Episode 1: Open book.

It's Veronica's last day in New York.

She woke up for the millionth time to fuss with the display on her art stand. No one’s bought any of her paintings yet, but the day is still young.

Veronica:- (Come on, Big Break! I need you now!)

Otherwise, She has nowhere to go except Florida, and get a “real” job, and listen to everyone say "I told you so."

Veronica:- (But I've worked too hard to give up!)

Veronica:- "Hm?"

She startled as something brushes her ankle. It's a Russian Blue cat, with a torn ear and dignified streaks of grey.

Veronica:- "Where did you come from, little lady?"

Veronica leans over to pet the cat but the cat slinks away, tail high, glancing imperiously over Veronica's shoulder.

Veronica:- (Wouldn't it be nice if she belonged to a famous art critic, about to cross my path?)

Veronica:- (Or a gorgeous millionaire who'll buy all my pieces because they speak to her soul.)

Veronica:- (Or a gallant prince from a foreign country, who'll discover me today and want to be my patron.)

Veronica:- (We'll be rich, and travel the world...and then they'll fall in love with me!)

Veronica:- (Why to limit a good daydream, right?)

She glances up when a shadow falls across her table.

The man who approached is stunning, with dark, artfully tousled hair and sharp grey eyes.

She almost falls right back into another fantasy about the Gilded Poppy and that is the guild of world-famous thieves.

Veronica:- (The news kept calling their leader the "Thief Lord" when I tuned in yesterday.)

Veronica:- (The name's kind of cheesy, but when I imagined who might fit it, it was someone like this guy.)

He's dressed like he's off to the opera, and scans her table with a regal, disinterested gaze.

Veronica:- "Hello!"

She gives him a big smile and dismisses the rest of the daydream.

Veronica:- (Maybe he can only be Nixon something or other, Thief Lord, in my head...)

Veronica:- (But he could be a paying customer in real life!)

Veronica:- "See anything you like? If you have any questions, just let me know!"

Couldn't Possibly be Nixon Something or Other:- "Oh, this already tells me everything."

He gestures at her table with a flick of his wrist, flashing the shape of a high-end glove.

Not Nixon:- "You're a recent art school graduate."

Not Nixon:- "These oil paintings are early works? There's a hesitation in your brushstrokes."

Not Nixon:- "I can only surmise your family disapproved."

Not Nixon:- "But look how you've flourished."

Not Nixon:- "You'd be quite prodigious if you didn't lack focus."

Veronica:- "Focus? Excuse me?"

Not Nixon:- "You're a jack of all trades and master of none if you'll pardon an abysmal clinch."

Veronica:- (At least I'm not the one who showed up to the park looking like a heist movie antagonist.)

Veronica:- (Isn't it a little early for a tuxedo?)

His eyes sweep over the assortment on her table again: paintings, sculptures, needlework.

Not Nixon:- "You're the sort of person who can't settle on any one thing."

Not Nixon:- "And with the softness to all your lines and bold use of colour!"

Veronica:- "It's called impressionist influence!"

Not Nixon:- "You're an idealist. A romantic."

His lip curls as he moves to touch a watercolour and then decides against it

Veronica:- "You don't have to say that like it's a bad thing."

And then he's moving on, purposefully, as though he's looking for something specific.

Not Nixon:- "These works here, with the bold black lines..."

Not Nixon:- "Not copies, per se, but a skilful homage to Amelia Pelaez, if I'm not mistaken."

The way he says it makes it sounds as though he’s never mistaken.

Veronica:- (But in this case, I'm too excited to be annoyed by it.)

Veronica:- "Yes! Are you familiar with avant-garde Cuban art? This piece is part of a study I did recently."

Veronica:- "I wanted to try melding my style with something more connected to my heritage, and..."

But he's already moved on, continuing his thought from earlier.

Not Nixon:- "Your idealist streak has given you trouble regarding employment, hasn't it?"

Not Nixon:- "No job, so far, fits your idea of what an artist's life should be."

Not Nixon:- "And now you'll have to return to a small, boring hometown and admit defeat."

Not Nixon:- "Tomorrow, judging by the crowded desperation of your setup."

Veronica:- "Hang on, Buddy."

Veronica:- (Who does he think he is?)

Veronica:- "I'm good at what I do."

Veronica:- "There's nothing wrong with holding out for the right opportunity."

That makes him smile.

Not Nixon:- "Perhaps."

The cat meows at us.

Not Nixon:- "May I ask about your art, Miss...?"

Veronica:- (So he doesn't know everything, huh?)

Veronica:- "Just Veronica is fine."

Veronica:- "I'm an open book."

The man starts firing off questions almost faster than she can answer. But he doesn't ask about her originals but he's focused on her replicas.

And the whole time, he doesn't even glance at her art. His eyes are on her, drinking her in like she's in an exhibit all by herself.

Not Nixon:- "I'm satisfied."

She tries not to blush as he halts the conversation and turns to go.

Veronica:- (He didn't even want to buy anything.)

Veronica:- "Aren't you going to take your cat?"

He pauses, fixing her with another piercing stare over his shoulder.

...★★★★★ TO BE CONTINUED★★★★★...

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