Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Her eyes widened. She didn’t laugh. And his heart whispered, Please, please, please, have a sense of humor.
It was her mother who laughed and got the reference to the old-time commercial with a little boy named Mikey. Like her daughter’s, her voice was a melody as she said, “You’re far too young to remember that commercial.”
He shrugged, held out his hand, and said, “I love old-time TV. I even know who Mr. Whipple is.”
The woman laughed as she shook his hand. “I’m Flo Killian. Mr. Whipple is a bit before my time, but I do know of him.” Then she whispered, “Please don’t squeeze the Charmin.”
They laughed together. Until Michaela broke in. “My name’s Michaela, not Mikey.” Then, without cracking a smile, she added, “and it’s not Mr. Whipple either.”
Wow. Was that a trace of humor leaking through? He could only hope. But he said, “I thought it was only Mick you didn’t like.”
She scowled. “I’m not partial to Mikey either.”
Could that be a smile flirting at the corners of her pretty lips? He sure as hell prayed it was.
Then he set about introducing the ladies to everyone in the gallery.
Chapter Three
Gareth Tate’s gallery showing was a who’s who from San Francisco all the way down to Monterey Bay, including Silicon Valley.
Troy had sent a limousine—complete with a bottle of the best champagne—to pick up Michaela and Flo at the townhouse and drive them down to Carmel. And now he was squiring them around the gallery, making introductions. Though Michaela had dealt with a lot of billionaires through her work, this was different. She had to admit to being a bit bowled over by the number of amazing artists. Troy introduced them to Charlie Ballard and Sebastian Montgomery, who were both renowned for their work, Charlie as a metal sculptor and Sebastian for his ink drawings. Michaela had read in the gossip columns that they’d recently been married in Las Vegas.
Even the venue was striking. The floors were polished concrete, the walls white to show off the brilliant colors of the paintings. More artwork hung on partitions of white fabric. In the far corner of the main room, next to a long buffet table, two bartenders served mixed drinks while servers made the rounds of the gallery with trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne flutes. The ceilings were high, and so was the relative noise level. Patrons of the arts roamed the rooms, studying the work or talking in small groups.
Troy introduced the man of the hour, Gareth Tate. Tall, with short auburn hair, he wore a tailored black tux that showcased his form as well as the gallery showcased his art. Adrian Fielding, the pretty, petite blonde clinging to him like arm candy, was actually his agent. The sparkle in their gazes, however, said they were much more than agent and artist.
After shaking Gareth’s hand, Michaela said, “I haven’t had time to go through the gallery yet, but what I’ve seen of your work so far is amazing.”
Her mother added, “The one titled Self Portrait is so intense and brimming with emotion.” Then she leaned close to say softly, “I like it better than any of Van Gogh’s self-portraits.”
Gareth bowed his head slightly in gratitude, and Adrian seemed to beam with pleasure. Michaela knew her mother had said the right thing. But then, that was Flo, always with the right words at the right moment.
They were joined by another young couple, the woman with long, glistening black hair, wearing a flowery tunic sweater, black leggings, and combat boots, the man tall and dark-haired, with brilliant blue eyes so like Troy’s that he was obviously a brother.
Troy started the introductions. “This is my brother Clay—” Of course it was. “—and Saskia Oliver, who you will also know as the street artist San Holo.” Then he turned to Michaela and Flo. “And this is Mi—”
Michaela glared, knowing he was about to give her another nickname. She didn’t laugh, even though it was rather endearing. First, that he was a nickname kind of guy, and second, that he couldn’t resist ribbing her. But she couldn’t let him get away with it, and her glare cut him off, forcing him to say, “Michaela Killian and her beautiful mother, Flo Killian.”
Michaela graced them both with a smile. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Clay regarded her with speculation, probably wondering why she was here with her mother, as if that somehow had something to do with her relationship to Troy.
But until she met Gabby, the sister Troy wanted to match, she wasn’t about to reveal the true reasons for her attendance. As she opened her mouth, her mother said, “Michaela and I are such art lovers. When we heard about this showing for an amazing debut artist—” She looked with admiration at Gareth. “—we knew we couldn’t miss it.”