Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
A drian’s office was almost next door to the hotel where Saskia had last night’s tryst with Clay. Seated at her desk, Adrian was alone, and Saskia walked right in.
Before she could ask about this big deal Adrian had mentioned, her friend and agent said, “First, the word is out about the new mural in the Mission District. The art world is going nuts for it.” Adrian arched one eyebrow in a practiced move designed to get the upper hand on anyone she was facing down.
“But I had to hear about it on social media rather than from you?”
Adrian’s imperious eyebrow never worked on Saskia. “It’s been little more than twenty-four hours. I was going to tell you, but I slept most of the day.” How could the street art possibly get so much notice in just one day?
Remembering all the years when her art was barely seen, she was gratified that someone had found the new piece.
Adrian drummed the end of her pencil on the desktop. “Your work was noticed.” She rolled her eyes. “By someone big.”
Big or small, Saskia didn’t care. She just liked that people saw her art. Especially the stuff she didn’t do on commission. Those were the pieces that came straight from her heart.
Adrian was an excellent lawyer and an even better agent, and Saskia spotted the twinkle in her blue eyes.
In many ways, they were complete opposites.
While Saskia was tall, with dark hair falling to the middle of her back, Adrian was blond and petite.
And curvy. She attracted men like flowers attracted hummingbirds. So far, no man had caught her.
“I can see you’re dying to tell all,” Saskia said. “So spill.”
In her precise British tones, Adrian said, “The guy who told me about it came here for a commission. He’s willing to pay just about anything. I mean an-ee-thing ,” she stressed with bared teeth. “He wants a mural around the entire exterior of his warehouse. He’s a mega fan of your work.”
Saskia might prefer her street art to commissioned work, but commissions paid her bills. And Adrian’s.
“Tell me more.” Saskia slid into the chair opposite.
The high-rise office on Market Street overlooked the bay, and today the view was stunning.
Now that the fog had burned off, the sky glowed bluer than anything she could find on her paint palette, and sailboats dotted the waters out by Alcatraz.
She wasn’t a landscape painter, but this view was almost worth trying it.
Adrian leaned back. “Here’s the kicker. He wants to meet the great man himself. I, of course, didn’t reveal your identity.” Her lips curved in a cheeky grin. “Imagine. He thinks you’re a man.”
Saskia draped her forearms over the armrests in a disgusted gesture.
“Why is it that men are always drooling over another guy’s art?
There’s tons of stealth female street artists out there who use male-sounding pseudonyms because of the inherent gender bias in the field.
” Just like she did. She’d chosen San Holo as an homage to the famous character.
“Sister, you are preaching to the choir.” Adrian leaned her elbows on the desk, the cream color of her crisp silk blouse accentuating her skin tones.
“But since you want anonymity, if they think you’re a man, it plays right into that.
” With a shrug, she added, “Especially since you don’t want to do interviews. ”
Saskia had never wanted that kind of notoriety. She just wanted to make her art without interference.
Now some rich dude wanted to know who she was.
“You’ll never guess who.” Adrian said, almost deadpan. She’d been waiting for this big buildup.
Saskia let her have it. “Who?” she asked mildly.
“Clay freaking-billionaire-who-will-pay-anything-for-your-art Harrington.”
Saskia smacked her forehead, almost giving herself a headache. “Of course that’s why he was here. It was about my art .”
She should have seen it. But then, she’d so enjoyed talking with him and the sex had been so damn good, she’d barely thought about anything else.
Adrian was looking at her, eyebrows knit. “What?”
Saskia simply said, “I can’t do it.”
Adrian burst out with a yell of dismay. Adrian was her agent and whatever Saskia made, Adrian got a percentage. But even more, Adrian wanted Saskia’s career to grow, wanted her art to be seen by everyone, because her friend believed it was absolutely brilliant.
Mouth still open, Adrian demanded, “Why on earth would you not do this?”
She had to be blunt. “Because I slept with him last night.”
They weren’t just agent and artist. Adrian was her best friend, the person she’d counted on. Saskia trusted her implicitly.
They’d been best friends since they were sixteen—half their lives—when Saskia was living in a dingy London garret with some artist friends.
While creating her street art—which would always be her first love—she’d supported herself by selling caricatures to tourists.
Adrian bought one. They’d been besties ever since, even moved to San Francisco together five years ago.
But while Adrian cultivated her British accent, because Americans thought it was posh, Saskia had worked diligently to get rid of hers so she wouldn’t stand out in an American city.
Her accent was Anywhere USA. It facilitated her anonymity.
Adrian dramatically pushed her mouth closed with two fingers. “Let me just wipe up my drool.” Then she sighed. “He is so hot. Was it as incredible as I imagine?”
They usually shared intimate details. Not that either of them had much to share recently, and Saskia, not for five years.
She closed her eyes and exhaled a long, satisfied breath before looking at her friend again. “Oh. My. God. It was like… take amazing and multiply by a thousand,” she said just as dramatically. “Fireworks and everything you ever dreamed of.”
Adrian fanned herself. Then she rushed to the water cooler, pouring two cups and handing one to Saskia. “You must be parched after a night of major fireworks.” Seated again, she drained the small cup. “It wasn’t all about him and his needs?”
Saskia shook her head, once to the left, once to the right. “It was all about me. About my fireworks.” She widened her eyes, “Not to say that he didn’t get his.”
Adrian let out a sigh. “You held out for five years until you got the very best.”
Adrian knew everything about her, especially why Saskia hadn’t been with a man in that long.
Hugo, the awful ex. He’d been Saskia’s everything.
But all the while, he’d been screwing her over.
He’d stolen her pseudonym and claimed her art as his, which meant he’d stolen her whole life.
She’d had to start from scratch, building her name all over again.
Adrian had seen her fall into a dark pit of despair. “I know how hard it was for you back then.”
But Saskia had to be honest. “If Hugo hadn’t claimed my early work, I might not have made the style switch to stuff that’s truly me.”
“Didn’t Taylor Swift say something about making your best stuff even when your heart is broken?”
Saskia nodded.
“That’s you, baby,” her friend said. “You got even better after Hugo broke your heart.”
Yeah, Saskia thought, she had. She’d always felt a lot of her early work was derivative of famous street artists like Banksy and his girl with the balloon, using symbols and hearts and butterflies and lots of blank space.
Though she’d put her own spin on it too.
But now she was all about bold colors and diversity and filling up every space with imagery.
Hugo Lewis was an ass, and she’d never forgive him for what he’d done. But she was a better artist for having struggled through the madness he’d brought into her life.
Then, Adrian being Adrian, she got down to business once more. “Okay. You slept with him. Had amazing sex. How do you want to deal with this situation now?”
Saskia pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes a moment before she looked up. “You know who Clay Harrington is. And what he does. I don’t agree with his new artists’ platform. There’s got to be something off about it. I totally shouldn’t see him again.”
Adrian set her lips in a prim line. “After you blew me off yesterday so you could have amazing sex multiplied by a thousand with an incredible hottie, I did a deep dive into what the man is actually doing in our artistic community. Honestly, it might be not only aboveboard, but also a really good thing for budding artists.”
Saskia snorted. “Come on. He cherry-picks who he wants on his platform. And he won’t allow anybody to criticize? There’s just something wrong with that.”
But Adrian shook her head. “I didn’t find a single artist who said he or she was used by him. In fact, I saw only praise.”
Saskia narrowed her eyes. “There are companies that scrape the internet and remove anything negative. It costs money, but he has a lot of that.”
“You didn’t hear him yesterday talking about your art.”
“You mean San Holo’s art,” Saskia said for her.
Adrian tossed that away with a flick of her wrist. “That’s because you want to remain anonymous. I’m telling you, he truly appreciates the art. You should give him a chance.”
Saskia was adamant. “We’ll just have to agree to disagree for the time being.”
But she had to consider what Adrian said and compare it to her time with Clay.
If he was the kind of man who screwed over his artists, would he have been so unselfish with her in bed?
The night truly had been all about her. And hadn’t she liked everything he said while they talked over drinks?
About wanting to go on a reading retreat? Hugo had never even cracked a book.