Arthur walked back inside, sliding the glass door shut, his hands trembling slightly as he placed his leather portfolio onto a hand-carved walnut ledge. Marian was waiting for him, her sharp, bright eyes filled with an amused knowingness as she watched his pale face.
“I owe you a massive, deeply sincere apology, Ms. Woodard,” Arthur said, his voice dripping with genuine reverence. “I was incredibly arrogant. I looked strictly at neighborhood data, and the floor space, completely blind to the fact that I was standing inside a living masterpiece.”
He confessed that his emails were foolish and that the $2.2 million price tag wasn’t a delusion, but an absolute bargain for her final permanent piece. “For thirty years, the art world wondered where I went,” Marian said softly, brushing her hand against the silk-smooth wall. “I was just tired of galleries.”