Chapter 27
Lauren
Rina appeared at the desk like she’d materialized out of thin air. “Lauren,” she said, voice strangely high. “I’ve just forwarded you an email.”
Lauren blinked. “I—okay?”
Before she could click, Sage came skidding in on the industrial carpet. “Did she see it? Did you show her?”
Wren leaned over the counter. “Oh my God, somebody film her face.”
Lauren stared at the three of them. “What is happening?”
Zoe shoved her glasses up her nose. “Just open it.”
Lauren clicked the unread message. It was from The Stockist.
Hi Rina,
Could you send us Lauren Barrett’s contact details?
We would love to feature a small selection of her work in our curated artisan showcase.
We provide display space at no cost; in exchange, we ask for a modest percentage of any commissions or bespoke orders generated through in-store inquiries.
Lauren just stared.
Rina gripped her shoulders. “Do you understand what this means?”
“I…” Lauren swallowed. “That they made a mistake?”
Zoe thumped her forehead gently. “Lauren. The Stockist does not make mistakes.”
"But how?" Lauren said. "I made three pieces. Three! For a magazine feature about being angry at Christmas. That's not—that's not how people become artists."
Rina exchanged a look with the others, then turned back to Lauren with patient determination. "Okay. Listen. Muse Magazine has serious credibility. When we publish something, tastemakers pay attention. Tastemakers like The Stockist.”
“Galleries like that are always looking for undiscovered artists,” Wren added. “Art is big business.”
Sage leaned across the counter, voice low, reverent.
“And just like The Stockist listens to us, their customers listen to them. If you get in their artisan showcase, you’re basically set.
Their clients commission everything from installation art to custom paperweights. They will throw money at you.”
Lauren shook her head, still dazed. "But that's—that's not how this works. You don't just go from receptionist to... to whatever this is."
“Unless,” Zoe said, “you've got three things most artists spend years trying to get: visibility, credibility, and timing."
"Visibility from Muse," Rina ticked off on her fingers. "Credibility from The Stockist vouching for you. And timing because the market wants you right now.”
"Plus," Sage added with a grin, "your work is really fucking good."
Wren spun in a small celebratory circle. “You’re about to quit your job as a receptionist and be a full-time artist!”
Lauren felt dizzy. “I—no, I can’t quit my job. I like my job. I need my job. I’m not…” She gestured helplessly. “I’m not an artist-artist.”
The girls exchanged a collective look—equal parts pity and exasperation.
“You are though,” Zoe said softly, “you are absolutely an artist-artist.”
“And you don’t have to quit,” Wren added quickly. “Not right away. But once people realize they have to wait six weeks for a Lauren Barrett original…”
Rina snapped her notebook shut with a flourish. “They’ll just want them more.”
Lauren shook her head, heart pounding. “This is crazy. People aren’t going to actually buy—”
“Lauren.” Sage pointed at the email again. “The Stockist wants samples. Do you understand the business savvy it takes for a store like that to offer display space? They’re saying your work will make them money. Their best clients are probably already getting a heads-up about you.”
“This is impossible,” Lauren whispered.
“No,” Zoe disagreed. “It’s just improbable.” She grinned. “And… it’s happening.”
Lauren stared at the glowing screen.
The Stockist. Her work. On display. Commissionable.
Her palms went damp.
She wasn’t ready. She was terrified. She had no idea how to do this.
But beneath the panic, something glowed—small and fierce.
Someone believed in her.
And if this wasn’t a mistake… maybe she could do this.