Chapter Seventeen #2
We drove through the West End, and I gazed out the window, admiring the familiar streets of my neighbourhood.
It was my favourite place in the city: I loved the chilled vibe, its many bars and restaurants, Ashton Lane with its cobblestones and fairy lights, going for runs in Kelvingrove Park – and, of course, the local Paesano Pizza.
I was looking forward to sitting in the park with Zola and Katy, guzzling cocktail cans on a picnic blanket, sunbathing and watching the world go by.
Philip continued driving and eventually turned, parking up on Dumbarton Road, alongside Kelvingrove Park.
‘Here?’ I questioned. ‘In the park?’
He scoffed. ‘No! In the art gallery of course.’
‘ What? ’ I gasped, whipping my head around to face one of the most iconic buildings in the city.
‘Isn’t it perfect?’ Philip smiled widely, taking off his shades.
‘A room in the museum, right? A small room? Like it would be a cupboard or something, surely?’ I was stuttering, trying to find my words, keep my cool.
Kelvingrove Art Gallery was one of my all-time favourite places, with its impressive architecture and grand, ornate design. It stood like a palace in the heart of Glasgow’s West End.
‘The entire gallery will be yours for the night,’ he said, as if this was the most rational and obvious conclusion. ‘Come on.’
He unbuckled his seat belt and leaned over to me on the passenger side. I felt his minty fresh breath hit my face. Fuck, is he about to kiss me? I wondered, not knowing how I’d react. I could punch him, or jolt my head away. Then he pressed to release my seat belt.
‘I’ll show you around.’
I was dizzy and overwhelmed. How the hell did he manage this?
I took a few seconds to let my heart rate settle, then exited the car. My eyes squinted, taking in the huge silhouette of the museum against the sunlight.
‘Philip,’ I said.
He was a few steps in front and turned around. ‘Yes?’
‘I appreciate this, I honestly do, but this will be completely out of budget for me to host here. It’s one of the country’s most sought-after venues,’ I said, having never even attempted to think of it as an option with regards to Alexander’s campaign.
‘Not at all. It’s a favour. There’s no fee. Come on, let’s take a look,’ he continued, casually heading through the park and climbing the mountain of stairs towards the gallery’s grand entrance. We passed under the sandstone arch together.
No fee? I couldn’t wrap my head around any of it.
How had he managed this? Why would he do this?
I’d only just met this man, and suddenly he was pulling more favours out of his arsehole than Sticky Vicky during a late-night show in Benidorm.
As we entered the building, squeezing and dodging between crowds of tourists, an older man in a suit approached.
‘Mr Khan, we were so happy you called. Is this your partner?’
Philip grinned. ‘Yes! Good to see you again, Seamus.’
Seamus held his hand out for me to shake, and when I did, I clarified, ‘Business partner – well .?.?. sort of. I’m Ella. Pleased to meet you.’
Seamus winked at me as if to say he didn’t believe a word of it and proceeded to walk around the gallery.
‘This is of course the main foyer, where we hold events or particularly special occasions for our VIP guests,’ Seamus said, leading us through to the grand room.
I had been here so many times before, but suddenly I was more aware of its beauty.
It was like a cathedral, with ornate yellow and black marble floors, vast sculpted ceilings and sweeping staircases.
‘Wow,’ I said softly.
‘We can display paintings against the walls and have the main space for guests to mingle. What were you thinking, Ella?’ Seamus asked.
I looked at him, but my mind was blank. I was so overwhelmed with excitement and fear that I was entirely speechless.
‘Pilates?’ Philip said, nudging me.
‘Ahh. Pilates. Well, we’ve never had that before. But we once held a silent disco for the kids,’ Seamus said.
Philip and I smiled at one another. He was clearly enjoying the funny side of my espionage game.
‘No, Seamus, not Pilates. But I love it, honestly. It’s stunning.
I’ll have to regroup and consult with my team before I have an exact plan.
The space is unreal, so I want to make the most of it.
I need to think up ways to get the people of Glasgow talking about this event; then, if it’s OK with you, could I get back to you with the plan?
’ I asked. My mind was running on overdrive, trying to piece together where everything would go, how I’d make sure we maximised this in terms of attendees, and envisioning how impressed Andrea would be when she found out.
‘Certainly, Ella.’
‘And, Seamus, do you have the list of dates that the gallery is available?’ Philip asked.
‘Yes.’ Seamus scrambled into his pocket, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to me. ‘These dates are the ones we have in the next few weeks.’
I grinned, noticing my proposal of 31st July was there. I’d previously mentioned it to Alexander.
‘Can we confirm thirty-first of July, please, Seamus?’ That would give me just under three weeks to get organised.
‘Certainly, Ella. I’ll get that added right away.’ He held his finger to the sky and walked back across the foyer towards the front entrance.
‘I’ll be in touch, old man!’ Philip called back, and Seamus pointed his finger back as if to say, you better be!
Philip wandered over to me, still taking in the space. ‘Well?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ I admitted, awestruck.
‘This is usually the part where you say thanks,’ he repeated, and I smiled.
‘Thanks,’ I mustered, feeling my cheeks flush, amazed at my good fortune but still hating the fact I was so indebted to this man. ‘But I do have to ask, why are you doing this? I’m sorry – and I don’t want to sound ungrateful – but you don’t know me. I don’t understand why.’
Philip gazed up at the impressive ceiling and its massive gold and white lights and then back at me. ‘I don’t know, I guess. You intrigue me. And I can.’
‘I intrigue you?’ I repeated, unimpressed.
‘Yes, you aren’t like most women I meet, put it that way, Ella. And yes , it’s a compliment.’
I arched my brow suspiciously. ‘What are most women you meet like?’
‘Well, they seem to fall madly in love with me after only a few minutes of conversation.’
‘In love?’ I giggled at that. ‘With you or your wallet?’
‘Ouch!’ He laughed, holding his heart jokingly.
I began to walk around the museum, taking in stunning new visons of what the event could look like. I imagined an outrageously grand event, champagne on arrival, a red carpet. I could set up a stage for Alexander to speak at the centre and position his paintings all around him.
‘So, what are you thinking?’ Philip asked.
I could feel his eyes on me as I wandered.
‘Right now?’ I paused briefly. ‘Honestly: how do I fill this place with so many people who have never heard of the artist? My usual demographic is young women, from like twenty to thirty-five.’
Philip sighed. ‘Same!’
I shook my head and shoved his shoulder a little. ‘Yes, but I normally PR beauty products to influencers, not hound them like you do!’
He turned to me. ‘Believe it or not, I don’t normally hound women. I usually have a much better reception to my charm. Plus, let’s not forget you practically messaged me on eBay to get me into your office.’
I shot him a stare, not keen on where the conversation was leading, and instead continued my walk through the different rooms of the gallery, admiring the Egyptian relics and vivid old paintings of fashionable ladies and imposing men in kilts.
‘So,’ Philip said as he caught up to me. ‘I’m curious. Why did you take on an art exhibition if your target market is influencers?’
I paused, having repeated the same question in my head over the past few weeks.
‘To be taken more seriously, I guess. I’m usually the one for the Instagram market, or the go-to TikTok campaign girl.
I guess I wanted to push myself and show I could be more than that, but trust me, I won’t be bidding for any more lucrative art projects anytime soon again. ’
He laughed. ‘Are you into art?’
I shook my head. ‘No, but I appreciate it. When I saw Alexander’s paintings, I was completely taken aback.
They are so captivating. The expressions on the faces, the bright colours, everything is just wow.
And I’m not trying to pitch him here, but you never see paintings like his.
It’s as if he was born to paint modern-day royalty or something. ’
Philip tilted his head and looked into my eyes. ‘Well, fuck.’
‘What?’ I dropped my shoulders, waiting for a sarcastic comment to follow.
‘Nothing. But, for what it’s worth, it sounds like Alexander picked the right woman for his exhibition.’
I felt my cheeks turn warm at the compliment. ‘Yeah, well, I hope so.’ I gulped down, feeling suddenly crushed by the timescale I had to put this together. ‘Are you into art?’ I asked to distract myself.
‘Well, yes and no. I have some pieces around my home. I can show you if you’d like.’ Philip’s tone was teasing and I shot him a withering stare. ‘I was joking, unless .?.?. you did want to come to my home of course .?.?. I would be more than happy to oblige.’
‘I don’t,’ I confirmed.
‘Well then, I am very much like you, art wise. If something catches my eye, I appreciate it. I actually enjoy reading about art history. I was watching a documentary series on Michaelangelo the other evening, in fact.’
Wow, I was surprised. I knew more about the teenage mutant ninja turtle than the painter.
I didn’t picture Philip as having much substance or culture.
He seemed flashier, and egotistical with his high-class hotel chains, cocky attitude and mountain of wealth.
It was hard to imagine him watching anything except his reflection in the mirror.
‘I didn’t have you down as an art guy. Do you have a favourite artist then?’
Philip’s phone began ringing. He scooped it out of his pocket, signalling to me that he’d just be a couple of minutes, and began chattering as he walked a few steps away.
I could faintly hear a posh female voice on the other end.
‘I can’t talk just now, Amelia, I’m in a meeting,’ he said quietly, and then, ‘I’ll be there soon. ’
I continued to wander around, not wanting to appear like I was eavesdropping, but also wondering who Amelia was. I guessed he probably had a million women at his disposal.
A few minutes later, he ended his call and joined me at an ancient Egyptian sarcophagus.
‘Has this guy helped with any great ideas yet?’ Philip asked, motioning to the massive stone coffin.
‘Nah, he looks smart, but he was useless.’ I laughed. ‘I should head back to the office now, I suppose, and get brainstorming.’
Philip sighed. ‘Yes, me too. Let’s head out.’
*
We travelled back to the city centre while Philip took a work call over his hands-free about a new hotel he was renovating in Berlin. He was still on the call when we pulled up outside Smart Reputations, but he raised his hand for me to wait and quickly hung up.
‘Sorry about that. It never stops.’
His phone began ringing again, and I couldn’t help but spot Amelia’s name pop up on the screen of his car, along with a small pink heart emoji beside it.
‘That’s OK. I’ll let you get that. Well, thanks again. Seriously, you have saved my life with that venue.’ I unbuckled my seat belt and opened the car door. ‘I owe you one.’
As I stood on the pavement, about to close the car door, Philip leaned over to the passenger side, sticking his head out. ‘You really do owe me one, eh?’
I rolled my eyes and shook my head at his cheeky reply.
‘I’ll pick you up around seven.’
My face dropped. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘Send me your address, and I’ll pick you up. You owe me one dinner at least,’ he replied confidently.
‘At least?’ I repeated, wondering what ‘at most’ would mean.
‘Oh, come on, Ella. I’ll help you brainstorm for the exhibition. I’m invested now,’ he said and smirked. ‘You can show me some of his paintings and I’ll give you my artistic opinion.’
His phone rang again, and my eyes automatically glanced at the screen. This time, Sienna was calling. ‘You better get that.’
I shut the Bentley’s door and headed into the building.