“What’s your pricing?” I focus on a landscape of a forest. It’s at night, but it still feels warm and inviting. Like everything is asleep around you, and you get to be at peace for once in the calmness of the night. “That one is one hundred.” “Thousand?” Pippa sputters behind me. Or maybe it’s Tommy because when I look at him, his face is bright red. “No,” he whispers, his voice scratchy. “Just one hundred dollars.” I frown. “You’re severely undercharging for your art.” “I am?” “Definitely. I already have people in mind who would pay thousands upon thousands of dollars for these pieces.”
