Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Gideon clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks for mentoring him. It means a lot to me.”
“Thank you for sending him my way,” Clay said. “In the world of street art, he could be the next Banksy.” Then he added, “Or even the next San Holo.”
Since meeting Dylan, Clay had studied street art more closely. It was no longer the graffiti of old—spray cans on bridges with gang symbols. It was big business, big art, both physically and metaphorically.
“He’s got talent for sure,” Gideon said. “He just needs a guiding hand.”
“I like the kid a lot,” Clay admitted. “He’s good people.”
“He’ll be aging out of the foster care system soon.” Gideon nodded gravely. “So I’m really glad he has someone like you as his mentor.”
“Anything I can do. I love helping talent like his.”
But Gideon was looking over Clay’s shoulder. “I think Fernsby wants to speak with you.” Then the man stepped away with a smile, heading back to his new wife and family.
Suddenly, Fernsby was right there, saying sternly, “Sir.” His gaze turned first to Cammie and Dane on one side of the room, then to Ava and Ransom talking with Gabby on the opposite side.
Damn. A prickle in his gut told him what was coming. Clay held up both hands in the universal stop sign, just in case Fernsby didn’t get the one-handed version.
Fernsby, however, did that expressive look again, from one couple to the other.
In the harshest voice he could muster, Clay said, “No way. You are not matchmaking for me, Fernsby. Absolutely not.” Then he pointed to Troy. “Go pick on him. He’s older.”
But Fernsby, that most resolute of butlers, did not follow instructions and head over to Troy.
Instead, he smiled. For a man who smiled so rarely that it might be considered nonexistent, it was scary. More than scary.
It was terrifying.
* * *