Page 2 of The Maverick (WaterFyre Rising #7)

CHAPTER ONE

VANESSA

I wasn’t in the mood to attend a fancy event, but I forced myself to dress for the invitation-only art auction at The Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Boston.

I’d donated my Hope in Bloom painting to the charitable event to help raise money for Brigham and Women’s Hospital.

It was one way to help the community and meet potential art collectors.

Serious art buyers would pay an obscene amount of money for original artwork.

Right now, I needed to refill my empty bank account and figure out a way to make Emmanuel stop harassing me. Thinking about my ex infuriated me, so I shoved my thoughts of him aside for now.

I didn’t need to stay long at this event.

One to two hours would give me enough time to browse and chat with any collectors who might have questions for me.

Perhaps they’d want to visit my new art gallery, which was scheduled to open at the end of the week.

This was my first art gallery that would showcase all of Nessa Lambert’s work.

Joy burst in me, but then fear clouded the happiness.

Stop thinking about the jerk.

I wore a long black dress with matching heels.

It was a simple dress I’d worn to several events, but with different accessories.

I’d have loved to have the freedom to buy a new dress for every occasion, but money was tight, so I had to be creative with this sophisticated black dress.

Today, I added a gold belt that matched the gold earrings, transforming my look from last month’s art exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts.

With my embroidered clutch, I stepped into the spacious room, where a unique chandelier hung at its center.

Perfect lighting showcased the paintings on the gray walls, metal easels, and felt panels.

Men in tuxedos and women in extravagant gowns browsed the area with auction tablets in their hands.

I walked up to the desk and gave them my invitation.

“I love Hope in Bloom. The colors remind me of Monet, and the gold details make me think of Gustav Klimt,” said the woman wearing a blue dress with a name tag that read Jennifer. She checked me in and offered me a tablet.

“Thank you, Jennifer. You’re very perceptive. I love those two artists.”

She glanced at her computer and gasped. “Someone just placed a bid on your painting for fifty thousand dollars!”

“That’s wonderful.” I smiled. “Do you know who placed the bid?”

“It says anonymous. That’s normal, though. Most donors with a lot of money want to keep their identities private.”

More people arrived to get their tablets, and I made my way around the room, admiring the various artworks from artists from all over the country. I spotted Hope in Bloom against the wall. A couple stood in front of my painting with two men standing behind them like bodyguards.

Hope in Bloom differed from my current paintings, which depicted a more somber mood. Since this was a charity, I wanted to offer hope with a kaleidoscope of pretty colors, gold aspects, and textures bursting like abstract flowers.

When the couple turned to walk to the next painting, I saw their faces, and my heart leaped.

Was that President Collins and his wife, Madeline?

Always posh and stylish, she was a well-known supporter of women’s health.

I loved her British accent. Everything sounded more elegant when she spoke.

I read in the magazine that she was only forty-one years old compared to her husband, who was sixty.

Despite the age gap, they made a lovely couple.

The media usually covered news of the President’s visit, but I hadn’t heard anything about him being at this charity. Had they bid on my painting? I would love to have my art displayed in The White House. Who wouldn’t?

I looked at the tablet and saw that all the paintings had a bid, which made me happy. Several more bids came in for Hope in Bloom , bringing the total to over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars!

A shiver ran down my spine, and my heart gave a nervous jolt. I sensed someone watching me. I looked around but didn’t recognize anyone. Had Emmanuel sent someone to follow me here?

The room had become crowded since I entered, making it hot. Or maybe the rise in temperature reflected my fear that someone would push me into a corner and demand money I didn’t have.

I walked to the refreshment area for a lemonade instead of a cocktail.

A man dressed in black with a bushy beard approached. “Excuse me, I’m Jack Connor. Are you the artist of Hope in Bloom ?”

He was the bodyguard—probably a Secret Service Agent—who had been standing with President Collins and his wife.

“Yes, I’m Nessa Lambert. Do you have a question about the painting?”

“Someone has a question for you. He’s in the other room.” Jack gestured to a room across the hallway.

“Okay.” I followed him to the room where the other Secret Service Agent with the bald head nodded at me.

Jack opened the door and ushered me in. I entered, and he closed the door.

President Collins and Madeline Claude-Collins sat at a round table with a flower centerpiece and a fancy tray of fruits. Madeline popped a handful of blueberries into her mouth. Spotting me, she wiped her hands with a white handkerchief. The couple rose from the table and walked up to me.

“Would you like some fruit? The blueberries are exceptionally sweet.” Madeline smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “They’re my favorite.”

“No, thank you,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

President Collins offered me a handshake. “ Hope in Bloom is a gorgeous painting.”

“Thank you for your kind words, Mr. President.” Excitement coursed through me, but I remained calm.

“It’s exquisite.” Madeline offered me a cheek-to-cheek kiss and asked, “Do you take commissions?” She had curious blue eyes and flawless skin that would make supermodels jealous. Her auburn hair gleamed with incredible highlights, making her appear stylish and sophisticated.

“I do,” I said. My plan to cut back on custom orders had just shifted. How could I not make an exception for the First Lady? “What kind of painting do you have in mind?”

I only had one custom order left to fulfill, but that order was accepted a year ago. Plus, I was almost finished.

“A portrait of me in a floral dress. But make it unique.” She pursed her lips, thinking. “I don’t want a generic portrait. Something innovative—something unexpected.” She turned to her husband. “He’s going to pay for it. So the price doesn’t matter, right, darling?”

He draped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry. I’m not using tax dollars to pay you.”

Madeline stood a few inches shorter than her husband. She smiled at him while interlacing her fingers with his. “Does that sound like a project you’d want to take on?”

“I love a challenge, and I’ll do my best to create a masterpiece for you. I’ll send over a form for you to fill out. Please fill out the delivery date, the color scheme you prefer, and anything else you’d like me to know.”

“I’m hosting a gala in November, and I’d love to display this. Do you think that’s achievable? As for colors, use the color palette from Hope in Bloom . It speaks to me.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “I’ve paused on taking custom orders, but I’m making this exception for you.”

“Really?” she emphasized with warmth in her eyes. “That’s so kind of you. I appreciate that. Thank you.”

The extra money would help me tremendously. I’d used up my savings and taken out a loan to save my mom and to pay Emmanuel to keep his mouth shut. M? was serving time for a crime she didn’t commit, and no one could help us. I had to take matters into my own hands.

We chatted for a bit, and they offered me a deposit of one hundred thousand dollars. An additional hundred thousand dollars would be paid upon delivery of the painting.

I sent the order form to Madeline’s assistant’s email. They asked me to keep the custom order private, and I confirmed I didn’t share information about my clients with anyone.

Madeline had a firm grip when we shook hands.

We all exited the room, and I watched as they walked off to greet some friends.

Madeline’s shoulders weren’t balanced. Her left shoulder dipped slightly when she walked.

As an artist, I noticed details that others often missed.

Despite that, she was still beautiful, especially now that she wanted me to paint for her.

Having them display my art would boost my name and business.

I couldn’t wait to share the news with M? later this week when she called from prison.

As I left the hotel room, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was still watching me. Was I being paranoid?