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Sterling doesn’t bat an eye at Cedric’s display of joy and affection, but Mateo looks amused. He tosses me a curious glance but doesn’t say anything, and I don’t feel like explaining Cedric, or my reasons for hiring him, to them either. It’s no one’s business but mine.

When we sit down, Mateo hits his knees against the table, cursing slightly. “You okay?” Sterling asks him.

“As always, Sterlone.”

“You know each other well,” I conclude.

“Yes, we are friends from college,” Sterling explains.

“I didn’t know you studied,” I say.

“I didn’t,” he says, openly and honestly, which I appreciate very much. “I dropped out after one year. Uni just wasn’t for me.”

“That’s okay,” Cedric chirps. “I sucked at my classes as well. I have no idea how I finished my degree.”

I hide a groan, not sure if I should smack the back of his head for acting as if he didn’t have a job others were dying to get, or pat his back because he is just being his golden retriever self.

“Are you friends too?” Mateo asks.

“No,” I say. “We only met three months ago.”

“Fate’s funny sometimes,” he jokes.

I have nothing to retort. He is just right.

One of Cedric’s strengths is not to be bothered by what anyone says, so instead of indulging in that conversation, he pulls out a folder and a notebook. Once the waiter takes our order, he is ready to go into business.

“As I said on the phone,” I start. “I want to have an exclusive contract with you, Mr. Thomas—”

“Can we stick with first names?” he asks. “No one has called me Mr. Thomas in ages.”

“Fine with me,” I say.

“Really?” Mateo asks skeptically.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Randall is far less stuck-up than everyone makes him look,” Cedric comes to my defense, though I have mixed feelings about what he just said. Cedric turns to me. “But the distanced, cool CEO image works too well for you,” Cedric analyzes. “Our followers on TikTok eat it up.”

I decide to ignore him. “If I decide to support an artist, of course this means it comes with benefits.” I gesture towards Cedric to take over, leaning back and sipping at my wine. It’s also his chance to show off. He never does it arrogantly, I don’t think he is capable of being arrogant, but he easily switches into business mode. He tells Mateo and Sterling in detail what an exclusive contract means, what kind of say they will have, and what we offer in return.

No artist needs to sell their soul to me. I am not Mephisto. I want them to keep their own style, their muse and their pace. But I invest in them and, in return, I get the first bid on their art, allowing me to put it into my gallery and sell it for them. It’s part of the business.

“It’s fine with me,” Sterling says.

“Don’t you want to sleep on it for a night, Sterlone?” Mateo exclaims.

“No, it’s not like there is any better offer coming through anytime soon.” He nods at me. “He has a reputation.”

“Well, sure, but—”

“Thank you,” Sterling tells me. “I will happily take the offer.”

I can barely hide my amusement when I see the frown on Mateo’s forehead. Seems like I am not the only one with difficult work relations.

To ease his mind, however, and to show him that I am genuine, I hand the two men four VIP tickets. “This is for a private dinner party that will be held at my gallery this weekend,” I say. “I would be happy to see both of you. It will give you a chance to network, Sterling.”

He groans. “I have to, don’t I?”