The Masterpiecers (Masterful #1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Dominic’s second-in-command, stands up and waves to the room. Then she gracefully lowers herself back onto the judges’ golden bench. Her silver pantsuit is as shiny as the diamond lariat that dips down the length of her bare back. She’s fifty but looks thirty, with white blonde hair cut with such precision that her hairdresser must use laser beams.
    “Dominic’s such a sleazeball,” Gill mumbles.
    “I’d do him,” Cheyenne says.
    “You’d do anyone with a pulse.”
    “I wouldn’t do you, Firehead.”
    “Good. You’re not my type,” Gill tells her.
    “Will you two please shut up?” I say, my tone sharp.
    Dominic Bacci taps his microphone to recapture everyone’s attention. “Josephine and I want to welcome this year’s top graduate—” Applause. Dominic raises his voice and continues, “Brook Jackson—” Hollers. Dominic smiles, out of pride or habit I’m not sure. “To this year’s panel.”
    Brook rises and bows to either side of the room. Deep dimples crease his jaw, which is covered in an afternoon shadow.
    When Brook sits back down and the audience quiets, Dominic walks over to a blonde whose face is so shiny, she looks like she has plastic skin. “Now let’s begin with introductions. Lincoln Vega, please stand, my dear.”
    She does, her beaded dress swooshing to her feet and gleaming like the lopsided neon sign above the pizza joint where I used to waitress.
    “Lincoln is an avid art connoisseur, who, at twenty, dreams of becoming the next Picasso. I even read in your application that you recreated his Demoiselles d’Avignon in chalk in a subway station. Shoot us the picture, Jeb.”
    The stupendously huge screens dotting the room fill with the image.
    “That’s quite a lot of talent. I even suspect not all would be lost if you don’t win. Right, Delancey?”
    “Who the fuck is Delancey?” Cheyenne asks.
    As though Dominic heard her, he adds, “Delancey’s a talent scout. He’s launched many a career. Are your parents watching us tonight?”
    Lincoln is grinning so widely that I expect her to give a shout-out to her parents. She doesn’t. “Mom’s dead. But if my dad’s alive, maybe.”
    Dominic cringes. “How indelicate of me.”
    She gives him a sweet smile. “It’s fine, Mister Bacci.”
    The camera swirls around the room, closing in on certain spectators’ faces as they utter awws and poor girl . Then it’s back on Lincoln whose green-gold eyes glimmer. She’s either about to cry or loving the attention. I’d put money on the latter. There’s something about her that blocks my sympathy. Possibly her cool, polished exterior. She makes me think of a slab of marble and you can’t feel bad for marble.
    I catch Josephine inspecting her. Unlike the others, she’s not gushing.
    “Heard the female judgewas a lesbo. Is that true, Firehead?” Cheyenne asks.
    “Just because I like women doesn’t mean I know all the lesbians out there,” Gillian says.
    I’m about to shush them when Dominic introduces the next contestant. “Herrick. That’s an uncommon name,” he says.
    “I’m an uncommon man.” He wears eyeliner and a burgundy floral scarf that he keeps petting.
    “Quite true.” Dominic smiles. “At the ripe old age of nine, Herrick was so taken with Michelangelo, he reproduced the Sistine Chapel fresco on his bedroom ceiling. Then, if I’m not mistaken, you redecorated your parents’ entire house.”
    Herrick grins. His teeth are like Chiclets, large and rectangular. “You’re not mistaken.”
    “Any pictures, Jeb?” Dominic asks. The screens flicker with a lengthy slideshow of Herrick’s house.
    “That’s nasty,” Cheyenne says, picking her nose.
    I agree with her. I wonder what Ivy thinks. I wish the camera would move to her, but it stays on Herrick’s smug face. He caresses his black pompadour hairstyle as he chats with Dominic about his expectations of the competition. I zone out because Cheyenne’s now feeding herself the booger. I clamp