Rodney sat down in the velvet chair across from her desk. "The first three dozen I agreed to let Patrick put on the market for me sold out immediately. I've got dozens more paintings I finished long before I imagined ever selling them, and I'm deciding which of the rest I feel comfortable with taking public. I don't see what everyone else sees in them, but I'm doing my best to go with the flow."
"From what you've told me, I think there's no mystery there at all," Daphne said. "You made them for yourself, so they're raw and unvarnished. They are representations of your total freedom of expression."
Rodney nodded his agreement.
Daphne sighed and sat down, too. "I don't have any leverage with you anymore. Nevertheless, because I've been there for you when you needed a hand, I think you should promise me at least one or two of your best paintings. I'll sell them in a snap and make a mint for you."
"I promise, Daphne."
She removed a check folded in half from her blazer and handed it to Rodney. "Even with the advance I gave you taken out of the total, this is a hefty amount from the sale of your new line. I suggest you to take it to the bank right away and not spend it all at once."
"I heeded your advice from the last time I was here," Rodney said. "I've hired a financial advisor to help me organize and strategize my spending." Rodney put the check in his wallet without peeking at the sum, then stood up, bowed, and started for the door.
"Wait," Daphne said, rising and moving toward him. "I almost forgot. I'm hearing something on the grapevine I think you should be aware of. The word getting back to me is your former assistant—Blatt's her name—has been cashing out on your earliest originals. They're selling like hotcakes—through back channels at other galleries and with select dealers—so they're not flooding the market. Right now, you're taking off like a rocket. But, depending on how many she has, this could affect your future prices if sales ever stall from too much supply and not enough demand."
Rodney, suddenly pale, said, "Christine still works for me."
"Ahh. The expression on your face tells me you had no idea she was unloading her inventory."
Rodney paused, started to respond, then held his tongue. As much as he wanted specific details from Daphne, it would've been unfair to ask her to betray her confidences with other gallery owners and art dealers.
"How many originals of yours does she own, Redfern?"
"Too many to count. Christine was my first collector. She was the first to see that I might have an especially bright future after I returned to Doyle from my apprenticeship in Hawaii."
"Oh boy."
RAINFALL WELCOMED MARSHALL back to Port Cole as he returned on a Sunday afternoon to his old apartment.
Colin Brewster, his roommate, came home just as Marshall finished his final round of packing personal items into the SUV. They ran into each other on the stairway landing, shook hands, and exchanged smiles.
"It's great to see you," Marshall said. "I'm glad I got to say goodbye in person."
"You're sure glowing," Colin said. "This new guy of yours must have you twisted around his finger. You're hopelessly in love."
"Yeah, I'm a goner."
"Seeing you this happy reminds me that people can bounce back from defeat and end up better than before."
"Thank you, buddy. All of the real change came out of the blue. Being back here reminded me of how lost I felt after getting laid off."
"Do you need any help packing?"
"I'm all done," Marshall said. "I've got everything I can fit into my partner's SUV. I'll let you know when the professional movers will be here for my bed, chest of drawers, and computer desk."
"Is Rodney here with you?"
"He wanted to help me today. I reminded him he had to stay locked in his studio and finish a replacement sculpture so it could be installed on Doyle's downtown bridge, by his others, in time for the kayak racing event."
Colin changed the subject. "I was kinda pissed that it seemed like Guy had chased you away from here. But Guy insists he deserves credit for your fresh start." Colin rolled his eyes. "His brain doesn't work that well, to be frank. He said you going to Doyle, and finding a great job and a great guy there, was all because of him."
Marshall chose his words carefully. "I hope he's good to you, Colin."
"He is, most of the time. I've been having some doubts about moving into Guy's place, though. He says now that I can't bring any of my furniture. I don't own anything fancy, but it's still mine, you know. Am I just supposed to move into his life? Won't I always just feel like his guest, not his boyfriend?"
"You have to answer that for yourself."
"I'm thinking it through, trying to get to the heart of the matter about my relationship with Guy. I can't just move in with him because I need to save money on rent. What about the long-term future?"
"Communicate with him. Get it all out on the table, my friend. You two need to be equals for a partnership to last."
FINISHING THE REPLACEMENT sculpture for Sylvia Bridge faster than expected, Rodney spent an hour rearranging space in his studio on Myra Lane to accommodate all of the new pieces he'd started forming in recent days. He'd never been so prolific. His creativity was gushing.
Rodney felt like he was riding a giant tidal wave, balancing his tasks so he remained atop the crest, advancing ever forward.
A light tapping on the side door stopped him in his tracks. He hustled into a pair of jeans and an athletic shirt, then answered the door in his bare feet.
"Don't be mad," Christine said, feigning fear and playfully cowering away with her hands protecting her face as she stepped inside. "I haven't been able to reach you and I have to submit the list in less than an hour."
Rodney flipped empty buckets upside down they could use for chairs and spaced them several feet apart. "When've I ever been mad at you?"
"Never," she admitted.
They sat down. A tremor of sadness surged through Rodney as Christine rummaged through her notebook. It was time for them to have the talk.
"Rodney, this is for the honorary reception the mayor is hosting for you at the courthouse on the eve of the televised races. All you have to do is say yes or no to the people who've requested access to the VIP lounge to meet privately with bigwigs an hour before the formal reception begins."
After confirming access for his loyal collectors, gallery owners, and art dealers, Christine informed him of the elected officials, athletes, and other special guests the mayor's office had already confirmed, too, for the VIP lounge.
"They're treating me like royalty," Rodney said. "Tell them I don't need a coronation."
"I'm not telling them any such thing!" Christine snapped, still lighthearted. "You deserve this. Welcome it."
"I'll try."
"Now, a couple more names for you to make a decision on. Do you want to approve three extra guests accompanying Daphne Swaledale? She wants to bring that wrestler Pierre De Bellefort and his husband."
"Of course," Rodney said. "I'd love to have them."
"Dennis, plus three, also?" Christine asked, naming Rodney's ex, Dennis Petersen, the art supply store owner in Rugged Heights. "He wants to bring his date and his two best employees."
"Certainly."
"Here are the last two names." Christine looked at him and scowled. "The artists Flora Miles and Kenneth Blakely?"
"Yes."
"Rodney! Really? After we learned about their secret animosity toward you?"
Rodney folded his arms across his chest. "Give both Flora and Kenneth tickets, and let them bring a guest each."
"You're too forgiving," Christine said.
"Whatever their opinions of me and my work, I bear them no grudges. They were finalists in the bridge competition. They should be there."
Christine set down her notebook and wagged her finger at him. "You think it's not going to get tongues wagging that the two people everyone believes destroyed your sculpture are going to be your guests in the VIP lounge?"
Rodney
inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly. This was the moment he'd been dreading.
"Christine, we both know neither Flora nor Kenneth ruined it."
She tilted her head, and responded, "We do?"
"Yes, we do," Rodney said, "because it was you. You did it."
Christine looked down at the floor to escape Rodney's unblinking gaze, then dropped her face into her hands and started shaking.
Tension enveloped them for a full minute. Rodney didn't move and Christine tried to collect her composure.
"Will you hear me out?" she asked.
"I know why you did it. Don't concoct a story for me. I'm not asking for an explanation."
"When did you figure it out?"
"When I flipped everything on its head and changed my perspective," Rodney answered. "Setting all of my previous assumptions aside, the picture came into focus. For example, what if the person who did it bore no hatred toward me after all? What if she wanted—in a warped and horrible way—to boost my career with a scandal? Who else is benefitting from my career exploding into the stratosphere?"
"I did it as much for you as for myself," Christine said, her fingers cupped around her chin. "Yes, I've been selling many of your early originals. But I've done it carefully! Only with dealers I trust and have worked with, on your behalf, for years. The same with the galleries. If anything was going to harm your sales or your prices, I was going to stop selling them privately right away. Really, I was willing to pull the plug on this, if necessary, and you've got to know that."
"Dennis was with us that night on the bridges getting pictures and videos for the web. Was he involved?"
"No!"
"You broke it yourself?"
"Yes."
"But I saw you leave the plaza."
"When I got home I reviewed my shots," Christine said. "Some of the still photos were blurry because I didn't use the right aperture setting on the camera. I went back to the bridges so I could fix this and upload the content on your site that night. That's when I saw that one of the floodlights had been broken. Rodney, it was just spur of the moment from that second on. I'm not a violent person. The idea of all the media coverage filled my imagination. Part of me hated doing it. But it was just one piece. One of six. And everything I thought might happen afterward basically came true, and then some."
"You had a baseball bat in the trunk of your car?"
"No, I used a jack stand I keep by my spare wheel in case of a flat tire."
"Hell, Christine, you shouldn't have done it."
"Are you going to fire me? Turn me into the police? Ruin my life?"
Rodney kicked the floor, then calmed, and said, "Tell me how you're going to make this right."
"What do you want me to do?" Christine asked, sensing a sliver of hope.
"It's your turn to get creative. Come up with a solution that'll convince me that your benevolence triumphs over your greed."
TWO BLOCKS FROM THE courthouse, in Marshall's new loft in a restored building from 1899, Marshall and Rodney stood side by side in the master bathroom suite. Looking at each other in the mirror, adorned in fitted tuxedos and bow ties, both men were luminous with admiration and pride.
Rodney put his arm around Marshall's shoulder, and said—pointing toward Marshall's reflection in the mirror—"That's the guy I'm never gonna lose."
"Don't talk too sweet or we're going to end up having sex again," Marshall said.
They'd started getting dressed together an hour ago for the black tie ceremony honoring Rodney. The overload of handsomeness had landed them back on their brand new king size bed under the skylight once already.
"We have to be strong this time," Rodney agreed, "or we're going to be late."
"But I won't rule out finding a hidden corner behind a curtain or something at the ceremony if we can't keep our hands off each other."
"I'll be ready for anything."
"I sure love you, Rodney."
"I know that, and it's what makes me happier than anything else that'll happen tonight during this event." Rodney kissed Marshall and whispered his own proclamation of love in his ear.
Minutes later, as they strolled downtown streets toward the courthouse, they held hands. Rodney talked about missing his parents, who had to postpone their travel due to a tropical storm. Just as he invited Marshall to fly to Florida after the national kayak races concluded to meet them, Rodney's phone vibrated in his pocket. As he lifted it out, Marshall saw the phone's screen. The call was from Christine Blatt.
"Hold on, please," Rodney said to Marshall. They stopped at the corner and Rodney answered his phone. The courthouse steps, a block away, had a swarm of photographers and news cameras capturing images of the guests as they exited their vehicles and limousines to walk up the red carpet entrance.
Marshall could only hear Rodney's side of the phone conversation, which went as follows:
"What's up? Are you inside the event already?"
"We're about to walk in. Is everything looking good?"
"Yeah, go ahead."
"Fine, Christine. Make it happen."
"No, don't make it in my name. Credit is not appropriate in this situation."
"Yeah, I'm impressed. As far as I'm concerned, yes, this can be the last word."
"You're welcome."
Rodney returned his phone to his pocket and faced Marshall. Rodney had become unusually solemn.
Marshall said, "Later tonight, when we get home, will you tell me what that was about?"
"I'll tell you now," Rodney replied. "Christine is on the verge of donating an enormous amount of money to charity, including scholarships and other assistance designated for kids and animals without families."
"Wow, but why is she telling you this now, rather than inside at your event?"
"It's not for anyone else's ears in there. It's going to be an anonymous donation. An atonement."
Marshall's eyes widened. "An atonement?"
"She is forfeiting all of her recent enrichment." Rodney watched Marshall absorb this, then added, "So I think it qualifies as an atonement."
The pieces clicked into place. Marshall understood what was being left unsaid.
"She acted alone," Rodney added. "No one else was involved."
"You instructed her to seek redemption, didn't you?" Marshall said.
"Yes."
"Do you need a few minutes before the whirlwind begins at the ceremony?"
"No, Marshall. I've made my peace with what she did. I'm ready to walk up those steps with you. I just want to make sure you don't have any doubts about me. It would destroy me to think you had any doubts about my integrity."
Marshall embraced Rodney in a bear hug and didn't let go. Rodney tightened his grip, too, adding, "Tell me the truth right now."
Marshall said, "I have no doubts about you. Or about us. None. Absolutely none."
"Thank you so much, Marshall."
"Thank you for sharing this with me."
"I'm not going to keep anything from you," Rodney said.
"I know that. Now, let's march over there so you can continue conquering the world. I'll be right by your side for the whole journey."
THE END
Author's Note
Thank you very much for reading "Bravado," the third book in the Unexpected Attraction series. The first two books in the series are linked here:
Thirst
Longing
If you enjoyed Bravado, I hope you'll consider leaving a review and joining my newsletter mailing list at JaylenFlorian.com.
Best wishes,
Jay
MORE NOVELS, BOOK BUNDLES, and novellas by Jaylen Florian include:
Antonio's Mask
Arousing Euphoria: Rugby Team Bundle
Baseball Star's Gift
Coaching the Neighborhood
Cobra De Capello
Covet
Daring the Neighborhood
Garage
Ghost Town
Guarding His Fortunes
Guarding His Jewels
Hollywood Tease
Longing
Lured
Macho
Patrolling the Neighborhood
Prowling the Neighborhood
Scorching the Neighborhood
Serving the Neighborhood
Straight Taste: Gay Book Bundle
Tempting the Neighborhood
Thirst
Uncovering Machismo
Untame
Uplifting Sports Romance: College Gay Bundle
Welcoming the Neighborhood
Bravado (Unexpected Attraction Book 3) Page 14