– Which one? – I was getting curious.

– This one. – Mr. Attick held it out to me. – It won't be the subject of the exhibition.

А 4. A girl waiting for a tram. Ten years ago. One of the worst neighbourhoods in Prague. Not my favourite work, I must admit. I photographed this girl by chance because I was fascinated by her long, thick hair, slightly dishevelled by the wind. It was autumn and this girl was wearing a long black coat. Her hands were hidden in her pockets. Expressive brown eyes squinted. Hmm. And this picture so impressed the "great and terrible" sponsor that he was willing to buy all the rights to it?

– If he likes it so much, I can't deny him the joy of owning it," I said in a serious but ironic tone. – So, as you said, the name of your sponsor?

– Mr. Brandon Grayson.

My mouth dropped open, but no sound came out of it. I fell into a stupor.

– I see. – After a long pause, I let it out.

– Is everything all right? – Mr. Attick asked in a slightly concerned tone.

– Yes. It's just… I know him. He's one of my family friends. I didn't know he did exhibitions," I said casually. – How long has it been?

– This will be my seventh. Mr. Grayson is very generous and supports young talent. Like you, Miss Mroczek.

I grinned. To myself. Only a mortal would call me young.

– I'm flattered. So what about the contract? If we've got it all figured out, and I'm willing to give up all the rights and all the files for the job, I'm ready to sign and go to the hotel," I smiled.

Everything went without further ado. The contract was signed. The official opening date was set for the tenth of October.

I got into a taxi and ordered it to take me to the hotel, and called Markus's number.

– I need Brandon's number. It's an emergency," I said briefly.

Yeah, I didn't have Brandon's number. I never imagined I'd be dealing with him.

Markus had sent me the number, thankfully without further question, and I dialled it immediately. My fingers did it on their own, regardless of my desire to never communicate with Grayson. I hated him.

But I needed to know. Why he needed that picture. Because he knew damn well I was the author.

– Brandon Grayson. – I heard his beautiful, low voice.

– Why do you want that picture? – I asked in a joking tone.

Apparently, he chuckled. I could feel it.

– It's you, Maria. I have to admit, you're a great photographer.

– I know I am. So why do you want this picture?

– Did you sign the contract?

– I did.

– I don't have to answer to you.

– And I don't have to sell it to you. – His calm, indifferent tone burned me.

– You already did.

– But I still haven't disclosed the amount.

– You're right, it's about time.

I desperately didn't want to sell him my picture. No, hell no!

– How much would you give for it?

– That's not a fair question. You're the author, it's your right to set the price.

– Then I want it for… Let's say a million. – I said that high figure on purpose. I don't think he'd want to buy a small photograph for that kind of money.

– It's a decent amount for a decent job," Brandon said, as if nothing had happened.

– Are you kidding? – I blurted out.

– Is that the final price?

– Do you want that picture that badly? – I couldn't help myself.

– Do I? No. But I like its aesthetics.

– Then I'm not selling it.

– It's too late. You signed a contract. You have to sell it to me.

– You know what, Brandon? I'll sell you my work, but only because I want the damn exhibit! And you're a scumbag like the world has never seen!

He laughed.

– You make it sound like a compliment, Maria. What's the final sum?

– I've already given it. Pounds sterling.

– That's good. It's already in your account. I'll be at your hotel tomorrow, 8pm. We can have dinner together and I'll pick up my purchase.

– Don't put conditions on me," I replied irritably.

– It's not conditions, it's just routine.

Dinner with Grayson. Never. How will I be able to look at him and hide my dislike, my disgust? For my eyes will burn with hatred.

But if he doesn't care, he can take his purchase and go to hell.