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Story: Hold Me (Men in Suits #1)
one
*ADEN*
I go through a couple of folders on my desk; one with the description of the venue and the exact layout, one with the plan of the artists presented in this exhibition and the paintings that were chosen to be on display, and the final one including estimated payments, funds and our expenses.
After reading them properly, I close them and hand them back to my assistant. “Good job, Cedric.”
The young man lights up at my simple praise. “Really?”
He looks like such a lost golden retriever, I don’t have it in my heart to dismiss him, although I am tired enough to fall asleep on the spot.
“Yes, you thoroughly researched everything, you listened well to what we planned in the meetings, the venue is prepared to the last detail, and we are set for the opening tomorrow.”
“Thank you so much, sir. I… I am so lucky you gave me this chance!”
Frankly, the kid was my last attempt at hiring an assistant.
Most of the others had the education and experience, but they just didn’t click with me.
Or I didn’t click with them. They just see the perfectionist in me and don’t even want to bother.
I hired Cedric, despite coming with zero experience and a Master’s degree in Literature instead of art or business, because he showed interest and motivation.
He had no idea what type of work I was doing, he only had a very vague knowledge of artists and their work, but if I have learned one thing, it is that this is knowledge that can be acquired with a little time.
However, no one can magically become motivated.
My hiring him meant the world to him because it was his first job. As for me, I got an assistant who doesn’t drive me up the walls. He just drives me insane occasionally, because of his overly bubbly personality, but I can live with that.
“Go home for tonight,” I tell him. “It’s late. I will see you for the opening tomorrow.”
“I am so looking forward to it! It’s my first art gallery opening that I helped organize. I am so excited for all the new artists.” He beams.
Here. That’s exactly why I hired him.
I smile briefly at him. “Let’s make it a success tomorrow. For now, go home. We are the last to leave the office. I will lock up behind us.”
Cedric grabs his bag before shuffling out of my office and then out of the building, not without wishing me a good night before leaving.
I gather my own things and grab the folder with the artists we are going to show tomorrow, and decide to go home too.
I want to skim through the plans once more, to get a true feeling of the artists’ work.
I have spent the last months hand-picking them, but it’s my little evening ritual to do this before an opening.
This type of gallery exhibition is one of my favorites.
I get to show all kinds of new artists in my gallery, upcoming and rising ones, who still need the boost in popularity to sell their work and to make a name for themselves.
It’s how I originally made a name for myself. Now that I am a gallerist and gallery owner myself, I want to give back and help these upcoming artists.
On my way outside, my phone rings. One glance at it notifies me that I have several missed messages.
They won’t leave me alone, so I may as well pick up now. “Hi Oliver.”
“Aden!” he exclaims, his voice joyful. “I am so glad you picked up. It’s so hard to get through to you, little bro.”
“I was at work,” I tell him. Oliver is my oldest brother and the one I probably like the most. We don’t have much of a relationship, though.
“It’s almost midnight.”
“Yeah, there is a lot to do,” I say, keeping it vague. If I tell him it’s a gallery opening tomorrow, he might get the idea to come, or one of my other brothers will. And I can’t deal with family drama on opening night. That night belongs to the new artists, spotlight on them, not on the gallerist.
“You work too much,” he says reproachfully. His voice drifts off as he waits for me to say something. God, this is awkward. When I keep silent, he clears his throat. “Are you coming home on Sunday? Mom managed to gather all of us. You are the only one she hasn’t been able to reach out to.”
One of the many messages and calls from today was probably from her.
“I can’t,” I say promptly. “I am swamped with work.”
“Even on the weekend?”
“Yes.”
A pause. “You are watching out for your health, aren’t you, Aden?”
Sighing, I take the keys to my car, open the door, and sit behind the wheel. I put him on speaker before driving off. “Yes, I am. I am okay.”
Another pause. “You barely visit home,” he finally says the words I am always dreading to hear. Every once in a while, one of them calls and says the very same words.
You never visit.
You never come home.
Mom is missing you.
We miss you.
Why don’t you visit more often, Aden?
I answer as usual. “I visit regularly,” I say. “For the holidays for example.”
“Not for all of them,” he points out.
“Oliver,“ I sigh.
“I know, work,” he mutters. “Is that truly the reason?”
I frown, glad he isn’t here in person to see my expression. I do believe I have a fairly good poker face, but certainly not good enough to fool him. “What other reason would there be?” I toss the question right back at him.
“I don’t know, Aden.” He sounds soft, a stark contrast to the rough boy he was when we were growing up. “You tell me.”
“There is not much to tell.”
“Aden…” Another pause, this time longer than the one before. It sounds like he is about to say something. I prepare myself inwardly to rebuff anything he can say, but then his voice sounds lighter all of a sudden. “You are coming for Mom’s birthday, aren’t you?”
God, yeah, I have to.
“I will tell her you won’t make it on Sunday,” he urges. “But please come for her birthday.”
There is no chance I could miss that. I hate family meetings. If it were just Mom, I would visit her or invite her out more regularly. I don’t mind spending time with her, but I don’t enjoy spending time with the whole family. It always makes me feel tense, like I don’t belong.
“Aden?”
“Yes, I am coming for her birthday,” I say. “I need to go now, Oliver.”
“Aden—"
“Good night.”
I feel a twinge of guilt, like always, after I have talked to one of my brothers.
I got used to it, though, and am now able to shake it off.
To distract me, I switch on some music, realizing that Cedric put on a pop music channel the last time he drove with me, and forgot to change it back to what I usually listen to.
Well, I can just as well listen to some upbeat music now until I am home.
Home is a townhouse I own. I used to have an apartment, but it felt too modern, too everything, so I rented it out and instead bought a small townhouse.
The purchase was twice as expensive due to the area and size, but it feels more private and much more like me.
I do have neighbors, but I don’t mind. I prefer it to a single house; it would make me feel too lonely.
Once inside, I pour a glass of wine, grab a plate of cheese, and then settle down on my sofa to go through the artists and their works again. We have an interesting bunch covered this time, a good mix of varied art styles and techniques.
I don’t sleep a lot, but I am used to running on low sleep for a gallery opening weekend. One glance outside shows me that the line waiting for admittance is already long, although we aren’t opening for two hours.
Cedric is so excited, I am afraid he might bounce off the wall. “Please tell me, you won’t be like that all evening,” Lynn says.
Lynn is one of my longest and most important employees, responsible for accounting and sales.
She is fantastic with numbers and a good negotiator when it comes to buying paintings and artworks for our permanent collection.
But she hates the more personal contact with customers and clients. That’s what I am good at.
“He will,” I mutter more to myself than to her, while going through the notes of my speech. “TV coverage?”
“Yes,” she says. “I invited the usual TV stations and a few influencers with the right target audience and content.”
I groan.
“Don’t be a boomer,” she grins. “You are not old enough to be one.”
“So, you are telling me you will deal with them?” I ask.
“No way!” she exclaims. “I am going to handle the press and TV coverage. As for the influencers, I was thinking of someone closer their age.” She glances at me, making me chuckle. Nodding at her, I give her the go-ahead to go through with her plan. “Cedy,” she says, “that’s a task for you.”
“What?” he blinks. “But I am a nobody.”
“You are not a nobody. You are the personal assistant of the gallery owner. You’re the perfect person for this,” she argues. “You are young, pretty, and you smile like you shit rainbows.”
He pouts.
“I mean that in the best sense,” she says. “Aden and I don’t shit rainbows.”
We really don’t.
“But Mr. Randall is the pro,” he stutters.
“You just heard Aden,” she says. She never addresses me by my last name, and I don’t push it on her, not even in official situations.
We are more friends than boss and employee anyway.
“He doesn’t want to deal with social media.
He never does. That’s why we have you handle our social media accounts.
Just be your usual cute and bubbly self, and the audience on social media will love you. ”
“Really?” His head perks up. Apparently, he forgets to be anxious and instead is excited to prove himself.
I nod at him. “I think you are the perfect person for this.”
He beams. “Then I will give it my all! Are they here already?”
“Yes, they came through the press-only entrance.”
“I will head to them immediately,” he says, already dashing off.
“He always bounces back so quickly. One minute he is anxious, the next he is”—she gestures at him, disappearing through the door leading to the press area—“like that.”
“It’s definitely his strong point,” I say.
“I am amazed you can work together with him.”
“Why?” I chuckle. “Because I don’t shit rainbows ?”
“You aren’t exactly patient,” she says dryly.
I shrug. “The guy just has a way with people and takes his work seriously. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“And he doesn’t mind that you are a workaholic,” she adds.
“That’s rich coming from you.”
“Well, no matter how bad I am, you are worse.” She playfully pats my shoulder before turning towards the same door Cedric disappeared through. “I am going to prepare for the press interviews,” she says. “You okay here?”
“Of course, go ahead.”
Silence engulfs me when she is gone. It’s a unique feeling to stand in these huge halls alone with no one around yet.
There is excitement lingering in the air from the crowd waiting, but also from the artists.
Their hopes and dreams are gathered in these rooms, and the noise reaching me from outside, from the waiting crowd, sounds like the buzzing of bees.
My phone buzzes too, mixing with the sound from outside. Taking it out of my pocket, I see that Oliver sent me a message with a pic attached. Boys’ night out. Wish you could be here.
The pic shows him with two of my other brothers.
I put the phone aside. Something in my heart feels heavy, but I can’t deal with that right now. I have to focus on the night ahead.