Chapter 20 – James
JAMES
“That wraps up our subscriber retention strategies for the next quarter,” my vice president of content says. “Let's take a short break, grab some coffee, and we’ll reconvene in ten minutes.”
Quiet chatter fills the conference room as the senior Sequel staff either walks outside to use the restroom or take a call, or sits back to chat with the people next to them.
I head back to my office to check my emails.
I know my staff won't get to properly relax if the CEO is hanging over their shoulders, and I want the second half of this meeting to be productive.
I take a seat behind my desk, turn off my do not disturb mode, and check my texts. Two messages from Maura pop-up immediately.
Maura
I wanted to let you know, there might be some scheduling changes coming up.
A curator at the Whitmer Gallery asked me to do their solo show for new local artists, and I’ll need time to assemble work and create some new pieces.
A grin spreads across my face. The Whitmer is one of the top galleries in the city. I might not know much about art, but I’ve been dragged to enough fundraisers over the years to know what venues are the most prestigious. The fact that my wife has been invited to show there is incredible.
James
That’s fantastic. Well-deserved.
After a moment, she gives my message a thumbs up, but she doesn't respond.
I wonder if I should have been more effusive, but I quickly brush it aside.
I'm sure she's busy, preparing everything she'll need for the show.
As far as I know, she's never shown her work anywhere larger than the Copper Cup.
There's a rap at my door, and I look up to see my assistant, Taylor. “Excuse me, James. The meeting is about to start up again.”
That's right. I'm scheduled to be in this meeting for another two hours. According to my schedule, Maura shouldn't expect me home until well after dinner. For news this big, though, we should make time to celebrate.
“Have them finish without me,” I tell Taylor. “Take notes and send me a summary by tomorrow morning. I have a few things to wrap up, and then I'm going home for the day.”
His mouth falls open. I suppose shock isn't too surprising.
I can count the number of times I've left work early on one hand.
Usually, it's because some business emergency has come up that requires me to travel on short notice.
As for the last time I canceled for something recreational… I'm not sure that I ever have.
“Of course, sir,” Taylor says, as his mind catches up with his mouth. “Is there anything else you need from me?”
“No.” I pause. “Thank you.”
If anything, Taylor looks more surprised at the thank you. I suppose I don't spend much time giving him positive reinforcement. Maybe that's a habit I should look into.
Once Taylor leaves, I place a call to my head contractor, Paul. He picks up immediately.
“What can I do for you, boss?” he asks.
“I wanted to check in with you on the timeline for installing the rock crusher. Is there any way to speed it up?”
“That might be tough, unless you want us working longer hours. It needs specialists to install, so I can't fix the problem by throwing more bodies at it.”
“Fine. See if you can get the team to work three hours longer at night until it's done. My wife is going to need access to her equipment sooner.” I pause, deciding how much to share. “A gallery just asked her to do a solo show, and I want to make sure she has everything she needs.”
“Her own show, huh?” Paul sounds suitably impressed. “Well, good for her. I'll do everything I can to see if I can shave off two more days.”
I grunt in approval and remind myself to give Paul a bonus when the project is done.
There are a few emails I should probably answer, but I decide they can wait until later tonight. I want to congratulate my wife in person.
I pick up two decaf Americanos from a coffee shop Maura mentioned once on my way home.
Judging by the tone of her texts, I doubt she wants a big celebration of her achievement.
Still, I want to acknowledge it somehow, even if it's just something small like a coffee.
Maybe if she's up for it, I'll ask Beau to send us up a celebratory meal. He makes a fantastic ribeye, though I’m not sure if Maura likes steak.
One of a thousand things I really should know about my wife. I make a mental note to start a list.
When the elevator doors open to my penthouse, I'm greeted with more color than I'm used to. Maura’s sitting on the couch, her auburn hair glinting in the light, in contrast to her dark blue, oversized cashmere sweater.
The television’s on, but silent. As I get closer, I see it’s playing a video of a volcano erupting in real time, the camera lingering on the lava dripping slowly down the side of the mountain.
“Sorry,” Maura says, her eyes not lifting from her sketchbook. “The video’s for inspiration. I’m working on a painting with a magma element. Sometimes I like to have nature images to help shape my ideas.”
I raised my brows. “And you find natural disasters relaxing?”
“Art isn't supposed to be relaxing. It's supposed to make you feel something. That's why all the corporate art you have here is so terrible.” She looks up at me, horror-stricken. “Oh god, I hope that's not offensive. I'm sorry.”
Chuckling, I hand her the Americano. “I don't care about any of this art. My decorator picked it out. Replace all of it with whatever you want. The next time you're upset with me, I expect you to bid on some Van Goghs.”
A pretty blush spreads across her cheeks. “Thanks. I promise not to be too extravagant.”
“I'd love to hang some of your art, too, if it all doesn't sell out after your Whitmer show.”
“Oh. That.”
I sit down on the couch next to her. “I thought you'd be more excited. I’m thrilled for you. You deserve it, and more.”
She shakes her head. “It's just a small thing. Probably no one will come.”
I frown. “The Whitmer has serious pull, Maura. They wouldn't waste their time on you if they didn't believe in you.”
“Maybe,” she says dismissively, her eyes still on her sketchbook.
“Definitely. A gallery like the Whitmer will assign value to their wall space. They calculate their potential earnings on commission before they commit to display anything. They might display art, but they’re a business first.”
She elbows me gently in the side. “You sound more like a business forecaster than a husband.”
“I'm both. The husband half is very proud of you. The business half wants to know if you've talked to a lawyer and negotiated a commission split with them. You haven't signed a contract yet, have you?”
Fuck, I should have called her earlier to discuss that. If the Whitmer played on Maura's naivete to get her to sign a predatory contract that wouldn't give her a proper share of the earnings, I'll personally make sure that no artist of consequence displays their work there ever again.
Maura giggles. “Stop scowling. If you're not careful, your face will stick like that.
Don't worry. I'm Victor Matthews’ daughter, after all.
I wouldn't sign anything without a lawyer looking over it.
I just had an informal conversation with Sydney today.
She won't send a contract over for another two days.”
“You'll send it to me as soon as it arrives,” I tell her and she rolls her eyes.
“So bossy.” Her nose wrinkles adorably. “I'll send it, I promise.”
I went to her sketchbook. “What are you working on?”
She shows me a 3-D sketch of a room, with various paintings on the walls. It's completely unlike the abstract work I recognized from her paintings.
“That's the layout of the Whitmer, at least, it's what I've seen in photos.
I'm sketching out some of the ways I might display my paintings.
There's at least one more piece I want to finish and display, the one with the red beryl.
If the rock crusher is installed in time, though, I'd love to do something new with the diamonds you bought.
I just have to figure out the size and how it'll fit with the paintings I already made.”
“I talked with the contractor today,” I assure her. “It should be ready in a week.”
She grins. “Thank you. Really.”
Something warm blooms in my chest. “It's nothing.”
“It's not nothing, but I won't try to argue with you,” she says.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, seeing a new email from Jack about a press release with Pages.
“Go ahead,” Maura says. “I'm sure you have a zillion emails to answer.”
I settle back against the couch. “Zillion is not a real number.”
“Not yet,” she says. “Isn’t Sequel supposed to be an innovator, though? Figure it out.”
I chuckle and turn my attention back to my phone. Apart from Jack’s email, there are a number of calendar invites from my assistants to review.
Maura repositions slightly on the couch, so her thigh brushes against mine in a warm, pleasant pressure. We settle into our work, her sketching as I answer emails, a quiet intimacy blooming between us.