Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I flicked the lighter off and looked up.
The gallery buzzed with a hysteria only found amongst a crowd with deep pockets and a voracious appetite for the contemporary.
A sea of suits and designer dresses.
Hundreds of people strolled along the space.
My latest exhibition, Burning Desire, was the focus of attention.
Sculptures of beautiful nude women rising up from flames provided a stunning visual display. Each woman’s figure was illuminated and accentuated by flickering light.
The sculptures were made from a variety of materials—bronze, steel, glass, and marble. I carefully crafted each piece to capture the intensity of the female form.
I needed the feminine curves and contours to come to life.
The effect of mimicking fire had been challenging and difficult to achieve. I’d spent two years testing options and battling with techniques.
Finally, I settled on various components of specially designed glass flames filled with translucent reds, oranges, and yellows. Special lighting built around each sculpture continued the illusion of fire. Then, mini smoke machines enhanced the experience.
Stop it. Don’t think of all the work you put into this collection. Think of the hunt.
Sighing, I scanned the massive space.
Where could she be?
I spotted a man sauntering by me, dressed in a designer gray suit and pink tie.
A black server brought over a glass of champagne, he rudely waved her away.
Three steps later, a white server carried over a similar tray of champagne.
The man grabbed it immediately.
I quirked my brows.
Is he racist? Or did he simply realize that now he wanted champagne?
Regardless, I could tell he was an art snob.
Pretension radiated off him.
Soon he would be spouting off pompous critiques due to my sculptures not fitting his narrow definition of art.
I watched him gaze at one of my sculptures. Greed glinted in his eyes.
No. He isn’t a critic. He’s a buyer.
My disdain for him rose.
Men like him purchased art because they anticipated the value increasing over time. This would allow them to sell it for a profit. To him, my sculpture didn’t transcend his mind or make him think deeper about the world.
For him, it was stock or real estate.
He didn’t care about the blood that bled to create the work, it was all about buying low and selling high.
Another black waitress, juggling a tray full of drinks headed his way.
A devilish smile spread across his face.
I quirked my brows.
He checked around him, and when she began to pass by, he patted her ass.
What the fuck?
A surge of rage boiled within me.
I witnessed the waitress’s startled expression, the momentary pause in her stride before she quickly rushed away.
Fucking piece of shit.
No one else noticed.
But I did.
And I couldn’t stand idle.
Angry, I placed my lighter back into my pocket and stalked towards him.
The room seemed to blur, the voices around me turning into a distant hum.
All I saw was him, the grin still stuck on his face, already scanning the room for probably his next target.
I stopped in front of him, blocking his view. “Enjoying the show?”
He squinted at me for a moment, trying to place me. “And you are?”
“The artist,” I replied, my tone ice cold. “One who doesn’t take kindly to sexual assault at my showing.”
“Sexual assault?” His eyes widened slightly, but he quickly recovered, plastering on a fake laugh. “Let us not be so. . .woke. It is all fun and games.”
“Not for her,” I growled. “And not for me.”
“Look here—”
“You are lucky I am on probation due to hitting another idiot at my last showing. I apparently have to prove to the court that I am not a mad man with an anger problem.” Seething, I stepped closer. “But, if I ever catch you when no witnesses are around, I will be creative.”
He opened his mouth in shock.
“Leave.” I commanded. “Before I decide that I don’t care about consequences.”
My threat hung heavy in the air between us.
Trembling, he stepped back. “I-I was going to buy a lot. You are losing several potential sales—”
“Some things are more important than a fucking price tag.” I glared. “Get the fuck out of here!”
His face was a mask of shock and embarrassment as he slinked away.
I turned around and scanned the gallery.
Now to return to the grueling process of finding someone that won’t bore me to death at the masquerade.
On the left several women giggled and took hors d’oeuvres from one server.
One glanced my way and winked.
Hmmm.
She had silky long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. A white dress hugged her slim frame. She wore silver stilettos.
Pretty, but she didn’t intrigue me.
My whole being ached with a longing I could not name. Every fiber screamed for something that only existed in my wildest dreams, an uncharted desire that had yet to be fulfilled.
But, I had no name for it and not one description.
Where is she? What type of woman could meet my goal?
I strolled on.
Another group of women spoke on my right.