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*ADEN*

T he night went as planned. Lynn and I have developed a routine by now and know how to handle these evenings.

I know she will eventually need her own assistant to help her with her work; it’s something we have been discussing recently.

I do have the funds to hire another employee, so it’s definitely on my priority list.

Cedric hit it off with the influencers and has probably just sealed his fate: to be solely responsible for our social media accounts now.

My speech went well, and the TV interviews went even better.

Lynn always convinces me to do them, claiming my quiet, composed way of delivering my lines always gets to the audience.

She calls it an air of mystery.

I call it being bad at conversation.

But whatever helps. If it works, it works, and that’s all that matters.

Now that the place is buzzing, not only with spectators and artists, but also potential clients are roaming the gallery to spot artworks they like and might want to buy from the artists, I have time to roam the halls as well.

I’ve seen most of these artworks in print already, but it’s different to see them in real life. It’s always different.

There is a niche for each artist we are showing, each one getting to present a maximum of three pictures or artworks.

It’s obvious there are plenty of talented folks.

On every new exhibition of this kind, I look around the paintings, not as the gallerist but as a client.

It’s been a while since I mentored an upcoming artist. When I spot a piece of art that just strikes me, I usually reach out to the artist or their manager and make sure to support them.

It hasn’t happened for a while, though. All of these people are talented, clearly so, but nothing strikes my own muse. And for me to step up and truly support someone, beyond showing their artwork here, it has to be special to me.

I am about to go to the restroom for a break, because again, I don’t find anything that jumps out at me, when I pass the last hall. It’s a smaller one, for artists who only show one piece of art each. That’s when I see it!

A huge picture, a single work of the artist, is presented in the middle of the room.

I need to compliment my curator and coordinator for this; he truly knew how to put the spotlight on it.

The sole color used in the picture in all its shades is blue, giving it a melancholic feel.

The motive of the artwork is a young man sitting at the edge of a bathtub.

His back is turned to the spectator, his fingers dangling in the water.

He is naked, only loosely wrapped in a towel.

We only see him from behind, but even without seeing his face and eyes, there is something vulnerable about him.

What is he thinking? What is he feeling?

Is he sad? Are tears dripping down his face?

It’s not posed. It’s a snapshot, a glimpse of a moment.

The man’s back is slightly hunched over, and he seems to be thinking, pondering.

It's a glimpse into his soul. The model has a soul, so does the artwork.

My eyes move to the small plate next to the artwork, where the artists usually provide details and explanations of their work.

There are none, just basic information.

Title : Shades of Blue or Man From Behind

Artist : Sterling Thomas, 27 years old. New freelance artist.

The price tag below shows that someone else knows the artwork’s worth, too. Probably Sterling Thomas’s manager. It’s high, but not unreasonable. But even if it were too expensive, I know I would have bought it nevertheless.

A couple of hours later, I officially hold it in my hands. I will keep it presented in the exhibition, but once it’s officially over, I will be hanging it in my living room for everyone to see.

*STERLING*

“Hey, Sterlone, are you here?” my manager, Mateo, yells through the whole apartment until I put my brush aside and finally pay him attention.

He is using that silly nickname again. A while back he was into action movies and thought calling me Sterlone would give me an edge.

Mateo moved on from his action movie phase, but the nickname stuck.

“What?” I mutter, trotting out of my atelier and into the living area. I own a loft with an adjacent room that I have remodeled into an atelier. I was lucky enough to have inherited it from my grandma.

“Did you get my call?” Mateo asks. His dark hair looks disheveled, and he looks tired as fuck.

“No, sorry, my phone was on silent.”

“Then you probably haven’t read my messages either?”

“No.”

Mateo drops down on the chair with a sigh, his legs almost too long for the chair. It’s a recurring problem for him. He is too tall for everything. Tall and skinny, and he hates it. I think it suits him. Very modelesque from an artist’s viewpoint. “You are driving me insane.”

“Coffee?”

“Yeah.” His gaze follows me. “You have been painting?”

“Recently, my muse seems to be coming to me. Noel is a great help, too.”

Mateo stretches. “He modeled for you again?”

“Yes, he was in the mood. But you know him. When he is sulky or broody, there is no chance of getting him to hang around for hours. Or rather, he would and push through it, but it’s not the same then.”

“He has always been like that,” Mateo chuckles. “Glad he is more grounded now, though. You helped him a lot to deal with his issues.”

“We both did,” I argue.

Noel, Mateo, and I have been friends ever since university.

We didn’t study the same major, but we just kind of started to hang out together.

The three weirdos on campus. The three geeks.

All three of us were obsessed with our own hobbies and bonded through that.

It didn’t matter that we only shared one year together before Noel and I dropped out for various reasons. The connection between us remained.

Just like me, Mateo is a freelancer. He does ads for companies and solo businesses. I guess he had pity on me for sucking at advertising my art, and took it upon himself to become my manager. I’m not sure if he truly knew what he signed up for.

With two steaming mugs of coffee, I return to the table and sit down opposite Mateo. “So, what’s the issue? I bet you are not here just to chat.”

“I am not. Shades of Blue got sold.”

“What?!” I exclaim.

“Yeah, that was my reaction too,” he grins. “It’s so you, to hit it off so quickly. First real exhibition and you sell the only artwork you have there.”

“But how?”

“You should rather ask who,” he urges.

Furrowing my brows, I stare at him. “What do you mean? Who bought it?”

Mateo leans back, looking all smug. He obviously was waiting for me to ask. Two dramatic pauses later that fucking little tease finally spills it out. “Aden Randall.”

Silence engulfs us. My brain works slowly sometimes. It’s always been like that. I can only draw well, while everything else comes to me at a slower pace. “Care to repeat that?”

Mateo smiles now, his expression not teasing anymore but joyful. “Aden Randall in person.”

At that shock, I almost drop my mug of coffee.

“That was my reaction, too, when I got the call from his assistant last night saying he wanted to buy your drawing. He already paid.” He hands me a piece of paper from his bag. “This is the contract.”

I gape while staring at the piece of paper.

Mateo didn’t lie. My drawing got sold to the god of all gallerists, in person.

Everyone knows that Aden Randall has a perceptive eye, a feel for art.

Everything he touches turns to gold. He has made several artists over the last couple of years, helping them to rise to fame.

He used to draw too until a couple of years ago, but it’s said he gets more joy in organizing his gallery and exhibitions now.

“He also mentioned that he wants to be informed whenever you draw something new and have it up for sale,” Mateo adds, killing me all over again. “He also bought your second painting, the one you deemed not good enough for the exhibition.”

“You are fucking kidding me?”

“No. So, chop-chop! Get productive and make us rich.”

“After that shock, I need to recover first,” I say.

“You are aware that this is amazing?”

“Of course! It’s insane!”

“You deserve it, Sterling,” he says seriously. “You have worked your ass off. You dropped out of Uni just to support your little sister. If anyone deserves the fruits of his labor to pay off, it’s you!”

“I have you to thank for this,” I say.

“I know,” he grins. “Which is why I hope you keep me hired.”

“Are you kidding? I need you,” I chuckle. “I could never do all that advertising and bureaucracy without you. Don’t leave me!”

“Aw,” he says gleefully. “Aren’t you cute? Pity you aren’t my type.”

“Cute is your type,” I grin.

“Yeah, and you aren’t. Not usually,” he smirks. “Weirdo.”

“Says the right one,” I retort.

“What’s going on?” A voice startles us. Turning around, I notice Noel, who closes the door behind him and steps into my loft. He has a second key, so it’s nothing unusual to see him around. “Mateo is here at such an early hour?”

“Yes, I came with good news.”

“ Shades of Blue got sold,” I add.

Noel has a gentle face with beautiful features, soft brown hair, and freckles on his nose. Everything about him looks pretty, and yet slightly melancholic, which is why I love drawing him.

“Oh,” he smiles. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“It’s fantastic,” Mateo says. “Aden Randall bought it.”

“That’s the guy you talked about last week, right? The gallerist?” When Mateo nods, Noel turns to me. “Congratulations, Ster, you deserve it.”

“What about you? Did you work all night?”

“Yes,” Noel says, sitting down on the free chair. “I worked two shifts at the club.”

Neither Mateo nor I says anything. We don’t like him working there.

It’s a sleazy, sticky nightclub with all the gross dudes you’d expect to visit such a cheap establishment.

But his father left him quite some debt.

If Mateo and I could earn more, we would pay it off in a heartbeat, but at the moment, we can only offer moral support.

Well, maybe I will make it as an artist after all.

Mateo’s phone signals an incoming message. “Work?” Noel asks.

“No, just my current flirt,” Mateo mutters.

Noel’s head perks up. “The cute girl you were dating. So, how’s it going?”

Mateo’s expression says it all.

“Oh,” Noel says. “I am sorry, Mateo.”

“Well, at the end of the day she just wanted to fuck, occasionally, and I wanted something stable. Not that the sex wasn’t good.”

I sigh. “This reminds me that I haven’t gotten laid in forever.”

“Me neither,” Noel agrees.

“Seeing how I am free today because I just got ditched, I will cook us lunch,” Mateo says. He points at me. “You, Sterlone, go back to work so you will become famous, and Aden Randall will stay interested. And you,”—he elbows Noel—“go and sleep.”

“Be glad that I work well under pressure,” I mutter.

“That’s always been your strong point,” Mateo says, making a shooing gesture towards me. “Do as I tell you. Lunch will be ready in two hours, by yours truly, Mateo.”

Noel and I exchange a look. Both of us know better than to argue with Mateo. He is the nicest guy I’ve ever met, but he is also persistent. Once he puts his foot down, it firmly remains there until we oblige.