Chapter 5: The Invitation

My phone dinged on the coffee table, interrupting my drawing. I looked at the phone, hoping to either see Emma or to get a notice from the gallery concerning my payment. Instead, an unfamiliar number flashed on the display.

Frowning, I hesitated before picking it up.

“Hello?”

“Miss Vanessa Miller?” A male voice, clear and distinct, but with a barely perceptible accent, came from the other side of the line.

“Yes, this is Vanessa,” I replied cautiously.

“My name is Julian Wright. I’m the executive assistant to Mr. Sergie Ivanov.”

I sat up straighter, clutching the phone tighter. The name sounded familiar—too familiar. Sergie Ivanov. Where have I heard that name before?

“Mr. Ivanov was recently introduced to your work at the gallery,” Julian continued, his tone professional but warm. “He was particularly taken with your painting Falling Forward. He would like to discuss a potential collaboration with you.”

I blinked, momentarily stunned. “A… collaboration?”

“Yes,” Julian said. “He’s interested in commissioning you to create a series of custom artworks for his upcoming fashion line. If you’re available, Mr. Ivanov would like to meet with you personally to discuss the details.”

My thoughts tumbled over one another in a frantic blur. Collaboration. Commission. Sergie Ivanov.

And then it hit me—the impeccably dressed man from the gala, the one who had admired my work so intently. Could it really be him?

“That's... wow,” I managed to say, with words failing me. “I mean, I’d love to discuss it, but… are you sure he’s serious? My work isn’t exactly…”

“Mr. Ivanov doesn’t make idle offers,” Julian interrupted gently. “He sees potential in your work, Miss Miller. That’s why he’s reaching out to you.”

I swallowed hard, my mind buzzing with indecision and unbelievable. “Okay,” I said finally. “When would he like to meet?”

“Two days from now, at his office in Manhattan. I’ll send you the details.”

“Okay,” I repeated, feeling as though I’d just agreed to step onto a tightrope without a safety net.

“Excellent. I’ll confirm with Mr. Ivanov and follow up shortly. Have a good day, Miss Miller.”

The call ended, leaving me sitting in stunned silence. My pencil fell from my hand, forgotten.

---

Two days later, I stood outside at the entrance of a sparkling skyscraper in the center of Manhattan, practically clutching the portfolio bag I was holding out to the outside world like the most vital anchor in a rapidly dissolving world. The structure was unrealistically high, the glass roof making its contents appear glassy due to its reflective glass exterior reflecting the sun-baked skies of a mid-morning summer through its glassy, reflective exterior.

I took a deep breath hoping to relax my nerves. You can do this, Vanessa. You deserve to be here.

The mantra was hollow, but it was all I had.

On the inside, the lobby was a hall of marble and steel, filled with the unspoken, purposeful calm of commerce. Men and women in sharp suits moved with purpose, their heels clicking against the polished floor.

I walked up to the reception desk, feeling painfully out of place in my thrift-store blazer and scuffed boots.

“I am here to meet Mr. Ivanov,” I muttered, barely able to speak. “Vanessa Miller.”

The receptionist, a composed figure with a chic bob, smiled at me nicely. “Of course. Mr. Wright will be down shortly to escort you.”

I nodded, clutching my bag tighter. Just a second later, Julian Wright strolled toward us, tall and sharply dressed, radiating an effortless cool I wouldn't have a hope of projecting.

“Miss Miller,” he greeted, extending a hand. “Thank you for coming.”

“Thanks for the invitation,” I replied, shaking his hand.

“This way”, Julian said, leading me to a separate elevator.

The ascent to the top floor was quiet and level, facilitated by the hum of the elevator which permeated the nervous tension between us. My palms sweating, my mind racing, I braced myself for whatever awaited me.

As the elevator doors opened, we stepped into a modern, clean office space bathed in natural light. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered breathtaking views of the city, and modern sculptures dotted the room like pieces in a high-end gallery.

And there he was.

Sergie Ivanov stood before one of the windows, his image striking the scene of the skyline. He turned as we approached, his piercing blue eyes locking onto mine.

“Miss Miller,” he said, his voice smooth and measured. “Thank you for coming.”

I swallowed, suddenly acutely aware of how unpolished I must look compared to him. “Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Ivanov.”

“Please, call me Sergie,” he said, beckoning me to sit down at a sleek conference table.

I nodded, settling into the chair as Julian excused himself, leaving us alone.

“I'll get straight to the point,” Sergie said, his gaze steady. “Your painting, Falling Forward, caught my attention. It was raw, emotive, and honest. and I’d like you to collaborate with me on a series of custom pieces for my next collection.”

My breath hitched. Hearing the offer in person felt even more surreal than over the phone.

“That's an incredible opportunity,” I managed to say, my voice barely a whisper. “But, I have to be honest. I'm not certain that I am the right type of person for the role. My work isn’t… polished. However, it is not that type of item that typically goes high fashion.

Sergie leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. “I’m not looking for polished, Miss Miller. I’m looking for authenticity. For art that speaks to people. That’s what you create.”

My cheeks flushed red at the intensity of his words, but doubt still gnawed at me. “I’m not sure I can deliver what you’re looking for, I admitted.

Sergie’s expression softened, though his resolve remained. “I understand your hesitation. However, I wouldn't be suggesting this unless I genuinely believed in your talent.

The weight of his belief in me was almost too much. For so long, I’d been chasing validation, yearning for someone to see value in my work. And now that someone had, I wasn’t sure I could live up to their expectations.

“Will you at least consider it? Sergie asked, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. “I… I’ll consider it,” I said finally.

A slight smile closed Sergie' mouth corners. “That’s all I ask.”

Standing up, he rose to get up from his chair, signaling the end of our meeting. I followed suit, still clutching my bag like a lifeline.

“With regards to the next steps, Julian will be in touch with you.” Sergie stated while directing me towards the elevator. “Take your time to think it over.”

“Thank you,” I said, my voice steadier now.

When I stepped into the elevator and the doors closed, I took a tentative breath, my consciousness left reeling by what just transpired.

I wasn’t sure if I was ready for this. However, for the first time in a while, I felt the faint stirrings of possibility.