CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Melody
I never thought I’d enjoy being in London so much or gazing at paintings and sculptures acquired from different parts of the world brought together and cleverly displayed in a large room for people to see and purchase.
I’ve never been to any art exhibition, but it’s evident that Abram’s team did a perfect job.
I’ve never seen myself as an artistic person, but looking at all the artworks in this room, I find myself getting a deeper understanding of the dynamics of life and beyond.
These artists must have put their body, mind, and soul into their works for them to emanate such an enigmatic aura that pulls the audience in. It makes me appreciate artists more, and I find myself wanting to take home some of their artworks.
Except, my bank account doesn’t support my newfound love of art.
I turn to Brenda, standing quietly beside me, engrossed in an abstract painting that looks more like a clash of colors.
“Do you like that?” I ask.
Brenda tilts her head, her brows pulled together in a deep, thoughtful frown as she seems to consider my question.
Finally, she sighs. “I’m still trying to determine if this headiness I feel while looking at this painting is owed to the fact that it has some deeper meaning that I’m yet to figure out or how it could cost such a large amount of money when it makes no sense.”
I laugh quietly.
“Maybe it's both?”
Brenda shakes her head slowly, unconvinced.
“I can’t seem to wrap my head around it.”
I chuckle softly in response.
“Hey, can you hold on to this for me?” I ask, extending my champagne flute to her. “I need to use the restroom.”
“No problem,” Brenda says, taking the glass from me. “Do you know where to find the restroom, though?’
“I’ll find my way,” I say, flashing her a quick smile.
I catch sight of a door in the far left corner of the room and walk toward it. The door opens to a long corridor with three other doors and a bend at the end of the hall.
One of them had to be a restroom. Right?
I guess I should have asked one of the waitresses to direct me to the restroom because the first two doors are just storage. Just as I’m about to turn around, I hear a familiar voice.
I pause to listen, my brows pulling up in a slight frown.
“What are you talking about?” The voice comes again, low and deep.
Abram.
I walk in the direction of the voice and stop at the last door in the corridor.
The door is slightly ajar, and my curiosity gets the better of me. I peep into the room, careful not to make any noise that will attract its occupants.
It looks like an office space, but I can’t get a full view.
Abram is standing at the window, arms folded across his chest. The pretty brunette he introduced earlier as his secretary is standing by the desk, hands on her hips.
Was her name Janet? No... June. Yes, that’s it.