Rhythm Brooks
Two days later, I was walking into a meeting Aria set up with someone named Sincere Bellamy, who was sponsoring Mothers of the Block. He wanted us to meet so he could explain what the sponsorship entailed.
She was treating me like this was normal for me, like I did this every day.
I’d been painting for a long time. I’d sold a few pieces here and there.
But I didn’t feel secure in the art world.
The gallery world Aria moved in was different.
They used language I didn’t speak, and price tags I couldn’t even entertain.
Outside, the wind cut across my face disrespectfully, like it had a problem with me personally. I tucked my chin and pulled the hood of my short fur coat tighter over my locs, letting the fur hide me as I hurried toward the building.
Halfway there, I heard my text message notification chiming in my purse.
Since my mom had the kids, I wanted to make sure she didn’t need anything before the meeting started.
I pulled my phone out with cold fingers and checked the screen.
It was a text message from Kodi: When can I see you?
I rolled my eyes so hard. Kodi had not gotten the picture. For days he’d been texting and calling. I’d been ignoring every attempt to communicate with me that wasn’t about the kids. I answered questions about drop-offs, school stuff, and doctor appointments. That was it.
I stared at the message a second longer, then locked my phone and slid it back into my pocket.
I stepped into the building and basked in the warmth for a few seconds.
Aria had given me instructions to go to the front desk, check in, and then follow her directions to Sincere’s office.
My boots sounded louder than I wanted them to on the polished floor as I made my way to his office door. I knocked, and a beat later, the door opened.
And I forgot what my name was.
Sincere Bellamy stood there like he’d stepped out of my fantasies and into real life.
He was taller than I remembered from the town hall meeting.
He was wearing his signature frames. His beard was full and neat, moisturized the way men only did when they cared about details.
And he smelled expensive. He was dressed casually, but it still looked like runway fashion on him.
His jeans fitted enough to show the shape of his strong, muscular legs.
His gray shirt clung to his torso, and I could see the outline of his abs.
I blinked once and realized I was just standing there.
He gave me a polite smile. “Rhythm?”
My mouth opened, but nothing came out that sounded like a normal adult woman.
“Hi,” I managed, and it sounded small. Then I rushed the next part like I could outrun my embarrassment. “Yes. I’m—Aria sent me. I’m Rhythm. I mean—my name is Rhythm. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t laugh or smirk. He just stepped back and opened the door wider like he hadn’t noticed my brain short circuiting.
“It’s alright,” he said. “Come in.”
I walked past him and had to fight the urge to inhale again like I hadn’t already caught his scent. My palms were suddenly damp. My heart was doing something childish.
Blessing from God, I reminded myself. This is a big opportunity. Focus, girl.
He closed the door behind me and motioned to a chair. “Have a seat.”
I sat, crossing my legs so my knee wouldn’t bounce.
Sincere took the seat across from me, not behind the desk. That small choice made it feel like a conversation instead of a meeting, like he was meeting me, not evaluating me.
He folded his hands loosely. “First, I appreciate you coming in.”
“Of course,” I said too fast.
His eyes held mine for a second longer than necessary. Not creepy, though. It was… consuming.
“I’m Sincere Bellamy,” he introduced. “Aria told me a lot about you. I’ve seen your work.”
Suddenly, I was insecure about my art. “You did?”
“I did.” But then he smiled. “You’re very talented. Very.”
That fucking smile was deadly. I wanted to paint it, to capture the way it made me feel, the way it made you forget your problems.
“Th-thank you.” Gawd damn it, why can’t I talk?!
“I own Bellamy Urban Development. We’re sponsoring Mothers of the Block through Aria’s gallery. I wanted to meet you face-to-face. If we’re putting our name on something, I like to know who I’m standing beside.”
I nodded, trying not to stare at his mouth when he spoke.
“The sponsorship will cover the event costs. You’ll have a featured artist fee, and you’ll have a clear agreement for sales and commission splits through Voss.”
He was using words that were going over my head. But I just replied, “Okay.”
“What I expect from you is professionalism and show up on time. That’s it. I’m not trying to control your art. I’m trying to protect the event.”
“I can do that,” I said, and it came out more confident this time.
“I figured you could,” he replied, like he already knew.
He reached for a folder on the table. “The second part of why I wanted to meet you is longer-term. We’re developing a condo building in the area. It’s in your neighborhood on 83rd. I’m sure you’ve seen the construction.”
I wanted to laugh at the irony. This was the building my mother was outraged about. And here I was, sitting in front of the man behind it, being handed the biggest opportunity of my life.
“There will be community spaces attached to it, a large lobby, a community center, and shared spaces. I want you to do a large mural in the lobby and another one in the community center. I want it to be you because you’re from the community, and your work looks like the community.”
I stared at him, trying to process the words I’d dreamed about late at night when the kids were asleep and my paint supplies were spread out on my dining room table.
“I also have a few business associates with commercial spaces, restaurants, and even a couple of gyms. I mentioned your work to them, and they’re interested in having pieces in their businesses.”
My lungs stalled.
He said it like it was normal, like it didn’t just crack open a door I’d been trying to open for years.
“I—” I started, but my voice caught. I pressed my lips together, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry.”
Sincere’s gaze didn’t move. “For what?”
“For… being so overwhelmed,” I said, because my head was spinning. “Thank you for—for thinking of me.”
He nodded once, like he understood gratitude but didn’t need it to be a big deal. “Your work is good. People pay for good work.”
My eyes stung, and I hated that too. I wasn’t a crybaby. I was a single mother with bills and pride. But this wasn’t just money. It was validation. It was somebody with a real platform saying I wasn’t crazy for believing in myself.
My heart started to beat too fast.
I lifted a hand slightly. “Can I have a minute?”
Sincere leaned back, giving me space. “Sure.”
I inhaled slowly. Then again.
Trying to gather myself, I couldn’t tell what was stealing my air; the weight of the opportunity, or the man giving it to me.
Maybe it was both.