Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
A larm bells clanged in Kat’s head. She clutched the phone as her hands went clammy. Matt’s words sent a wave of terror over her. “What are you talking about?” She stretched up and glanced around the office to make sure no one was within earshot.
“I…uh…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Pete wanted me to tell you he moved someone else into the April spot. Guess it’s the only time available.”
“Available?!” Kat screeched, shooting up from the chair. “It’s not available.” No. No, no, no . This could not be happening. Her stomach churned.
“I’m really sorry. Pete said there’s no room to reschedule.”
Kat squeezed her eyes shut and fought to keep from throwing up or passing out. Tears spilled down her cheeks. He may as well have punched her in the gut.
“Matt, I have a contract.”
“You’ll have to take that up with Pete.”
“Right.” She could hardly breathe as she sank into the chair again. Her trembling legs wouldn’t support her much longer. Matt was just the messenger.
Pete was the boss—and a first-class son of a bitch.
All the time and money she’d put into those paintings.
She’d worked within his timeframe, did everything he’d asked for, held up her end of the business deal .
But she hadn’t gone to his apartment. Hadn’t gone to bed with him.
Now he was yanking the show away. Her show. That snake.
And he’d waited to tell her after the finished paintings arrived at the gallery—after he knew she had everything ready. She suspected he wasn’t a great person, but to be so unprofessional, so…
“Listen, Kat, we’re going to need you to pick up your pieces this week.”
She sat in stunned silence for a moment.
“I…but that’s…” She swallowed hard. “Sure,” she managed.
Sheer willpower kept her voice from wavering.
“I’ll try to get them in the next couple of days.
” She screamed inside. She’d just paid to get everything delivered to the gallery.
Where was she going to store a dozen framed paintings?
They’d have to go to the studio, but they’d be in everyone’s way.
“What about the postcards, Matt? Is this why he decided not to print them?”
“I couldn’t tell you, Kat.”
Kat fumed. Pete wasn’t out a dime. She’d sent the materials, but he’d never sent the finished layout to the printer. The story about going digital was total bull. He’d deliberately strung her along.
Through gritted teeth, Kat thanked Matt then slammed the phone onto the work surface. Bitter disappointment swelled like a thick cloud of smoke. Clenching her fists, she released a silent downpour of tears and rocked back and forth.
Long minutes later, she pressed a tissue to her face.
She couldn’t let anyone see her like this.
How could she get to the ladies’ room or the break room without being seen?
The. Break. Room . She had to get in there and get those flyers before anyone else saw them.
But she couldn’t retrieve the emails. They’d gone to… everyone. Oh, how humiliating.
Sniffling and swiping at her eyes, she fumbled at her computer and logged into her personal website. She took a screenshot, then, as fresh tears flowed, hit the edit button and deleted all the information about the Loft show. In the blink of an eye—all gone.
She logged out with a heavy, sick feeling enveloping her. No way could she work the rest of the afternoon.
After leaving a message with Amy’s assistant, Kat grabbed her purse and put on her jacket and sunglasses.
If she acted like she was rushed, maybe no one would stop her.
Maybe no one would notice her swollen, red nose.
A few people, maybe the clean-up crew, were still in the breakroom.
Avoiding eye contact, she yanked up the flyers and stuffed them into her bag. Then she bolted for the door.
Kat arrived home in a fog with no memory of the journey.
She dropped her things and sank onto the sofa, resting her head in her hands.
There was no tea, no balm, nothing that could soothe the ache and anger churning inside her.
Shaking with rage, she wound up like a baseball player and hurtled a pillow across the room.
Finally, she flung herself down on the sofa clutching the other throw pillow to her chest. Now what?
She’d told her family and friends and colleagues.
How could she ever give the news to Nana? It would break her heart.
Over and over, Kat had imagined welcoming her guests at the opening reception. And she’d bought the fancy cream dress. She let out a choked sob, swiping at the tears. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right .
For the next hour, she replayed in her mind every encounter with that low-life Pete. Bile rose in her throat when she thought of his advances. What would she tell Nick when he called? She couldn’t lie, but to admit she’d been strung along in such a classically humiliating way? Her face burned.
She didn’t know how long she’d sat staring into space when her head began pounding.
With a weary groan, she pushed off from the sofa and plodded to the kitchen.
She opened the bottle of extra-strength headache pills, filled a glass with water, and barely choked down two tablets.
Working was out of the question. She thought about calling Nick or Mia but couldn’t bring herself to announce the news to anyone.
Instead, she wrapped herself in Nana’s tapestry shawl and stewed in misery.
When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she yanked up her phone and punched in Nick’s number for face chat.
In just seconds, his face came to life on her screen.
“Nick.” She breathed his name softly, her voice thick with tears lurking just under the surface.
“Kat? What’s the matter?”
Oh no. She saw shelves of pottery behind him and remembered he was taking a shift in the shop today. She should’ve waited.
“Babe, you okay? What’s going on?”
“Nothing, just, uh, call me when you’re done there.” Her voice broke, and she rushed on. “Sorry, I forgot you–”
“Kat, it’s fine. No customers at the moment.” He stepped into his office. “Are you crying?” His tone conveyed concern, and it was her undoing.
“Oh, God, Nick. I lost the show.”
“What? You don’t mean the gallery?”
“Yeah.” Her voice quivered, and she pressed her lips together to keep from blubbering.
“What happened?”
She sucked in a deep breath. “Got bumped.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that scumbag pulled it out from under me.”
In the long silence, Nick shook his head, and his brows pulled together. “Kat, I don’t get it. Why would he do that? Don’t you have a contract?”
“Sure, but there’s a clause that says he can cancel the show at his discretion up until ten days prior.
I wouldn’t press him about it, anyway. These owners hold all the cards, Nick.
If I said one negative thing or took him to court, word would get out and no other gallery would ever want to work with me. ”
Confusion etched his face. “I guess I’m hung up on why he would cancel. Did he give you a reason?”
Kat let out a long sigh. “He had his assistant call. He didn’t give a reason, but I know what it is.”
“And?”
Kat shook her head. She so did not want to have this conversation. But she had no choice. It was the only explanation that made any sense. With a shudder, she launched into the story of Pete’s behavior. “I’m sure that’s the real reason,” she finished, her voice almost a whisper.
Nick’s face darkened, and he swore under his breath. “Kat, he can’t do that. It’s illegal. You could sue him.”
She looked at the ceiling. “I told you. I can’t. And he knows that.”
He blew out an audible breath. “Wish I was there.”
“Me, too. But I’d just cry and wipe snot all over your shoulder.”
His deep chuckle sent a warm rush to her cheeks, and she squeezed her eyes closed. If only she could fall into his arms.
“So now what?” he asked after a moment of silence.
“I don’t know. I just found out this afternoon, so I’m still in mourning. Haven’t thought of plan B. But they want me to pick up my paintings right away. I guess I’ll have to stack them at the studio for now. There’s no room here, and I don’t have any place else, unless I rent some storage space.”
“No. No way.” His voice was firm. “They can’t go into storage. We’ve got to get you another gallery.”
Kat got up and wandered into the kitchen. She heated some leftover chai tea and splashed in a little Baileys Irish Cream. At least with Nick on the phone it wouldn’t seem like she was drinking alone.
“There’s no way I’ll find another gallery this year. All the good places book artists a full year in advance.”
“What about a fair? I bet it’s not too late to enter a juried event for this summer.”
Her heart sank. “A fair? Oh, Nick. That’s not the same at all.” Surely, he realized that.
“I know. It’s not what you wanted, but if you won a prize, it might be a selling point to get gallery space next year.”
Not only was the fair circuit unappealing to Kat, going on the road was a lot of work, and an investment.
She didn’t have a tent or stand or table or the hardware to hang everything, or a sign or banner.
“It’d take hundreds of dollars to get set up, plus rent a van to haul everything around.
And if I went out of the city, I’d have to take time off from work.
It’d be a double hit financially. And it would eat up all my vacation time. ”
“Okay, here’s another idea. Send me a few pieces, and I’ll put them in the shop. I don’t have the big New York name, but I’ve got customers, and we’re coming up on tourist season.”
Kat let her head fall into her free hand. Nick made a nice offer, but the customers in his shop wouldn’t be the same. Showing there wouldn’t be a springboard to other high-end galleries around the country.