who I am. At least for today. That’s what makes art true.”
She couldn’t argue with him. It was an observation she hadn’t expected from a man of his background. Making money from art didn’t mean you understood it. Apparently, he did.
“I’m a simple woman,” she said again, daring him to contradict her a second time. “And I prefer to stay that way. If I agree to your management, there will be rules. Mine.”
He had her, and he knew it. But a wise negotiator was never a smug one. “What are they?” he asked.
“I’ll do no publicity, unless it suits me. And I can promise you it won’t.”
“It’ll add to the mystery, won’t it?”
She very nearly grinned before she recovered. “I’ll not be after dressing up like some fashion plate for showings—if I come at all.”
This time he tucked his tongue firmly in his cheek. “I’m sure your sense of style will reflect your artistic nature.”
It might have been an insult, but she couldn’t be sure. “And I won’t be nice to people if I don’t want to be.”
“Temperament, again artistic.” He toasted her with his tea. “Should add to sales.”
Though she was amused, she sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “I will never, never duplicate a piece or create something out of someone else’s fancy.”
He frowned, shook his head. “That may be a deal breaker. I had this idea for a unicorn, with a touch of gold leaf on the horn and hooves. Very tasteful.”
She snickered, then gave up and laughed out loud. “All right, Rogan. Maybe by some miracle we’ll be able to work together. How do we do it?”
“I’ll have contracts drawn up. Worldwide will want exclusive rights to your work.”
She winced at that. It felt as though she were surrendering a part of herself. Perhaps the best part. “Exclusive rights to the pieces I choose to sell.”
“Of course.”
She looked past him, out the window toward the fields beyond. Once, long ago, they, like her art, had felt like part of her. Now they were just part of a lovely view. “What else?”
He hesitated. She looked almost unbearably sad. “It won’t change what you do. It won’t change who you are.”
“You’re wrong,” she murmured. With an effort, she shook off the mood and faced him again. “Go on. What else?”
“I’ll want a show, within two months, at the Dublin gallery. Naturally, I’ll need to see what you have finished, and I’ll arrange for shipping. I’ll also need you to keep me apprised of what you’ve completed over the next few weeks. We’ll price the pieces, and whatever inventory is left after the show will be displayed in Dublin and our other galleries.”
She took a long, calming breath. “I’d appreciate it, if you’d not refer to my work as inventory. At least in my presence.”
“Done.” He steepled his fingers. “You will, of course, be sent a complete itemization of pieces sold. You may, if you choose, have some input as to which ones we photograph for our catalog. Or you can leave it up to us.”
“And how and when am I paid?” she wanted to know.
“I can buy the pieces outright. I have no objection to that since I have confidence in your work.”
She remembered what he’d said before, about getting twice as much as what he’d paid her for the sculpture she’d just finished. She might not have been a businesswoman, but she wasn’t a fool.
“How else do you handle it?”
“By commission. We take the piece, and when and if we sell it, we deduct a percentage.”
More of a gamble, she mused. And she preferred a gamble. “What percentage do you take?”
Hoping for a reaction, he kept his eyes level with hers. “Thirty-five percent.”
She made a strangled sound in her throat. “Thirty-five? Thirty-five? You thief. You robber.” She shoved back from the table and stood. “You’re a vulture, Rogan Sweeney. Thirty-five percent be damned and you with it.”
“I take all the risks, I have all the expenses.” He
She couldn’t argue with him. It was an observation she hadn’t expected from a man of his background. Making money from art didn’t mean you understood it. Apparently, he did.
“I’m a simple woman,” she said again, daring him to contradict her a second time. “And I prefer to stay that way. If I agree to your management, there will be rules. Mine.”
He had her, and he knew it. But a wise negotiator was never a smug one. “What are they?” he asked.
“I’ll do no publicity, unless it suits me. And I can promise you it won’t.”
“It’ll add to the mystery, won’t it?”
She very nearly grinned before she recovered. “I’ll not be after dressing up like some fashion plate for showings—if I come at all.”
This time he tucked his tongue firmly in his cheek. “I’m sure your sense of style will reflect your artistic nature.”
It might have been an insult, but she couldn’t be sure. “And I won’t be nice to people if I don’t want to be.”
“Temperament, again artistic.” He toasted her with his tea. “Should add to sales.”
Though she was amused, she sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “I will never, never duplicate a piece or create something out of someone else’s fancy.”
He frowned, shook his head. “That may be a deal breaker. I had this idea for a unicorn, with a touch of gold leaf on the horn and hooves. Very tasteful.”
She snickered, then gave up and laughed out loud. “All right, Rogan. Maybe by some miracle we’ll be able to work together. How do we do it?”
“I’ll have contracts drawn up. Worldwide will want exclusive rights to your work.”
She winced at that. It felt as though she were surrendering a part of herself. Perhaps the best part. “Exclusive rights to the pieces I choose to sell.”
“Of course.”
She looked past him, out the window toward the fields beyond. Once, long ago, they, like her art, had felt like part of her. Now they were just part of a lovely view. “What else?”
He hesitated. She looked almost unbearably sad. “It won’t change what you do. It won’t change who you are.”
“You’re wrong,” she murmured. With an effort, she shook off the mood and faced him again. “Go on. What else?”
“I’ll want a show, within two months, at the Dublin gallery. Naturally, I’ll need to see what you have finished, and I’ll arrange for shipping. I’ll also need you to keep me apprised of what you’ve completed over the next few weeks. We’ll price the pieces, and whatever inventory is left after the show will be displayed in Dublin and our other galleries.”
She took a long, calming breath. “I’d appreciate it, if you’d not refer to my work as inventory. At least in my presence.”
“Done.” He steepled his fingers. “You will, of course, be sent a complete itemization of pieces sold. You may, if you choose, have some input as to which ones we photograph for our catalog. Or you can leave it up to us.”
“And how and when am I paid?” she wanted to know.
“I can buy the pieces outright. I have no objection to that since I have confidence in your work.”
She remembered what he’d said before, about getting twice as much as what he’d paid her for the sculpture she’d just finished. She might not have been a businesswoman, but she wasn’t a fool.
“How else do you handle it?”
“By commission. We take the piece, and when and if we sell it, we deduct a percentage.”
More of a gamble, she mused. And she preferred a gamble. “What percentage do you take?”
Hoping for a reaction, he kept his eyes level with hers. “Thirty-five percent.”
She made a strangled sound in her throat. “Thirty-five? Thirty-five? You thief. You robber.” She shoved back from the table and stood. “You’re a vulture, Rogan Sweeney. Thirty-five percent be damned and you with it.”
“I take all the risks, I have all the expenses.” He
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