Free I Married a Billionaire: The Prodigal Son (Contemporary Romance) by Melanie Marchande Page A

anyone for the next six weeks or so. “Hi, how are you? Oh, good, I’m just, you know, PREGNANT.”
    I glanced at the number. It was Curtis, the gallery owner who’d first given me a chance on some of my drawings. I practically had to physically stop myself from leading with the exciting news.
    “Hey, how are you?” he said, sounding tired.
    “I’m fine,” I managed to say. “Haven’t heard from you in a while.”
    “I know,” he said. He sounded like he was pulling out a chair and sitting down. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
    I frowned. “Yeah? What’s going on?”
    He let out a long, deep sigh. “I’m sure you’ve noticed the last couple shows didn’t really bring in much business.”
    “I’m not going to lie,” I replied. “But, I figured that was just a result of my waning stardom.”
    I could hear him smiling. “Well, maybe. It sure would be nice to have something to blame other than just pure inevitability. But that’s how it is. If you ask an economist they’ll tell you the recession is over, but it sure doesn’t look like that from my end of things.”
    “Uh oh.” I sat down.
    “Uh oh is right.” He cleared his throat. “I just got my lease renewal in the mail. I know this neighborhood’s been getting more and more industrial and business-oriented, and my landlord’s been wanting to be able to fill it up with something a little more lucrative - an anchor to bring in more traffic to the other buildings he owns on this block. The more business they do, the more rent he can get away with charging. He’s been jacking up my rent for ages, hoping I won’t be able to pay. But I’ve always found a way to. But this - he knows I can’t afford this.”
    “Let me help you,” I said, almost without thinking. “I mean - a loan or a grant or something. Whatever people do in these situations.”
    “You’re sweet,” said Curtis. “But I don’t want to put the gallery on life support. It just can’t keep itself going anymore. In a way, I guess my landlord’s almost being merciful by trying to cut things off quickly.” He laughed, a little bitterly. “Thing is, I can hardly argue with him. This place just isn’t a good fit for my gallery. It probably never was. But at the time, it was cheap; it seemed like the place to go. People liked it. But things have changed. It’s just not feasible anymore. I certainly don’t like it, but it’s time to face up to reality.”
    I felt a strange, sick sensation in the pit of my stomach. After all the shows I’d done, all the time I’d put into that gallery - now it was just going to shutter up? It had never occurred to me that something like this might happen.
    “This is awful,” I said, finally, in a feeble attempt to verbalize what was running through my head.
    “It is awful,” he said. “And inevitable. I’ve been ignoring it for as long as I could, but the fact of the matter is, the community of artists that used to support this place has moved on. They got their corporate jobs, or they found their success on their own - whatever pulled them away, it worked. They’re gone, and the buyers are gone…there’s just nothing that justifies keeping this place open, except my own unforgivable sentimentality.”
    I had to smile. “That seems like a good enough reason to me.”
    “I know, I know. I can’t blame you. But it’s really better this way.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I guess my point, besides just letting you know, is that you’re more than welcome to bring some pieces down that you want to sell. Closures are great for business. I’ll have some empty spots in no time, just as soon as word gets out.”
    “Thanks for the heads up.” I could barely even think about my drawings right now. “I’ll come down if I think of anything. Don’t hesitate to call me if there’s anything I can do.”
    “You’re a peach. I’ll talk to you soon.”
    I laid my phone down on the counter, trying to absorb the