EMBER - Part Two (The EMBER Series Book 2) by Deborah Bladon

Author:Deborah Bladon [Bladon, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Deborah Bladon
Published: 2015-05-16T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

"You were amazing, Bridget." Tex Henderson pats me on the back. The man is old enough to be my father and I doubt that he cares an ounce about my drawings, but when the cameras were rolling, he was my biggest supporter. He pointed out the detail in my portraits and he enthusiastically insisted that people come down to the gallery to purchase my work to support an up and coming artist.

I smile softly as I glance back at my drawings hung on the wall. "When will the segment air?"

He nods towards the cameraman he brought with him. "It looks like that will happen on Friday. It'll be in the second hour, so around half past eight. I'll text you the exact time so you don't miss it."

"That would be great."

He plucks a wayward piece of lint off his grey suit jacket. "I didn't bring it up on camera, but is there any litigation between you and the NYPD?"

Garrett, Vanessa's fiancé, had asked me about this very subject a few days after my accident. It wasn't that he thought I could pursue a civil lawsuit against the police department or the officer driving the car that hit me. He wanted to explain to me that since I had walked past a barrier and stepped onto a blocked street that I'd be facing years of expensive legal fees if I launched a suit against them. It was never my intention. I know that I was wrong and according to Garrett, I'm lucky that they didn't arrest me for failing to stay behind the police tape.

"There's nothing like that," I answer honestly. "I'm just grateful that I'm getting better."

"This has been pretty incredible, hasn't it?" He tips his chin in the direction of my portraits. "You've become an overnight sensation."

I wouldn't go that far. More than half of the drawings I kept in the box under my bed have sold since the accident, and I'm still hoping to sell more before my story becomes one of the hundreds that becomes forgotten when a new, fresh tale takes its place.

"Are you working on any new portraits?"

I glance up at his face as he asks the question. "I'm hoping to start back this week."

He gazes past me to the door of the gallery where the cameraman just exited. "I have a question but let's keep it between us, okay?"

I take a half-step back when I realize that we're the only two people left in the space. Mrs. Boudreau had run out under the guise of getting something for lunch when the camera arrived. I can tell, just by the few times I've been in her presence, that unless she's donning full make-up and styled hair, she doesn't want to be within shooting distance of any camera.

I twist my fingers together as I look towards the door. "What's the question?"

"Can I commission one of these?" He brushes past me and points at one of the framed images of a woman I drew last year outside a laundromat on the Lower East Side.

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