Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
S askia was shaking in her boots. Literally. She stared at the video monitor in the small room in which she, Clay, Adrian, and Gareth were sequestered. “Look at all those people.”
She balled her fists, her nails digging into her palms.
Adrian had gone a few steps bigger and better than a press conference and booked a morning talk show. Hugo had outed her on Friday, and now, on Tuesday, she would out him.
If she didn’t faint from terror first.
Adrian threw her arms around Saskia and whispered, “You’ll be amazing. Just answer the questions the way we talked about. The audience will love you.” She held Saskia at arm’s length. “The whole country, even the world, is going to love you.”
Clay wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her tightly, imbuing her with the strength she needed. “You’ve got this.”
With Clay by her side, as well as Adrian and Gareth, she truly did.
They were in the green room of the popular morning show Good Morning USA , supplied with delicious snacks and drinks and a TV monitor airing the show in progress.
Adrian had arranged the interview wicked fast, since it was hot news on the heels of Hugo’s press conference.
It didn’t hurt that Sebastian Montgomery owned the TV network that aired the morning show.
Saskia had the fourth and final slot, and number three, the woman who’d started her own line of chemical-free vegan cosmetics with only five ingredients, was just finishing up.
The camera panned the audience, highlighting faces she recognized—art dealers, agents, art journalists—all waiting with bated breath for what she had to say.
Then she saw them, taking up the first three rows center stage.
On an oddly choked breath, she murmured, “They’re here. All the Mavericks and Harringtons.”
Clay nuzzled her hair with a kiss. “Of course they are. They all support you.”
Dylan was out there, too, seated next to Gideon, as well as Susan and Bob Spencer, along with Fernsby sitting tall, straight, and immobile, his mouth a grim line. She’d come to suspect that was merely a veneer, and there was a lot more to Fernsby that lay beneath the surface.
“I’m going to cry,” she whispered.
Adrian shook her finger. “I am not bringing that makeup artist in here again.”
She’d had her makeup done, but she wore her favorite sweater, leggings, and boots. No point in dressing up when she was revealing her true self.
When the producer opened the door and said, “You’re on after the commercial break,” Saskia’s knees turned to jelly.
Clay leaned close to whisper, “You can do this.”
She would do it. Every interview after this would be easier.
The lights onstage were monstrous, blinding her to the audience, though that could be a good thing. She shook hands with the show’s hosts, Wren Gardner and Steve Stevenson.
Wren led her to a chair. “We’re so happy to have you with us, Saskia Oliver.” She added casually, as she took her seat, “Or shall we call you San Holo?”
“Thank you. I’m so glad to be on your show.” She feared her voice sounded weak, so she said more strongly, “Just call me Saskia. All my friends do.”
They wanted her to explain street art, to give a little of her history, to say why she’d always been anonymous. She didn’t reveal her personal issues—that she’d done it to hide from Hugo and her parents.
But what she said was still the truth. “Two reasons, Wren. First, I like the autonomy it gives me, allowing me to do whatever I want. Also, the art world, and especially street art, is very male-oriented. So, many female artists use pseudonyms or just their initials.”
Someone in the audience called, “You go, girl.” Cheers followed.
Then the questioning got intense. Wren asked, “Why do you think Hugo Lewis decided to tell the world who you are?”
Because Hugo is a jealous jerk who can’t stand that I’m bigger than he is, especially after he stole my work .
But she said what she’d practiced with Adrian and Clay. “I knew Hugo many years ago. Our relationship ended badly. I believe he outed me as payback for the way things ended between us.”
Wren Gardner went on relentlessly. “But how did he know that you, Saskia Oliver, are actually San Holo?”
Saskia gave the simple answer. “He knows my style. Even though it’s changed over the past five years, there are still elements that are uniquely me. When he saw my latest piece in San Francisco and also learned that I was here, he assumed the connection.”
Wren nodded thoughtfully for her audience. “I’ve also looked at your early work, and your style has changed. But there are still things I recognize. The way you render people’s faces, for example. The way your work is very inclusive.”
“Yes,” Saskia agreed. “Hugo had a lot of time to study it. In fact, most of the pieces he claims are his works are actually mine.”
The entire television studio fell silent. Wren Gardner’s mouth dropped open in shock.
Being a professional, she recovered quickly, especially when it hit her that she had an even bigger scoop than she’d thought possible. Her voice, however, was calm. “How could Hugo Lewis claim your work?”
Saskia went on to explain, just as she’d practiced. “Like San Holo, I was painting anonymously when I first met Hugo. I called myself Lynx.”
A collective gasp rose from the audience. The Mavericks knew, but no one else had.
Saskia continued smoothly, in her element now. “It was very easy for Hugo to say all my murals were his because there was no real person’s name on them.”
Wren’s brow furrowed. She didn’t miss a trick. “But is this something you can prove?”
The four of them—she, Clay, Adrian, and Gareth—had planned this meticulously. Hugo’s payback time. “In the same way San Holo puts a hidden symbol in every work, so did Lynx.”
She looked straight into the studio audience, even though she couldn’t see past the lights.
She knew where he was sitting. Sebastian had called Clay on his cell to tell him while they were in the green room.
Saskia spoke directly to Hugo. “Hugo, why don’t you find the hidden symbol in each piece of art you claim is yours? ”
She could feel every head turn, searching. A spotlight lit up the audience, centered right on Hugo.
Originally, they’d planned to make the challenge through the camera. But Hugo had set himself up by joining the live audience, which made it so much better. All the butterflies she’d felt flying around in her stomach simply flew away. She was in control.
“When you can’t,” she called, “I’ll be happy to show everyone myself.
” She held up an envelope. “This contains photos of all the artwork I created prior to five years ago. The work I—” She tapped her chest. “—signed with the name Lynx. I’ve circled where my hidden symbol is on every piece. ” She handed Wren the envelope.
The talk show host was practically foaming at the mouth. Her show’s ratings would go through the roof. Opening the envelope, she pulled out the first photograph, studied it only a moment. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a challenge here. Hugo Lewis, are you up to it?”
Hugo looked around him, red-faced, flustered, his mouth working but no words coming out.
Saskia hoped he’d scurry off like the scum he was, muttering like a madman.
But once he found his voice, Hugo stood. “I’ll meet that challenge.” People moved out of his way as he strode down the steps of the studio audience. He’d gained weight and lost hair, his face florid in the harsh lights.
Wren’s grin stretched ear to ear, showing off her brilliantly white teeth as she home in on Hugo. “Let’s choose Lynx’s most famous piece, The Merry-Go-Round .”
On the big screen behind them, the producer put up the image, which was readily available on the internet. In it, kids of all races played happily together, their hair whipping out as the merry-go-round seemed to move faster and faster in a slight blur.
For just a moment, Saskia’s stomach lurched. Was it possible Hugo had figured out her lynx symbol?
He climbed onto the soundstage, the camera following him as he stalked to the big screen. The art had no background, just dirt beneath the merry-go-round, then white space.
Hugo didn’t point out the symbol immediately. In fact, he seemed to be scanning every inch.
Wren, with a hint of sarcasm, said, “Are you having trouble finding it, Hugo?”
He didn’t turn but flapped a hand at her. “This is one of my earliest pieces, and I’m trying to remember exactly where I put the fleur-de-lis.”
He’d been so confident Saskia would never challenge him that he hadn’t bothered to look for a symbol. Maybe hadn’t even thought of it. And he was so damned linear, believing she would have used the same symbol when she became San Holo.
Wren turned to Saskia and raised one brow. “A fleur-de-lis? But I thought—” She didn’t finish.
Instead, she said, “San Holo, or Lynx, as the case may be, can you find the symbol for us?”
Smiling, triumph bubbling through her, Saskia slipped out of her chair, walked to the screen, and stood next to Hugo. Just stood there for a long moment. Drumroll, please . Then she pointed to a little girl whose pigtails flew out behind her in the wind. “There.”
The screen zoomed in on the spot Saskia pointed to.
Wren put the tip of a perfectly manicured nail to her bottom lip. “But gosh…” Sarcasm dripped off each word. “It’s not a fleur-de-lis at all. It’s a lynx.”
Hugo staggered back three steps.
Wren asked, “Shouldn’t you know that, Hugo Lewis, since you’ve called yourself Lynx for five years?”
The studio audience erupted, and the technicians turned the lights on him. A man cried out, “Holy heck, I own a Lynx print. And now to find out it’s stolen?”
Another man yelled, “Crap! I bought a piece of art he did three years ago, and now it’s worthless.”
Even Cal Danniger leaped into the fray. “Thank goodness my Lynx print is one of the early works.” He winked at Saskia.
Wren cupped a hand over her microphone, speaking aside to Saskia alone. “Hugo is going to be bombarded by angry art investors who bought something he painted rather than one of the earlier pieces he claimed from you. Because his stuff in the last five years is crap.”
Cal spoke up again. “I don’t feel good about keeping that print since it was stolen from you.”
Saskia waved down all the shouts. “Of course you’ll keep it.
You paid for it. It’s yours.” The studio lights adjusted so she could see, and she gazed at the audience as a whole, even those watching on TV.
“If you own one of Lynx’s early works, all I ask is that you let me add my fleur-de-lis and my initials. ”
Hugo had never actually put his signature on those paintings, since he claimed to be Lynx.
“No one has to pay me more or give it back,” she declared. “Because it belongs to you, the art lover. That’s what artists do—they create, then they put it out in the world for all of you to enjoy. I’m just so glad you loved my early work.”
She glanced into the wings where Clay stood and knew he’d recognize what she’d told Dylan. That you created, then you let it go. Whether the world loved it or trashed it.
From this moment on, she would be able to take whatever anyone said.
She’d forgotten all about Hugo, until suddenly he hissed at her, “You think you’re so freaking magnanimous.
But I’ve outed you, and your art won’t be worth a shilling.
Just like it was worth nothing before I found you.
Then your pretty-boy billionaire boyfriend will dump you like a shot when he sees how worthless you are. ”
Saskia’s lapel mic picked up every word and broadcast Hugo’s ugliness to the world.
But she smiled at him. “I believe this audience sees things differently. It’s time you got off the stage.”
Shooting her a last glare, Hugo slunk away, disappearing into the wings instead of returning to his seat.
Steve Stevenson, who’d allowed Wren to handle most of the questions, asked, “Why didn’t you challenge Hugo when he first claimed your work?”
It was the question everyone would ask. Saskia gave the true answer. “Because I was young. I let him control everything. When I found out what he’d done, I was too heartbroken to fight him. Instead, I became San Holo and made myself better than I ever was before.”
The audience jumped to their feet, their applause thunderous. Wren Gardner hugged her. Then Steve Stevenson said, “Oops, we missed our commercial break. Gotta go, folks.”
The cameras stopped rolling, and Clay rushed out to hug her. Adrian wiped tears from her cheeks. Then the Maverick-and-Harrington clan rushed the stage with hugs and attagirls.
Dylan whispered in her ear, “You’re the best, San Holo, or Lynx, or whoever you want to be.”
Then, amid them all, Clay wrapped his arm around her shoulders to pull her close.
She’d never felt so special or so loved in her entire life.