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The fine lines of his face seemed to harden a moment, though she had no idea why. So she added, “I’d love to see your work.”
“Saskia might’ve exaggerated,” he drawled.
“Why don’t you let me decide?”
He took out his mobile phone, scrolled, tapped, then handed it to her.
How she wished she had these up on her big monitor. The first was an amazing self-portrait, the one Saskia had told her about. It was all the Impressionists rolled into one, and yet, it was uniquely this man’s. Even without seeing it in the flesh, so to speak, she felt the emotion brimming in every line, every swirl of paint, every blotch of color. It was brilliant. There was no other word for it.
She asked politely, “May I look at the rest?”
He gave her a simple, “Yes.”
There were paintings of Harvard University, rowers on the river, one of Clay, seascapes, cityscapes. And people. He was exceptionally good with people’s faces, showing their emotions with just a few strokes.
She couldn’t help herself. “Why are you hiding all this on your mobile? You should be selling it.”
He shrugged, the move so eloquent that it told her all the reasons why. “I realized back in university that I would make a better lawyer than an artist.”
She snorted, not caring how inelegant it sounded. “Balderdash.” An archaic word, but better than bollocks.
“There were several critics who disagreed with you.”
His gaze fastened on her lips as she licked them. “So you did put your work out there. And what? Someone told you it was rubbish?” It was blunt, but she always spoke bluntly.
“I was royally trashed,” he admitted.
She felt his pain. Being Clay’s age, in his early thirties, whatever happened had gone down ten years ago. Wounds that immense took years to heal. Saskia still hadn’t healed from hers.
“So you reinvented yourself as a lawyer,” she said, rather than using the British term solicitor.
He merely nodded.
Leaning back in her chair, she toyed with a pen. “I had to reinvent myself too. I came to the States and decided to become an agent. I still use my law qualification, which helps me stand out from other agents.”
Holding her gaze, he said, “You certainly stand out.”
Adrian wasn’t sure if that was a compliment, but she decided to take it as such. “Thank you.”
Then he asked the inevitable question. “How long have you been representing San Holo?”
About to say, We go back a long way, she realized that would give him too much information. Yet that was how comfortable she felt with him. Comfortable enough to almost make a slip. “I’m afraid I can’t address that. How long have you known Clay?”
“From our university days. Clay has been a great help to me.”
She eyed him from beneath her lashes. “But you’re a lawyer instead of an artist, so how exactly did he help you?”
He looked past her to the magnificent view of the bay. “Clay saved me from despair.”
Her heart ached for him as it had for Saskia, but she pressed on. “Over your art?”
He nodded. “That’s what Clay does for the people he brings into his warehouses. Many of them are hanging on by their fingernails.” He didn’t seem to mind the cliché. “He pulls us all out of the gutter.”
She said softly, “But you weren’t in the gutter if you were attending Harvard.”
“Sometimes the gutter is metaphorical.”
She heard in his tone that he loved Clay the way a man loved his best friend, the way two men bonded.