Chapter 2

The sound of the mallet cracking down halted him dead in his tracks. It was over. Just like when he had lost her the first time, the feeling of helplessness began to suffocate him. The drawing wasn't the only thing that he had of her, but it was certainly the most valuable, the most meaningful to him, and out of anger and spite, Pierce had switched it in for the piece that was supposed to be auctioned off today. All to level the playing field.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he quickly spun around coming to face Sloane.

"What happened?"

"Pierce happened. That sonofabitch switched my mother's portrait in for the piece I wanted to be auctioned today," Tristan spat, his jaw clenching forcefully.

"Why would he do that?"

"Because I told him that I was going to submit it to this stupid fucking competition that he wants to do and I told him that, with it, there was no way I could lose."

"So, he did this just to win?"

"I also might have told him that he could never win because he has no idea what love is…" Tristan trailed off, frustrated at having to admit his role in what had just transpired.

"Shit…" Sloane responded, "let me talk to him."

"Yeah, whatever. I don't even give a damn about him now, I need to find Morgan, find out who the fuck won my drawing, and tell him that there's been a mistake."

"I'm sure whoever won it will be fine taking the other piece," Sloane tried to calmly reassure him.

Tristan just acknowledged his friend with a barely perceptible nod before turning and stalking towards Morgan who was standing off behind the stage.

"Woah, buddy, what happened?" Morgan asked as Tristan approached him, seeing the anger written all over his face.

"Who won the drawing of my mom?" Tristan demanded, not even bothering to answer Morgan's question.

"Ahh, shit. I should have known Pierce was up to no good. Dammit," Morgan replied in frustration, "I don't know why I trust that guy sometimes."

"Because he's a friend, that's why; he might be a terrible one at the moment, but it's who he is. I just need you to point me in the direction of the guy who purchased my drawing."

Even though Tristan was pissed off as fuck at Pierce, he knew that Pierce had only done this in a darkly entertaining form of retaliation, under the complete assumption that whomever won the piece would be more than understanding enough to switch it with the one that was supposed to be auctioned.

"Yeah, of course. Do you want me to talk to him? Seemed like a nice enough guy, I can explain that there was a mistake," Morgan kindly offered.

"No. In the off-chance that he decides to be a pain in the ass, I want him to know who I am, and why it's important to me," Tristan answered impatiently.

"Alright, well his name is Jack Carter and, let's see…" Morgan trailed off as he scanned the crowd just in front of the stage to try and spot their target. "Alright, there he is," Morgan nodded towards an older gentleman, garbed in a very expensive suit watching the auctioneer finish up the bidding on the last piece.

"Thanks." Tristan barely got the word out before he was off again towards the man who had just mistakenly won one of the most important things in his life.

Tristan took a good look at the man who was now the proud owner of his mom's portrait. Jack Carter. This better be as easy to get back as Pierce was expecting it to be, otherwise he really might have to murder the bastard.

"Excuse me, sir, are you Mr. Carter?" Tristan addressed the older gentleman cordially, with his most people-pleasing smile.

"Yes, yes I am. Who is asking?" the gentleman responded, his eyebrows raising in question.

"I'm with the Gentleman's Guild, if I could speak to you in private for a moment about the painting that you have just won," Tristan explained as he motioned towards the gallery exit, for where this conversation could take place.

Mr. Carter nodded, looking intrigued, yet pleased to be speaking with someone from the Guild; he followed Tristan through the crowd and out of the gallery where they could speak privately.

"Mr. Carter, I apologize for any inconvenience, but it seems that there's been a misunderstanding about the drawing that you just won," Tristan began his explanation, watching the other man's face alight with surprise, "In fact, that piece was not the one that was supposed to be up for auction tonight. There was a miscommunication and there is actually another drawing should have been auctioned in its place."

"I see…" Mr. Carter responded, waiting for Tristan to continue.

"If you would like, I can escort you to the back and show you the other piece that you have won," Tristan offered.

"I see, except I like the drawing that I won; it's the one that I bid on and I'm not willing to exchange it. I'm sorry about the mishap, but I don't quite see how it's my problem."

You fucker.

Of course, he wasn't going to make this easy. Fine, Tristan thought, at this point he didn't care what it took, he was going to get that drawing back.

"I understand. I'm willing to return your money to you, so that you can take home the intended piece at no cost to yourself."

Money always worked.

"Who are you? I'm sorry, I only know Morgan. Do you even have the authority to offer something like that?" Mr. Carter responded, suddenly concerned that someone was trying to swindle him.

"Believe me, sir, I have every authority," Tristian said firmly, his facial expression leaving no doubt as to his ability to make this decision.

"I'm sorry, it's not about the money though. I want this drawing," Mr. Carter insisted.

"I see," Tristan replied, coldly.

Looks like we will have to move on to Plan B.

"Well, I'm going to have to talk to the auction company then and see what can be done because unfortunately, I can't let you leave with that drawing," Tristan continued, coldly, giving the stubborn man a curt nod before turning back towards the gallery.

"Young man…" Mr. Carter called after him, "one moment."

Tristan didn't even bother to respond to him, he just turned and raised an eyebrow, waiting for whatever Jack Carter was about to say next.

"I would be willing to consider giving back the drawing," he began.

"What do you want?" Tristan interjected, knowing where this conversation was headed.

"I would be willing to consider it, if I could speak to the artist who drew it for a moment."

Tristan was taken aback for a moment; he was expecting a request for money or for some sort of compensation. Not that this was any better; no one knew their identities, especially not their patrons.

God, and of course he'd just been scolding Pierce about this, and now, here he was, the one thinking about breaking the Guild's cardinal rule of secrecy. Then again, what choice did he have? He needed to get this drawing back and if that meant revealing who he was to some fan who would do God-knows-what with the information, then that is what he would do.

"Fine," Tristan clipped out.

"Wonderful!" the man exclaimed, his whole demeanor changing. "When can I meet him?"

"Right now," Tristan answered, running his fingers through his hair, completely destroying its styled appearance.

"I don't understand," the man replied, perplexed, looking around the hall.

"Mr. Carter," Tristan began, his voice as cold as ice, "My name is Tristan Black, or as some in this circle prefer to call me, Titian. I am the one who created the drawing that you won and I am the one asking for it back."

Jack Carter just stared at him for a moment, in complete shock at that turn of events.

"Mr. Black… Titian… it's a great pleasure to meet you," he finally responded, extending his hand in greeting. "This piece… it's not typical of what I've seen of your work in the past few years, but as soon as I saw it tonight… it's just so moving. The love and happiness that you've managed to capture and portray is just astounding. Truly moving."

Tristan refused to take his hand or acknowledge the praise of his work. Even though he was the one asking for something, he'd already gone above and beyond all of the rules that were carefully crafted and put into place, all at this man's request; he would do no more.

"I apologize. Thank you for revealing yourself to speak to me. I was hoping that by purchasing this drawing, that I would have some opportunity at some point to make the request to speak to the artist, I just didn't expect that it would happen so soon or in this manner. I've never bid on one before so I wasn't sure what to expect."

"Mr. Carter, I don't mean to be rude, so let me explain something to you. That drawing that you have, is of my late mother. I need it back."

"Oh, dear. I'm so sorry about that. Well…ahh… the reason that I wanted to speak with you is because I have a request," the old man forged on.

"I'm going to have to stop you right there. In seven years, I've never revealed who I am to any patron, so I hope you appreciate the confidence that I've just given you in order to get my mother's portrait returned to me. I have broken our code of secrecy, but I will do no more. The Guild has not, nor will it ever take individual requests for work. We have a mission, a purpose, and that is not a part of it."

"I see, of course. I completely understand, but if you would just hear me out –"

"No, I've heard enough," Tristan responded harshly, the enormity of his recent actions really starting to sink in and the resulting anger seeping out of him, "you said that if I agreed to speak with you, you would return my drawing. I have done so. Now, it's your turn to hold up your end of the bargain."

"I see," Mr. Carter responded, his expression becoming shuttered, "I see that you will not listen to reason, which means that I'm left with no choice. I said that if you agreed to speak with me, that I might consider returning the drawing. I did not guarantee its return."

"Are you fucking serious right now? I'll just go in there and have the auction company get my drawing back and return your money. Hell, I'll sue you for it if it comes to that," Tristan spat, vengefully.

"Or, you could do a portrait of my daughter for me and I will return your drawing with no issue upon receipt of it," Mr. Carter quickly finished before Tristan walked away to make good on his threat.

Tristan stared at the man standing in front of him. For the first time in seven years, he not only revealed his identity to a patron, but was now actually considering create a piece of artwork on request.

What in the royal fuck was happening today?

He ran his hand through his hair again, angry and frustrated, stuck between a bad and an even worse decision. If he refused, who knows how hard it would be to get his drawing back, or how long it might take, especially if lawyers were to get involved. If he accepted, he would be going back on the promise that he had made to himself and the Guild to abide by the set of rules that they had set out at the start.

It's not like he's paying you for the piece, so it's not like you are profiting.

It was still a request.

This is the portrait of your mother; sometimes, exceptions to the rule must be made, even if it is just this once.

Before he could think the better of it, Tristan extended his hand.

"Fine," he all but spat, "I'll draw your daughter, but I will have your word that upon completion of her portrait, you will return that of my mother."

"You have my word," the older man said, taking Tristan's hand firmly to seal their agreement.

"She can't know who I am," Tristan continued, the potential repercussions of his choice now starting to become clear.

His secrets couldn't spread any farther after this moment.

"Of course," Jack agreed, "in return, I ask that you do not tell her what I've done to acquire her portrait."

Tristan stared back, his curiosity only slightly peaked about why Jack would want to keep something like that from his daughter, but it wasn't any of his business, and he was already far more involved than was a good idea.

"What is her name?"

"Elsa," he responded, "do you need her information? How will you contact her?"

With a sharp stare, Tristan pulled out a pen from inside his tux, motioning for Jack to give him his auction handout. He scribbled on the paper a date, time, and address.

"I won't be contacting her," he began bluntly, "have her be there for the audition." Handing him back the information, Tristan didn't bother to wait for a response, before he turned and stalked back into the gallery to find the devious asshole who had gotten him into this mess.

Even though most of the crowd had cleared out, Pierce was nowhere to be seen in the giant hall.

That motherfucker.

Even though Tristan knew that this whole ordeal was Pierce's idea of an entertaining revenge for what he had said earlier, as well as an attempt to level the playing field for this competition that he desperately wanted to win, he still couldn't believe that Pierce had done this.

God, what had Pierce been thinking? What had he been thinking?

It was his own damn fault for agreeing to the stupid competition – agreeing and then, out of frustration with his own weakness, upping the ante by mocking his friend. After a decade of being friends with the man, he should have known better not to provoke him. Pierce couldn't have known that Jack Carter wouldn't return the painting; he couldn't have known that Jack was only there to try to find an 'in' with the Guild, to personally request a portrait. He couldn't blame Pierce for that, no matter how much his anger wanted him to at the moment.

Although, if Pierce did this to make sure that he wouldn't submit his mom's portrait to the competition, then he would have had to have known that Jack wasn't going to give the drawing back, right? Tristan pinched his temples; trying to get inside Pierce's head was an impossibility. You never knew what Pierce knew and what he didn't, whether it was all part of his plan or it just magically worked out in his favor; that was the entire reason that Pierce enjoyed life, to keep those around him on edge, always guessing about him.

Either way, he was going to lay into the bastard, that was for damn sure – if he could just find him.

"Did you get it back?" Tristan turned, hearing Sloane's voice approaching from behind him.

"No," he responded, his eyes shadowing, "but I will. Where's Pierce?"

"I think he left already, something about a hot date…"

"Dammit," Tristan spat, pulling out his cell phone to dial Pierce's number.

"Also, you should know that Pierce had Bernard come up at the end of the auction and announce that the Guild would be participating in the Met competition next month."

"Of course he did," Tristan responded sarcastically.

Not that he had even thought about pulling out from the competition, especially now; there was no way he was going to let Pierce win this, after everything he had just put him through.

Dialing Pierce's number, Tristan gave Sloane a nod before walking out of the gallery again, towards the museum exit; this wasn't a conversation he wanted to have anywhere near a group of people.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Confidence," Pierce answered the phone smugly, "how are you feeling about winning that competition now?"

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Tristan responded, his voice eerily calm.

"What! Just a little fun; couldn't have you getting too sure of yourself," Pierce paused to laugh, "he seemed like a nice enough guy, the one who won your mom. I'm sure he'll give her back to you if you ask nicely."

"He wasn't willing to exchange or give the drawing back, yet," Tristan bluntly informed him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Jack Carter still has my mother's portrait and if I'm unable to get it back from him, I swear to God, you will regret the day that you met me," Tristan threatened darkly before hanging up the phone.

Let him stew over that for a little while. No need to tell him that I'm already working towards getting the drawing back.

Tristan climbed into the black car waiting to take him back to his One57 condo, dialing Morgan as he shut the door behind him.

"Hey, did you get the drawing back from Carter?" Morgan answered.

"No. I need you to set up an audition for me, Wednesday of this coming week at three," Tristan responded, unwilling to elaborate more on what had just happened in the gallery.

"What do you mean 'no'? What are you going to do? Why do you need another audition?"

"Can you set up the audition or not? I'm handling Carter."

"Yeah, I'll do it. Where do you want to have it?" Morgan gave in, exasperated.

"Same location as last time."

"Don't you think that's a bit risky? Using the Plaza again?"

"I don't care," Tristan responded, knowing that he didn't have a choice.

The meeting room and address that he had given Jack Carter were for the plaza. He didn't want to jeopardize anything by switching the information.

"Alright, if you say so."

"Thanks."

Tristan shoved his phone into his jacket pocket as he got out of the car in front of his apartment building. One57, also known as 'the Billionaire's Building,' stood impressively over one thousand feet tall, overlooking Central Park from West 157th street. Tristan had purchased his penthouse condo back in 2012, for a sum that most would consider staggering; he didn't care. It was a great location and a great space, and therefore, worth the expense.

Unbuttoning his jacket, he brushed passed the doorman with a quick acknowledgement, heading towards the elevator. He was the only person on the ride up to the eighty-fifth floor. As the doors opened, he yanked off his tie, unable to shake the frustration over the situation that he'd managed to get himself into.

Seven years…blown in one day.

It wasn't true; nothing was blown, but Tristan had always been the leader; he'd called the shots, proposed the rules, made sure that the other members of the Guild abided by the rules. He was the one in charge and he knew that if the shoe was on the other foot, if Sloane or Pierce had done what he had just done, he would have demanded that they leave the Guild immediately.

Hypocrite.

Tristan couldn't distinguish whether it was the word or the door slamming behind him that reverberated through his apartment. The layout was so open that any sound made at one end of the condo would be heard at the other end. The heels of his dress shoes clicked across the dark hardwood floor as he walked past the open-concept living room, with two large modern couches, that then transitioned into the dining room, complete with a table large enough to seat ten guests comfortably. Rounding the corner put him in the fully stocked, modern kitchen, complete with separate wine refrigerator, two wall ovens, and a Viking gas stove. Pulling a bottle of Fiji water from the fridge, Tristan chugged down a good two-thirds of its contents before setting it on the granite countertop. His palms came to rest on the cool stone as he stared out the giant floor-to-ceiling windows that covered the outer walls of the entire apartment, offering him a complete, unobstructed view of Central Park and the city.

Smacking his right hand down on the counter, he let out a yell of frustration. Stalking out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and down the hall into the master bedroom, he began stripping out of his jacket and shirt, taking them off and tossing them onto the bench at the end of his bed, as if they hadn't cost him what most people would consider a small fortune. Unbuttoning his pants, he let them fall to the ground – they needed to be dry cleaned anyway. Stepping out of them and walking into the bathroom, he turned the shower on hot, needing something to relax and clear his head.

Looking out the window above the countertop in the bathroom, he stared out at the setting sun, his brow furrowing ominously as he contemplated how to handle this entire situation without it coming back to haunt him. When he felt the room begin to steam, he climbed into the scalding water, letting it burn through him, just as the anger did coursing through his veins.

Sloane and Pierce could never know about what he agreed to do. He knew that much. Sloane, well, he wasn't as much of a concern, but Pierce, that fucker would never let this go. Not only would he never hear the end of it, but then there would be nothing to stop Pierce from taking whatever liberties he wanted with the Guild's popularity – not that he didn't try to do that already but when it came right down to it, always respected my strict adherence to the code that we had all agree upon. A code that he, the beacon of conformity, had just undermined.

He was going to get his mother's portrait back, and he was going to win the competition in spite of what Pierce had done; that would be enough retribution, on Pierce at least.

Jack Carter, on the other hand, was a completely different story.

What kind of person would refuse to give back such a sentimental piece that was acquired by accident? That was strike one. Then, after asking to meet the artist, insinuating that he would agree to exchange the portrait, and subsequently refusing to when he'd introduced himself, that was strike two.

He didn't give a shit what words the man had actually used. The fact was that how Carter said what he did, sent a clear message that if he could meet the artist, meet Titian, he would return the drawing. And then he didn't, and that was unacceptable.

Each member of the Guild each had their own process when it came to producing pieces for their exhibits. They never went into much detail with each other, but the rumors weren't completely baseless. They all formed physical relationships with the models that they chose, in order to capture and portray that depth of emotion that made their work so entrancing and unique. Not that they forced anyone; well, at least he hadn't, he couldn't speak for Pierce. The models always had a choice to leave, not that they ever did, but they could have, and he would have just picked someone else; if you knew of the Guild's work, you knew what you were signing up for as one of their models.

Although, after the first few years of the rumors and hype, the newer fans of their works seemed to be slightly unaware of what was probably involved in their artistic process. Tristan was pretty certain that Jack Carter would have never requested a portrait of his daughter if he knew what delivering on that request might entail.

The hot shower helped to remove some stress from his toned and muscular form, but it was the promise of vengeful satisfaction that would be his, that brought comfort to his tormented mind.

True, he could just draw the girl and be done with it, get his mother's portrait back, but the status quo was no longer acceptable. Jack Carter had essentially blackmailed him into going against everything that he stood for, into doing something that he had expressly agreed never to do. No one forced his hand like that without consequences.

Oh, and there would be consequences.