Page 3 of The Maverick
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 ofHope 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 Bloomis 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 fromHope 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 dippedslightly 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 withM?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?
CHAPTER TWO
ATTIKUS
