Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“It’s with the Sea Dogs,” I whisper.
Everly gasps. “You’re being considered for that mural project? I wrote the press release announcing our search for local artists.”
She showed it to me last month and suggested I submit my portfolio. The team is commissioning a fun, cartoon-y mural of San Francisco for the inside of its arena to celebrate its partnerships with the city. One side of the arena’s concessions area is closed for renovations right now, and the team is hoping to reopen it with some city-centric new art. “Yes, you did. And when you mentioned it to me, I immediately told Angelina, and she said I’m already on the list.”
“You didn’t tell me,” Everly admonishes me playfully.
“I know,” I admit. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to put in a word for me. Also, I wanted to get through the first round on my own merits.”
“That’s understandable,” Josie says.
“So what’s next then?” Fable asks.
“More waiting.” I sigh. I made it through the first round, but then they cast a wider net. “But it’s fine. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m not getting it.”
“Why?” Leighton asks with genuine curiosity. “Why does this mean it won’t be you? Maybe they’re just doing their due diligence.”
“I second that,” Josie says with an I’m with her nod. “Besides, aren’t you the closet optimist? You once told me I shouldn’t be afraid to say my dreams out loud.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “You and your iron trap of a memory.”
My longtime friend stares me down. “Well…?”
“Yes,” I say heavily. “I did say that. I do believe that. It’s just…harder to believe it some days than others. And I don’t want to walk around with my hopes up all the time. So I didn’t say anything. But you can’t tell Wes,” I tell Josie and turn to Everly next. “Or Max.” Then to Leighton, whose father is the coach. “Or your dad.”
She scoff-laughs. “Trust me, I’m not going to tell my dad.”
“Good. I haven’t even told Asher.”
“Why not?” Fable asks with a tilt of her head.
Because I know Asher. “If I tell him, he’ll march up to whoever’s in charge of hiring and demand they give me the assignment.” I turn to Josie. “And I didn’t tell you at first because I didn’t want you to have to keep it from Wes. He might try to help too.”
“He would,” Josie concedes. “He can’t help himself from helping.”
I laugh. “Truer words.” I let the laughter fade and share more. “I wanted to get it on my own. I don’t want to paint the walls of the arena knowing I wasn’t truly the artist who deserved it. I want to earn it,” I admit, my throat catching.
Sometimes, it’s hard to mask my feelings. Fine, most of the time. It sucks wearing your heart on your sleeve. Which is why most of my exes are, well, exes.
If you ask Gideon, the hedge fund manager I dated last year, he’ll say I’m too emotional, too interested, too clingy. “I wish I had time for you, Maeve. But I don’t think any man can meet your needs,” he’d said. Ironic because he loved being the center of attention when we went out. Loved when I told him how handsome he was, how good he looked, and how fascinating he made the topic of finance this and ROI that. But in the end, I was too much for him. Story of my dating life.
I don’t want the Sea Dogs to pick me because I’m too needy, too desperate for the commission, which is how it might seem if everyone I know in the organization pitched me to management. I want them to hire me because they’ve fallen in love with my sketches or they can’t resist my paintbrush.
Except, clearly, they can.
I shrug, then paste on my best “moving on” smile. “Anyway, it looks unlikely, and that’s fine. When I return from Vegas, I’ll be back hustling in the art world. Angelina snagged me another live painting gig—”
“What’s live painting?” Josie, always curious, leans closer. “And why have you never told me about it before?”
“It’s becoming more popular, actually. Some people hire painters to ‘live paint’ a wedding, a party, a celebration.”
“Sounds fun,” Fable chimes in, “and also nerve-racking.”
“It is!” I say. “Sometimes people set up camp and watch you paint the whole time. Angelina scheduled one for me tomorrow night, right after I return. A fashion designer is hosting an event at his home in Cow Hollow. It should be pretty fancy, with all sorts of art world types.”
“So, it’s a networking opportunity?” Everly asks.
I shake my head. “That’s frowned upon at events like this. But that’s okay. Angelina’s lining up new gallery appointments.” With stubborn optimism, I tick them off on my fingers. “The Julien Aldridge Gallery, the Freida Claiborne Gallery…I catered for both of them. So, fingers crossed. Angelina’s also talking to all sorts of brands that are using public art. Yoga studios, dance studios, boutiques, restaurants…”