Page 50 of Painted in Love

Clay shook his head. “She said it in the nicest way possible. She actually got through to him, too, which is why he cleaned up his studio instead of going off on another tear.”

“But he’s good now,” Troy said. “I don’t understand the problem.”

“I’m getting there. Saskia came upstairs while I was online taking down Dylan’s horrible reviews so he wouldn’t have to look at them ever again.”

They were all silent. So silent Clay could hear T. Rex’s soft snoring as he lay in Fernsby’s lap.

He was forced to continue. “Saskia said my doing that wouldn’t help Dylan grow the thick skin that all artists need. That he has to learn to accept criticism.” He once again felt the guilt over what he’d done to both Dylan and Gareth, pushing them to put their art out there before they’d grown the thick skin Saskia talked about. “You know Gareth hasn’t painted again after he was trashed.”

“We know,” Troy said, his voice gentle with empathy. “That’s why you built your warehouses and started Art Space.”

Clay’s throat closed up, and all he could do was nod.

“Ever since,” Fernsby said, “you’ve been busily purging any negative reviews for your artists.”

Clay didn’t even nod at that. They all knew he had.

“And dear Saskia told you to stop.” Fernsby leaned forward. In fact, everyone did, turning the spotlight on Clay as Fernsby asked, “You want to discuss who is right in this matter.”

Clay pointed a finger. “Bingo.”

Dane was the first to wade in. “I read every bad review about my resorts. Many of them have good points. I’m able to fix things because of them.”

“I’ve dropped baked goods,” Gabby said, “when reviews said they were dry or tasteless or just plain gross.”

Ava leaned her chin on her fist. “I’ve added new services to my eldercare homes because reviews have told me something was lacking.”

They sided with Saskia. And they were probably right. But he still couldn’t get that row of pill bottles in Gareth’s room out of his mind, even if his friend had never actually gone through with it. Nor could he stop seeing Dylan’s ruined artwork.

Troy rocked back in his chair. “Both good and bad reviews give you direction.”

“But that’s business.” Clay heard the agony in his own voice. “It’s not like having your creativity crushed right out of you.”

Fernsby spoke then, his voice dipping into a deep intonation. “May I tell you the story of the first time I baked mille-feuille?”

“Mille-feuille is difficult to make.” Gabby looked straight at Fernsby. “Especially when it’s vegan.”

The man snorted loudly, the sound startling the dog before he turned a circle on Fernsby’s lap and settled again. “How many times, my dear, must I inform you that butter and eggs are the staff of life?” The baking rivalry between Fernsby and Gabby was legendary, and he looked down his long nose at her. “May I continue, Gabrielle?”

Fernsby never shortened anyone’s name. Thank goodness Clay was just Clay. Gabby smiled sweetly, almost baring her teeth at him.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, my first thousand mille-feuilles were rubbish. Every single person I tried them on gagged or spat them out. My reviews were terrible because my mille-feuilles were not fit for consumption. Luckily…” He raised his finger. “I tried them only on friends.”

Fernsby had a thousand friends? Clay had never seen the man with another soul. He’d never even taken a day off. Or a night.

“Had I not listened to every single review,” Fernsby intoned, “I would never have discovered what I was doing wrong, or perfected the flaky pastry with butter cream or had so many discerning critics say my—” He splayed his hand against his chest. “—mille-feuilles were to die for.”

He stared at Dane for confirmation.

Clay’s brother had to say, “They are pretty damn good.”

Fernsby snorted. “They are perfection.”

Even Clay had to admit they were.

“It’s commendable, my dear man, that you are a supportive force in your artists’ lives, that you have the money to help them, to show their work, to make sales for them. But the delightful Saskia does indeed have a point. Even on Britain’s Greatest Bakers—” Fernsby had won the top award on last year’s show and made sure no one ever forgot it. “—I didn’t always like the criticism I received, but—” He held up a finger to make his point. “—I learned from it.”

This from a man who professed he had nothing more to learn.

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