Nana left.
She hadn’t watched TV, gone out or wasted time scrolling on social media.
She’d only met Mia for dinner after work a couple of times—and that was only after some arm twisting.
Thinking of Mia, Kat stood and went into the bedroom for her phone where she’d tucked it away to keep from getting distracted.
She owed her an answer about going out Friday night.
“Okay, okay,” Kat said to the empty room.
“Dinner and a drink.” The screen on her phone came to life, and Kat froze.
A missed text from Nick. She pressed the phone to her chest and sagged against the door jamb.
“Speaking of distractions.” She blew out a long breath and tapped the phone against her palm.
Running in to him at the MoMA had been a shock.
She had no idea why he’d gone to her exhibit—plain old professional interest or because it was a connection to her?
At one time, she’d imagined spending a day this week on the set, watching the taping, watching him .
She was curious about how the filming had gone.
She missed their nightly chats. But she had work to do.
Did she want to open that door again? Subject herself to criticism and be compared to her mother?
She pushed off from the door and paced the living room. Reading the text couldn’t hurt. She clicked on the message and read the brief lines. Tears sprung to her eyes. He wanted to talk. But she just wasn’t sure she could handle the emotional upheaval right now.
The abrasions to her heart and confidence had taken a toll. She curled onto the sofa and played their last conversation in her head. The words still stung. Apology or not, did he still believe them? She’d always been honest with him. With that in mind, she began a reply.
—I don’t think the time is right. I’m exhausted. Have a good trip home.—
She hit send then swiped at the tears that slipped out.
* * *
Nick lunged for his phone as soon as the buzz rattled into the quiet hotel room. Heart pounding, he opened Kat’s response. And it hit like the sharp thud of a door slammed shut. No meet-up to talk. No working things out. No taking back words. Nothing to look forward to.
Resisting the urge to throw the phone across the room, he slowly set it on the bedside table and blew out a heavy sigh.
Two days loomed ahead of him. With a little luck, HBTV would need some retakes .
How else would he fill the void? He was about to turn out the light but reached for his laptop instead.
There was one thing he’d still be doing—his Friday afternoon appointment with the owner of Loft Images.
He’d need to be well-prepared going into that meeting.
The real estate search he’d done before initially contacting Pete had provided Nick with a swanky address in Scarsdale, reportedly one of the wealthiest suburb of NYC.
Now he needed to be armed with a list of past shows that featured young female artists.
He wouldn’t presume to know whether any of them had capitulated to the scumbag’s pressure, but he figured they’d all been propositioned.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have a way of finding shows that had been cancelled.
On Friday, officially done at HomeBuilders, Nick stopped inside a second-hand shop near the gallery neighborhoods and bought a funky used tie.
When he arrived at Loft Images, he hoped to look the part of an eccentric businessman with money to burn.
He also wanted to arrive about five minutes past the two-o’clock appointment time with Pete, so he enjoyed a leisurely lunch at a small diner.
A little after two, he stepped inside the gallery and approached the man at a white and chrome counter to the right of the exhibit space.
“Afternoon,” the man greeted him. “How can I help you?”
“Nick Summers. You Pete?”
“Hey, Nick. I’m Matt. Pete’s on his way. Be here in a couple of minutes. He thought you might like to tour the space while you wait.”
Nick nodded. Yeah, right . Sounded like a power play to keep him waiting. Frowning, he tucked his laptop case under his arm and checked his watch just to make a point. Then he flicked an impatient glance around the room.
“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Bourbon?”
Nick smiled inside. Sure, he’d take some of the guy’s booze. “Bourbon.”
“Coming right up.”
Nick gave the man a chin bob then turned away.
A few moments later, Matt shoved a crystal tumbler at him. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Nick took a taste. Not bad. And obviously meant to impress. He pretended to look around then remembered this was the exhibit Pete had put up to replace Kat. He looked closer. Not bad, but not nearly as impressive as Kat’s work.
When the door opened, he raised his brows and put on a mildly annoyed face.
Pete came toward him, arm extended.
Nick was loathe to touch the man, but he took the hand and gave it a hard squeeze. As he suspected, Pete’s soft, wimpy fingers collapsed.
“Sorry I’m late,” he blathered. “Got some things over here for you.” He led Nick toward a counter loaded with artwork.
“I’ve pulled out some things that you might like based on our earlier conversation.
Sure sorry to hear your ex wiped you out, but good riddance, right?
Now you get whatever you like.” He chuckled in an irritating good ol’ boy way.
“Got that right,” Nick agreed though he wanted to punch the guy’s face.
“Now, like I said, I can get other pieces shipped in if you don’t see anything here.”
Nick took his time, pretending to consider the artwork. Then he turned and faced Pete. “What about that Katlyn gal? With the mountain scenes. Watercolor and pastel mix. Thought I saw her name on your calendar, but I’m not seeing her work. She had a couple of things I liked on her website.”
“Oh, yeah.” Pete didn’t meet Nick’s eyes. “That didn’t work out. But hey, if you like mount–”
“Huh, why’s that?”
Pete waved a dismissive hand. “Flakey chick. Backed out at the last minute.”
“Backed out? Wow. She missed an opportunity like this?”
Pete shrugged. “Her loss. I’ve got other–”
“Or maybe she didn’t want to sleep with you to get the show?” Nick kept his face neutral of any emotion. For a split second, confusion flickered across Pete’s face, and he seemed unsure whether Nick’s question was a joke or not.
Then the scumbag grinned. “Ah, hell no. Nothing like that. She got her panties in a wad and–”
The exact wrong thing to say. Burning inside, Nick took a step closer. “I know what happened. And I know she could sue your ass.”
Pete’s eyes widened and he stepped back. “Who the hell are you? You come into my place and–”
“I know Katlyn Andrews. And I know she wasn’t the one who backed out, you sorry, sleazy–”
Pete’s face twisted into a sneer. “You can’t prove anything.”
“Maybe not, but I have the backlist of women who’ve shown here.
” He tapped his computer case. “Maybe I give that list to the DA’s office.
How many women did you coerce? How many did you pull the plug on at the last minute for not sleeping with you?
And how many do you think it would take to step forward and put you out of business?
Do the math.” He took a swig of the alcohol and sent Pete a cool glare.
“Let me tell you something else. I’m going to be watching you. And if you ever so much as hint…if you dare say one negative word about Katlyn Andrews or her work, you’ll be staring at a defamation suit faster than you can say her name. Got it?”
“Get out.” Pete lifted his chin and flailed toward the door.
Tough talk, but Nick saw the flash of fear in his eyes. “With pleasure.”
On his way to the door, Nick slammed the glass onto the counter where a stunned Matt stood gaping.
“You might want to think about getting a new job,” Nick told him.
He yanked open the door and stepped outside.
Relief mixed with elation, and he couldn’t contain his grin any longer.
He was sorry to let down the artists Pete had contacted, but he figured the lesson for Pete was for the greater good of the art community.
There’d better not be any negative impact for Kat, or he’d make good on his threat.