Chapter 38

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Jordy

Ambling around Spectrum Art Gallery, a tingle of anticipation courses through me, my heart thumping like a drum as I stand on the brink of something thrilling and unknown.

“What’s the goal today?” Leon, my agent, asks as he types away on his phone. “Are we looking at one collection to exhibit, two, more? Or would you like to launch your artist career here? Like a jumpstart? Or sell exclusively with Spectrum?”

If he only knew that I don’t care, because I am about to burst with excitement. I’m just grateful that Piper wanted to meet with me. If she agrees to exhibit my paintings, I might pass out. “A combination of everything you just said,” I say coolly, not giving myself away.

“I can negotiate.” Leon closes his phone and looks around. “This place is something else. That sculpture has a price tag of half a million. It’s the size of a spatula.” He points to it.

“It’s a Wren Dubois.” She’s brilliant. “And it’s made of the finest gold.”

Leon shakes his head. “It’s still ridiculously overpriced.”

I stand wide and fold my arms across myself. “And if Piper puts half a million-dollar price tag on one of my paintings, what will you say then?”

“It wouldn’t be enough.”

“Is that because you work on commission?”

He grins. “It’s as if you’re inside my head, Jordan.” Tilting his head to the side, he examines the sculpture a little more closely. “In all seriousness, your paintings are masterpieces. But this sculpture is nothing more than a puddle of gold, and I could do that.”

Leon’s got a point.

“You’re talented, Jordan.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. “That’s what I know, and that has nothing to do with commission. I wouldn’t be here today with you if I didn’t have faith in you.”

I rub my jaw, a little overwhelmed by his words. “That means a lot. Thank you.”

“Since retiring from hockey, being a sports agent is the next best thing to playing. I want that for you too. If you do what you love, you’ll never get bored, and it will never feel like work.”

“Did you ever think you’d become an agent when you were playing hockey?”

“Never.” He approaches another painting and stares at it intently. “Didn’t think I would still be single at the age of thirty-five either,” he says, sounding disappointed.

“You’re still young.”

“I feel old. And I haven’t had my dick sucked in forever. It’s been out of action so long, it doesn’t remember what its purpose is anymore.”

My low chuckle echoes around the empty gallery. This is not the conversation I thought I would be having with Leon at nine o’clock in the morning.

“I wish I could sympathize with you, but I can’t.” Lola told me the other night she loves giving me blowjobs because she loves the feeling of my dick in her mouth, loves pleasing me, and loves the taste of my cum. I’ve never come so hard down her throat after she told me that. “I have no complaints.”

“Of course you don’t. You’re twenty-four. You’re young, handsome as fuck, and you play hockey. Puck sluts must throw themselves at you. I remember those days.” He goes all starry-eyed as if remembering his hockey days.

“Never been with a puck bunny. Not really my thing.” I screw up my face.

“I agree. One-night stands are a bit shit after a while.”

“Never had one.”

His body jolts as if in shock. “I’m sorry, come again?”

“You heard me,” I say with a grin.

“If I had taken a page from your playbook, maybe I would have the girl of my dreams. The house, the family I always wanted.”

I've never heard Leon be this open before. He’s always so carefree as if nothing fazes him.

I’m curious. “Does the girl of your dreams have a name?”

“Maybe.” He moves to another painting.

“Do I know her?”

“You do.”

“And the person I know is…” I push for a name.

He remains quiet, side eyeing me hesitantly.

“You can trust me, Leon.”

“It’s…” he pauses, then starts again, “Ash’s sister.”

Former defenseman for the Eagles, Ash Johansson is another hockey legend. After retiring from playing hockey, he went on to become the Eagles’ coach. That was, until last year, when he retired to set up a hockey training facility. The coach we have now is great, but Ash was the best.

“Erika?” I bark out louder than I mean to. Leon is playing with fire.

“Yeah. A bit complicated with her being my best friend’s sister and shit.”

“You don’t say.” Sisters, mothers, and ex-girlfriends are off limits. It’s like an unspoken rule.

“Does she know you like her?”

“Sort of.”

“What does that mean?”

He blows out a breath then rolls his shoulders as if the conversation we are having bothers him. “Well, between her brother, who would kill me if I went anywhere near her, and her shitty choice in boyfriends, I’ve always been the guy who picks up the pieces when she gets her heart broken. I’m not just Ash’s best friend, I’m hers too. It sucks to be me,” he says, his voice tight with frustration. His irritation tangible.

“Just friends?”

“We’re just friends, Jordan.”

“Who kiss sometimes?”

He smirks. “A couple of times, nothing more.” Frown lines wrinkle his brow. “She will never be mine.”

Leon could have anyone he wants and yet he wants the one thing he can’t have.

It’s a feeling I know well.

The clip clop of heels ricocheting off the black stained concrete floor that looks shinier than a grand piano alerts us to Piper’s arrival.

“Good morning.” Piper walks across the expansive room, her wide smile lighting up the space. She looks completely different from New Year’s Eve, dressed in a sleek black form-fitting dress and matching heels, with bright orange lipstick that perfectly matches her fiery hair. I can’t help but notice the way Leon admires the stunning woman Daryl has been boasting about since New Year’s Eve.

Piper holds out her hand and shakes mine confidently, then Leon’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Leon. I've heard a lot about you.”

“I hope it’s all been good.” He pushes his shoulders back and smooths down his tie.

She waggles her finger at him. “I won’t lie, not all of it is, Mr. Playboy. So….” She swivels on her feet and holds her hands out as if she’s holding a box. “I think your paintings will look great on this wall. It’s the biggest one we have, which would accommodate your larger paintings and would give them space to breathe. Ten in this room. And the smaller ones through here.” She starts walking into another room, but I appear to be frozen to the spot.

“Wait.” I hold my hands up. “You’re taking my paintings?”

She comes to a halt. “Yes,” she replies confidently.

“Yes? Just like that?” No begging, no negotiations. What the hell?

“Yes, Jordan. Just like that.”

“But…” I thought today was to discuss the possibilities of exhibiting here. I didn’t realize she’d already made her decision.

Piper stands as straight as a poker, clasping her hands in front of her. “The photos you sent of your paintings are everything Lola said they were and more. My job is to find untapped talent. Lola did my job for me. You’re a visionary. A passionate painter. Your paintings belong in here.” She nods, radiating her faith in my abilities.

I’m stunned.

She continues, “Your paintings will sell at a prestige price guide of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the smaller ones, and around five hundred thousand for the larger pieces. We want to slot you into our summer exhibition and the plan is to have an exhibition opening night, exclusively for you. All I need from you are a few date options. We will work with you and your tight schedule.” She keeps on stunning me with every word. “We typically take sixty percent of all sales. However, as you are a friend of Lola’s, we’ll only take twenty percent, and I propose Leon’s commission to be set at ten percent. His time is precious, and my team will be liaising directly with him on a weekly basis about the arrangements leading up to and after the event.”

Holy fuck. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.

Leon lays his hand on my shoulder, urging me to move. “So, Piper, this other room you mentioned?”

“This way.” She whips around.

He mutters through the side of his mouth. “You’ll need to buy Lola something hideously expensive to show her how grateful you are or give her a painting. You have her to thank for all of this.”

“I do.” I can't fathom how I'll ever repay her.

Like a movie playing out in my mind, I get an image of Lola being here with me, holding my hand, standing by my side, my paintings lining the walls, with her congratulating me on yet another successful collection.

That’s what I want. I want her now and in my future.