Chapter 2
Chapter Two
C lay had set up the meeting with Adrian Fielding, San Holo’s agent, for the afternoon.
Her downtown office in a Market Street high-rise had no waiting room and no receptionist. When he knocked, the door opened to reveal a pretty woman, thirty, maybe a little older, blond hair curling over her shoulders.
Her curvy figure made him think of Gareth, because this woman was exactly his friend’s type.
She held out her hand, shaking with a strong grip, her voice smooth and very British. “You must be Clay Harrington. I’m Adrian Fielding.” They exchanged business cards.
So, the agent was British. Another clue to the artist’s origins?
She beckoned him into the large office overlooking the bay, with an oversized desk holding a computer and two monitors, a conference table, a couch with two wing chairs, and a sideboard holding a coffeemaker, fridge, and microwave.
Nice digs, but it was the view of the bay that made the space impressive.
“Please, have a seat,” she said. “Then we’ll discuss how I can help you.” He’d given her no idea over the phone. “Can I get you some coffee? Or water?”
“Water would be great, thanks.”
She poured him a cup from a water cooler next to the sideboard.
Instead of getting directly to his mission, he made small talk. “Where are you from in England?”
She smiled. “London.”
“I enjoy London,” he told her. “The city has a marvelous art culture. I’m surprised you could leave it. How long have you been in San Francisco?”
She shrugged nonchalantly, as if she didn’t suspect he was fishing for information. “About five years.”
San Holo had come on the scene big-time about eighteen months ago, from what Cal had told him.
His first works showed up in London, and he had a British agent.
Had he come from London to San Francisco and searched out Adrian Fielding, a woman who was probably the only British agent in town?
Like sought like. It made sense. He’d be willing to bet that San Holo was British.
He eased into what he wanted. “I’ve been watching San Holo’s work, and it’s brilliant.”
She smiled like the cat that ate the cream. “I totally agree. San is brilliant.”
“Cal Danniger is a big fan of his work.”
“Yes,” Adrian said. “Mr. Danniger is a very good client.”
“I also have a young friend who’s in love with San Holo’s work. In fact, Dylan was the one who found San’s—” He used Adrian’s familiar abbreviation. “—mural down in the Mission District. He discovered the trademark fleur-de-lis.”
Adrian raised an eyebrow. He could have sworn the pupils of her blue eyes grew larger. “I didn’t know he’d done another mural right here in San Francisco.” She made it sound as if San Holo didn’t live in the Bay Area. Maybe he still resided in London, and the latest mural was just a pop-up.
It gave Clay the perfect opportunity to build up Dylan.
“I have a warehouse close to the Mission District where I provide space for artists’ studios.
” He didn’t tell her he housed almost a hundred artists.
“Dylan is one of them. We were searching for virgin territory where he might try out his street art. That’s when we found San Holo’s newest work.
Dylan swears he’s never seen this one before.
” He smiled, drawing her in. “He is all-knowing about anything San Holo.”
Adrian returned the smile. “Your friend even has one up on me.”
“He’s a foster kid three months shy of eighteen.
He’s a brilliant artist, in my humble opinion.
” There was nothing humble about it. “But he was going downhill for a while, stuck in a bad foster home and getting in trouble tagging in the wrong places. Gideon Jones helped him.” He paused a moment, then added, “I’m not sure if you know anything about Gideon.
His nonprofit foundation, Lean on Us, gives aid to veterans and foster kids.
He asked me to mentor Dylan, and we’re both giving the young man every opportunity. ”
Clay hated to think about what the kid’s life had been like before Gideon came along.
“I’ve heard of Gideon Jones and his foundation,” Adrian said.
“He’s the one who sold that Miguel Fernando Correa painting a couple of years ago for sixty million dollars.
” Her lips seemed to pucker around the incredible amount.
“Instead of pocketing the money,” she went on, as if she had to tell Clay, “he opened a nonprofit foundation with the proceeds.”
Clay completed the story for her, the part she probably didn’t know. “Gideon was given the painting by a comrade who was killed over in Afghanistan. He carried it around for years, not knowing its true value. When he did find out, he sold it at auction to my brother Dane.”
“I’d heard that too. Now your brother is loaning the painting to the Tate in London and other museums and galleries so everyone can see it.” Her smile stretched wide. “I’m even more glad to hear Gideon is doing good things for your young friend. What did you say his name was?”
“Dylan Beck.”
“A foster kid,” she repeated, as if cataloging the fact.
Adrian Fielding seemed suitably primed and the timing right.
“Let me tell you why I’m here. After seeing San Holo’s work today, and also having studied it extensively—” He wanted her to know he was a serious collector who’d done his research.
“—I’d like to commission a mural for the warehouse I mentioned.
Since I have so many artists with studios there, I want something that shows we’re like an art colony. ”
If she knew of Dane Harrington and Gideon Jones, then she probably knew of him, but she eyed him as though she didn’t. “Exactly what would you like?”
He gave her his vision. “I want a mural depicting artistic endeavors around the entire warehouse.” Dollar signs flashed in her eyes. As the agent, she would get a percentage of the commission. With a mural this large, that commission would be ginormous.
But she said casually, “How large is your warehouse?”
“A full city block.”
“That’s an immense project,” she said noncommittally, but oh yes, dollar signs definitely glinted in her gaze.
“San Francisco is host to a great selection of street art. That’s why I thought of San Holo for this.”
She studied him a moment, her gaze sharp. “You do realize how street art works, right?” After a short pause, she added, “Even if San agrees and you’re willing to pay the exorbitant fee for something like this, the ethos of street art is that anybody can come along and paint over it at any time.”
“I’m well aware of how street art works.” Then he laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past one of my own artists to paint over it.” Though he knew none of them would dare make a mark on San Holo’s work. No one would.
“It will be an astonishing amount of money,” she said with a smile like a cat ready to pounce.
It was his turn to smile. “I don’t care how much it costs.”
“Oh, the beauty of being a billionaire,” she said flippantly.
So she did know who he was. Obviously. She probably knew about his warehouses for artists too.
“I admire his work.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“I’d love to move ahead with this as soon as possible.
Of course—” He prepared her for the kicker.
“—I need to meet the man. Mostly for Dylan’s sake.
He’d love to speak with his idol.” He waited a beat, and just as Adrian opened her mouth, he added, “It’s part of the deal. ”
She was silent for perhaps fifteen seconds, which, in a quiet office with barely a street sound reaching the high-rise’s windows, was a very long time.
Finally, she said, “I could possibly convince San to do the work. But I can’t guarantee anything.
It’s a massive project that could take months.
I don’t know that he’ll want to give up that much of his time to one project. ”
“I understand there are no guarantees.”
“In addition,” she went on, “San works only in complete anonymity. No one sees his work until its completion. You’ll need to provide lighting, because San usually works at night.
As well as security to make sure no one peeks inside.
Not even you.” She waited another beat of silence, then added her kicker.
“But I can tell you right now, the in-person meet you want will never happen.”
With the amount he was willing to pay, Clay was sure he’d get what he wanted eventually.
But for now, he said, “I can provide security to protect his anonymity. I understand that’s an important part of his mystique.
No one will see the mural until it’s done.
” He smiled, meaning it. “Not even me.” Then he stared her down.
“But whether you make this introduction happen or not, I will find out who San Holo is.” He didn’t want to be an ass about it, nor was he threatening.
But his mind was made up, and nothing would deter him.
“I made a promise to Dylan that I’d make sure he meets his idol.
” He held up a hand before she could speak.
“It’s not why I want this commission. I’m doing that because I find San Holo’s work incredible. ”
She wasn’t cowed, and she smiled as she stood. “All right. Let’s end the meeting here. I’ll present the offer to my client, but no guarantees.”
He stood and smiled in return. “You should know that when—” Not if but when . “—I discover who he is, Dylan and I will keep that secret. It’s only for the two of us.”
She actually batted her eyelashes at him. “I’m sure you have immense resources, Mr. Harrington. But then so does San Holo.” She stepped aside to let him precede her to the door before her final word. “I’ll let you know what my client says.”
“Thank you.”
He wouldn’t back down on his promise to Dylan. He was sure he could make the great man see that Dylan was worth his time.
Clay pushed open the door of Adrian Fielding’s building, stepping out on the San Francisco street bustling with businesspeople, shoppers, and tourists.