Chapter 6 Sincere Bellamy
SINCERE BELLAMY
Ilet her have a minute because I needed one too.
She was overwhelmed by the opportunity while I was overwhelmed by her.
While stalking her photos on Instagram for the last two days, I had wondered if her pictures had consumed me, what standing in front of her would do.
I knew that, in person, with her breathing the same air as me, with that energy I’d felt through a phone, I’d be done for.
And I was. Sitting next to her, she was just as consuming.
Worse, actually. Because now she was real, and now I knew that her personality was even more infectious than her looks.
Her humility was humbling. She didn’t come in with an attitude like she deserved any of this.
She was embarrassed that she was overwhelmed.
But to me, it was admirable and rare. She was beautiful on the outside, but her aura felt legendary.
“I’m sorry,” Rhythm said again with a shaky voice. “I’m just so grateful. I don’t even know why Aria would do all of this just because she liked one of my paintings.” Her eyes glassed over. “I’m… I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize for being grateful.” I grabbed the tissue box off my desk and slid it toward her.
She took one and dabbed her eyes, while giving a small, embarrassed laugh. “I want to be professional. But I’m just… overwhelmed.”
“You don’t have to put on a facade for me. I want you to be yourself. That’s the person I want to get to know, since we will be doing business together.”
She looked up, relieved. “Good, because I don’t have a clue what you’ve been talking about.”
I chuckled. “What part?”
Her shoulders dropped a little, like she’d been waiting for permission to be vulnerable. “What’s an artist fee? And what do you mean an agreement for sales and commission splits through Voss?”
“The artist fee is the money you get paid for being the featured artist,” I explained. “It’s guaranteed. It’s not tied to whether you sell a piece or not.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“And the agreement for sales is the paperwork that outlines how sales will work through Voss Contemporary House. They’re the gallery, so they handle the transaction.
They bring the clientele, they handle payments, receipts, buyer communication, and they help protect your work.
And the commission split is the percentage the gallery takes from each sale.
That’s standard. It covers the space, their overhead, their buyer list, and their involvement in getting your work in front of people who can actually afford it. ”
I watched her as I spoke, because I could see when she started to get overwhelmed.
“You following me?”
“Yes,” she answered quickly.
“Do you feel comfortable?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
“Alright. Ask whatever you need. In here, you’re safe to not know something.”
Her eyes softened in a way that did something to me I didn’t have time to unpack.
She inhaled, then admitted, “I don’t really know how to price my pieces. I’ve only sold to local small businesses. And my price has always been whatever felt fair, or whatever I thought somebody would actually pay. I don’t want to price myself too high or low.”
“Most of the time, the artist sets the retail price. But it’s usually done in collaboration with the gallery. Aria and her team will tell you what the market can support in that room, and you’ll decide what feels right based on the work, size, materials, your time, and your story.”
She stared at me like I was speaking directly into the part of her that had been struggling alone. “So what should my prices be?”
She was letting me teach her, and she was absorbing it. That was so fucking sexy. Watching her listen, trusting the information, taking it seriously, letting herself be guided, hit some switch in me I didn’t want turned on in the middle of a business meeting.
Still, I kept it professional. “What sizes are you bringing?”
“Mostly twenty-four by thirty-six. Some bigger. A couple forty-eight by sixty.”
“For the twenty-four by thirty-six originals, you’re looking at two to four thousand, depending on detail and demand. For the bigger pieces—forty-eight by sixty—six to twelve thousand. Maybe more if it’s a standout and Aria positions it right.”
Rhythm froze. Then her lips parted like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the air.
“The artist fee is ten thousand.”
Rhythm blinked hard. “Dollars?!”
“Yes,” I chuckled.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, with one hand going to her chest.
“You good?” I asked, even though I already knew she wasn’t.
“I’m—” She swallowed. “I’m fine. I’m just… Whew.”
She sat back too fast, caught herself, then smoothed her top like she was trying to remember she was in a professional setting.
“Do you need water?” I asked.
She giggled. “I would prefer a shot of tequila.”
My voice came out deeper and smoother than it should have. “You can have whatever you want.”
The air between us changed. Her eyes locked on mine like she’d heard the double meaning, like she’d felt it, like she was trying to decide if she wanted to pretend she didn’t.
I held her gaze because I wanted her to know that I had meant that shit.
Then I forced myself to stand. When I did, I noticed how hard my dick was. I turned my back to her, went toward the bar cart against the wall next to my desk, and discreetly adjusted myself.
I grabbed two glasses and a bottle of expensive tequila I kept for guests, then carried everything back to the desk and set it between us.
Rhythm watched me pour her a shot, then slid it toward her.
As she slowly swallowed the shot, I was jealous of the glass because it had the opportunity of feeling her lips.
“You good now?” I asked.
She nodded slowly, but her eyes told a different story.
“The business associates I told you about do not own small businesses. So, don’t shortchange yourself when you give them a price,” I continued.
“Stay in the range of two to four thousand. For large statement pieces, you go eight to fifteen. If they want exclusivity or multiple pieces, you build a package. And if somebody tries to talk you down like you’re selling a couch on Facebook Marketplace, you let them know you can recommend prints instead. ”
Rhythm stared at me like she was still taken aback. Then she reached for the bottle.
I watched, amused, as she poured herself another shot. “That’s… a lot.”
“It’s what you’re worth.”
She pressed her hand to her chest and took a deep calming breath. Rhythm’s eyes shimmered again with emotion.
I watched her for so long I started imagining what her laugh sounded like while I playfully bit the inside of her thigh.
“This is a blessing,” she whispered, almost to herself.
“Yeah,” I said, and I wasn’t only talking about the sponsorship.
I slid the folder a little closer to her and forced myself to focus.
“So, here’s what’s next. My office is going to email you an outline of the artist fee, expectations, timelines, and the press obligations Aria mentioned.
Aria’s team will handle the gallery paperwork, and I’ll make the introductions to my associates by email, so you have everything in writing. ”
She nodded, still catching her breath. “Okay.”
“And Rhythm…”
She looked up at me, batting those eyes, like she was eager for me to tell her more, to give her direction, to teach her.
“If anything feels unclear, call me. I got you.”
Her mouth parted slightly like she wasn’t used to somebody making things easier for her. “I will.”
I stood up before my self-control got tired.
She gathered her things and looked up at me again. “Thank you.”
I walked her to the door and opened it, saying, “Don’t thank me. Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to work with you.”
She held my gaze for a second too long, and I held it right back.
Then she stepped out into the hall. I waited until she was a few steps away before I closed the door.
I stayed there for a second, staring at the wood grain.
Because professionalism was the only reason I wasn’t calling her back in there, locking that door, and bending her over my desk to show her exactly how grateful I was she existed.