Page 48 of Break Me Beautifully
"Of course," Bradford chuckles. He clasps his hands at his chest, beaming at me. "Ready for tonight?"
"I think so," I laugh nervously. I wave my hand at the walls where Min directed four staff members I didn't know by name, all wearing matching red and black vests and pants, to hang my canvases. "I was hoping you could look at what I created. I'd love your thoughts on if I, well, I guess if I did enough. If it's what you expected."
He flicks his eyes up briefly towards the nearest wall. "Looks great," he says dismissively.
I blink. "Huh?"
"It's great," he repeats, shrugging his large shoulders. "How many are there? Eight?"
"Eleven," I say in a deflated tone. Did he not bother to count them? "Here, I sketched out some possible layout plans in case you didn't like how I arranged everything." Pulling my sketchbook from my shoulder bag, I tap the page I marked up. "I did a few concepts, actually, because I wasn't sure what was best. See?"
"I just said they're fine."
I open my mouth, unable to make a sound. No one is looking at me. Not even Marshall. Something is wrong, and I can't figure it out, but his aloof attitude is making the back of my neck hot. "Sir, please, I want your expert opinion. This is my first show, I put all of my heart and so many hours into trying to create stuff that would impress you."
"Why?" he asks.
My heart stops. "What?"
"Why would you bother with all that?" Bradford cocks his head, squinting at me with his lips pursed in a smile, as if he's trying not to straight up laugh in my face. "It doesn't matter how many hours you spent, Leona. Did you actually think you had to work yourself to the bone for this?"
I start to breathe faster. "I don't understand."
He swipes a palm over his forehead, facing the taller man. "Really, Klintock? Did you think you were being cute by not explaining this to her?"
Marshall glares at the floor. Min glances at me, her eyes shining with sympathy. My body feels sluggish, it takes me longer than it should to reach out, grabbing Marshall's wrist, squeezing, begging him to meet my confused stare. He doesn't. "Marshall," I whisper, "What's going on?"
What am I missing?
Crossing his arms, Bradford sighs loudly. "I don't know all the reasons you do what you do, Klintock, and I don't ask because you get results. But not telling her what she's getting involved in is just twisted."
"That's because she's not involved," he says, eyeing Bradford. "Let's talk. Alone."
"What am I involved in?" I ask, yanking at Marshall's arm. He's turned to stone. I can't make him budge. "Tell me what's going on! Please!"
"My pleasure," Bradford says."
"Bradford, don't," Marshall growls.
"Christ. It's too late, Klintock. Either I tell her it's a scam or you do. It doesn't matter if she knows."
Marshall rips away from me, his body lurching towards Bradford, and I think he might actually hurt him. He stops himself, hands flexing at his sides. Bradford hasn't budged. He's not worried at all.
I feel like I've been submerged in the Arctic Ocean. "What do you mean?" I ask in a shaky voice.
It's Min who answers first. "Your paintings were already sold to Mr. Mink's clients," she says calmly. There's a small, sad smile on her pink lips.
"They're important men with tons of money," Bradford says, like he's trying to soothe me. "Don't fret, you'll make a massive cut from the sales."
"Why would anyone buy them before seeing them?" I ask, my voice rising an octave. "I don't understand. That doesn't make any sense."
"Jesus, do you need me to spell it out for you?" Bradford scoffs in disgust. "Money laundering, sweetheart. Did you really think this show was aboutyou?"
Lifting my chin, I look Marshall straight in the eye. He looks back this time, but his expression is empty. I can't read him. Not even a hint. "Why would you do this to me?" I ask. "Why, if my art was going to be sold no matter what it looked like, all for some fake auction front, would you pickme?"
"Leona ..." He breathes my name, nothing more.
"Tell me," I hiss through gritted teeth.
