Chapter 1
Rose stares around at the empty art gallery with a sigh. It is not empty of art, no the place is jam packed with painting but no customers. At least, no walk ins. The sixth street gallery has plenty of clients but they are of a higher socio-economic standing, they are all part of Manhattan’s elite. They don’t have time for actually looking at art. Rose has met a lot of that type of person in her line of work. As an art dealer she has come across all those people who buy based on the artist name rather than the look. She could slap a turd on a canvas, as long as it is signed by Van Gogh she could convince any New York snob to put away a few grand on it.
Over the last seven years Rosemary Dalton has created a name for herself in the art world. Not as an artist like her childhood self dreamed but as someone Manhattan’s Elite turn to and trust to decorate theirs homes with over priced pigment.
No one is ever interested in what is in the back room, not that it bothers Rosie that much. She doesn’t share her artwork with just anyone.
She sighs against the marble counter tempted to pull out her phone but she shows that if she does that the Gremlin will appear, that would be just her luck. The Gremlin, Elizabeth Winters, is as cold as her name, the haggered, pearled snob of a woman who owns the sixth street art gallery.
Rose is of course thankful she got a job straight out of college, especially one so prestigious however Elizabeth Winters remains the woman of nightmares.
Rosie sighs again tapping her 2B pencil against the table.
“Am I interrupting?” A deep voice startles her.
“Oh goodness, I’m sorry. Welcome to Winters Art Collection. How can I help you?” Rose greets the stranger while smoothing out her navy pencil skirt.
“Professional.” The man says as he looks around the room. There is an air of snobbery, on Rose has seen multiple times, in the way he holds himself. He turns his nose up at some of the paintings. Rose can’t help but smile as she notices the man have similar taste to her own. “Is this it?” He asks with a grunt.
“If these aren’t t your liking we can offer private commissions. We can help you find what you are looking for.”
He hums not giving a definitive answer.
Rose finds herself studying the man. He is gorgeous. Tall, muscular and incredibly well built under his navy Armani suit. She notices, just then, a woman still in the doorway. Pencil skirt, black with a white blouse and simple black kitten heels. Her hair is tied up in a bun that screams practical instead of stylish. She has a frazzled look in her eyes, she carries two phones in one hand and a notebook and pen in the other.
“Can I help you?” Rose directs her question towards the woman, whose eyes widen as they make contact with Rose’s extended hand.
“Oh!” She gasps, “No. I believe Mr Bennett is perusing.” The woman shakes her hand anyway with a small smile.
Bennett.
Why is that so familiar?
Bennett.
Bennett.
Rose looks between the man and the woman. She smiles.
“I’m Rosemary Dalton, it is nice to meet you.”
“I’m Benny.” The woman blushes. “Well, Bernadette, but everyone calls me Benny.”
During her introduction with Benny Rose loses sight of Mr Bennett and doesn’t notice him slipping into the back room.
“These.” He orders, a loud grunt, his voice drawing Rose’s attention.
“Oh, I’m very sorry sir but that is staff only.” She says with her politest smile.
“I want these.” He says leaving no room for argument.
“Um…those aren’t for sale.”
“Everything is for sale. Name your price.”
Rose takes in a deep breath squaring her shoulders.
“No sir. The artist is just storing them here.”
“Artwork deserves to be on a wall don’t you agree?”
Rosie sighs. Part of her did agree. The artist in her desperately wanted these to see the light of day. The pigment caked under her French manicure just one of the reminders of the hours and effort that went into these canvases.
“The artist is…shy.” Rose says eventually but as the words leave her mouth she knows it is a pathetic excuse.
“Not a good enough reason. I want these five.” He points to the four finished and the one work in progress still on the easel. “Tell your artist to get to work.”
“The artist…um…” She trails off unsure where she is going with that thought.
He stares at her with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes?”
“The artist wishes to remain anonymous.”
“Very well. These five and twenty-five more.”
She stares at him wondering if her has gone completely insane.
Surely that’s not right.
“Twenty-five?”
“Yes. Did I stutter?”
“No, but what?” Rose mentally slaps herself for the unprofessional word vomit falling from her lips.
“Dalton. You said that was your name?”
“Yes sir. Rosemary Dalton.”
“Congratulations Ms Dalton. You just made one hell of a commission.”
“Sorry?”
“You have a new client. The Bennett Corporation. These artworks and the next twenty five from your artist will be featured in our newest hotel in San Francisco.”
Rose gapes at him.
“Carol.” Mr Bennett snaps and Benny jumps to attention from behind him.
“Yes sir?”
“Take down Ms Dalton’s information. Her artist wishes to remain anonymous, that is fine. See that they are paid handsomely, the price we agreed.”
“Yes sir?”
Mr Bennett begins to exit the gallery. He turns briefly in the doorway.
“Carol, you have two minutes.”
“Yes sir.” Benny is blushing when she turns back to Rosie.
“I thought you said you name was Benny?”
“It is. Bernadette Carroll. He has either never bothered to learn my first name or he truly believes my name is Carol, I’m still unsure.” She rolls her eyes as if explaining it makes the situation even more stupid. “He is a busy man.” She defends him. “Anyway he really will leave me here. Here are your cheques. For you artist and your commission.”
She hands over two cheques and Rosie’s eyes bug out. She has never seen that many zeros in one place before.
“I’ve left the artist name blank. Will you fill it in?”
“Yeah…of course.” Rosie smiles down at the cheques. She passes Benny her business card from the counter.
“It was nice to meet you.” Benny says quickly as she jogs in her kitten heels towards the limo waiting outside.
“You too.” Rosie calls after her but the front door is already swinging shut.
Rose carries the cheques into the back room with and stares at her artwork with a smile. Her phone pings on the table next to easel and she moves to grab it. One text lights up the screen from her best friend and roommate Quinn Marks.
QM: Drinks. 7pm. 46th Pub.
Rosie snaps a selfie in front of her latest painting making sure the cheque is visible.
RD: It’s on me.
