Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
“No, thanks. I’ve had enough.”
He puts his tumbler on the desk. “Vero told me you’re very talented, and Vero is never wrong.”
“I studied fine arts at—”
“I don’t care about your history or background. All that matters to me is what I can see. Did you bring a portfolio?”
“I brought some examples of my sketches.” I throw a thumb toward the door and am about to say they’re in my bag in the cloak room when the doorman enters with my folder and hands it over with a formal nod.
“Oh, thank you,” I say, making a mental note to thank Vero for her foresight and consideration. It would’ve taken me a lot of time to fight my way through the people to the cloak room. Plus, I’m slower than usual in my heels.
“May I?” Ethan asks, reaching for the folder.
My pulse jumps as I give it to him. “Of course.”
He puts the folder on the desk and removes his reading glasses from his pocket. Donning the glasses, he flips the folder open and removes the top drawing. It’s one of my darker illustrations, the one depicting the human market. He places the page carefully on a corner of the desk before taking the second one out. His face remains expressionless as he lifts one after the other illustration from the folder, studying each before depositing it on the table. When he’s done, he’s tiled the surface of the desk with my drawings.
Squinting through his glasses, he scrunches up his nose and looks over the collection with meticulous attention. On the outside, I maintain calm, but on the inside, my nerves are wreaking havoc with my pulse. My heart is beating so loudly I’m worried he can hear it. I barely resist wiping my clammy palms on the skirt of my dress.
After a long moment, he straightens. “I’ll confess that I looked you up on the internet after Vero mentioned you. It helps that you already have somewhat of a cult following.”
That catches me off guard. “You traced the drawings I sold?” I blink. “How?”
“Visual matching. Vero took a photo of one of your illustrations and sent it to me.” He straightens and removes his glasses. “Don’t blame her too much. She knows I’m a difficult son of a bitch to nail down who needs more than a little persuasion.” He gives a half-smile. “I don’t usually see people in a professional capacity at social gatherings.” He waves his glasses in the air. “Anyway, you have a very particular style and theme. It wasn’t that difficult to uncover your secret work.”
Holding my breath, I wait for him to continue.
He motions at my earlier work, the darker sketches. “These are good—very good, in fact—but they’re nothing I haven’t seen before.”
My stomach drops. If he thinks my work isn’t original, I don’t stand a chance. He’s probably just trying to let me down gently.
“Now these ones,” he says, pointing at my newest collection of space adventure heists. “They are original.”
My hope rises again.
He bends over the drawings and studies them from up close. “I reckon I can work with these.”
My heart nearly bursts from my chest. “You do?”
“It’s an interesting twist on space pirates.” He lifts his head to meet my gaze. “Alas, nothing new either. But then again, seeing for how long us humans have been on this planet, is there truly anything new left? We’re simply regurgitating the same old themes, just like history tends to repeat itself.” He muses to himself, “Like hamsters on a wheel.”
Straightening, he sighs. “Some artists break every rule of reality to come up with something original, forever searching for the elusive uniqueness, but in my business, you have to consider salability. There’s only so much readers will put up with. There’s no point in selling anything, no matter how creative, if John Doe can’t identify with the protagonist or find a shred of believability in the story. Finding marketable art is an art in itself.” He smiles. “Do you get what I’m saying?”
“It makes sense. Although, to be honest, I never analyze it so logically. I just draw what I see in my head.”
His smile turns wistful. “Do you know why people read comic books?”
“Because they imagine themselves as the superhero.” I shrug. “Don’t we all want to fly?”
“Not all of us.” He pockets his glasses. “You’re young and a little naïve, but those aren’t negative qualities in a comic book illustrator. On the contrary.” He scratches his chin. “How good are you at writing?”
“I’ve never tried. I just draw.”
He turns to the drawings again, poring over them with a thoughtful look. “Can you leave these with me?”
“Of course.”
“I know a talented scriptwriter who I’d like to have a go at these.”
I cross my arms behind my back to stop myself from fiddling like I do when I’m nervous. “Sure.”