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She rushed down the lane after me. “Please don’t do anything stupid.”
I whirled around to face her. “He was the one who bought it? Seriously?”
Philomena smoothed her dark hair over her shoulder. “Blake was quite taken with it.”
“Oh, he was taken with it, all right.” I paced down two parking spots and then back. “He just wants to control everything. Well, he isn’t going to have this part of me. You’re not going to cash that check.”
“Now, Grace.”
“I don’t care if I have to work for the rest of this year and next to earn back that sale, you will not cash that check.”
“I’m not going to let you do that.”
“What?” I whipped my head around. My smooth chignon slipped, and a thick lock of my hair slid down. There’d been no saving my hair after this afternoon with Blake. I pushed it back with a huff. “You can’t.”
“I can. This is my gallery.”
My eyes flooded. “Phil.”
“Don’t give me that look. You are not going to sabotage a very lucrative art deal, not to mention the buzz that your name got tonight, because of who bought the sculpture.”
“But him?”
“Grace Cordelia Copeland, you were naked with that man less than five hours ago!”
I fisted my hands. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t, but you’re in no shape to be making decisions. Do you realize you just got your first six-figure deal on a piece of art?”
“Because of Blake Carson,” I shouted.
“No, he may have been the final bid, but he wasn’t the only one who wanted that statue.”
“Then contact Thomas Barrington, or whatever his name is. Let him pay the last bid before Blake.”
“You know that’s not how these things work, Grace.”
I wanted to stomp my foot and scream. I wanted to smash my beloved angel over Blake’s damn head. What the hell was he thinking?
“If you won’t take back the offer, I’m going to go talk to him and make him rescind it.”
“Grace, what is wrong with you?”
“I can’t—” I sucked back a sob. So many people knew I’d lost the house, and about my grandmother’s will and the lack of funds. I couldn’t spell it out here.
I couldn’t see that pity on her face. Not now. Not tonight.
Everyone knew that Blake had purchased my grandmother’s house. Why couldn’t she connect the dots?
“He can’t have this too.”
Phil’s brow furrowed. Did she honestly not get it? Angry puffs of breath were the only thing between us. Finally, her hands fell to her sides. I walked backward, swiping at the angry tears that had fallen, then ran to my car.
I peeled out onto the access road and headed for Boston. It didn’t matter that it was the middle of the night. He wouldn’t be home. He’d be in his glass palace.
With each barrier to getting to him, I got angrier. Cars, pedestrians, people laughing and spilling out of restaurants to tie up roads crammed with taxis—all of it was maddening. It was a holiday weekend. The tourism to Boston was triple that of the small town of Marblehead.
My fingers ached from gripping the wheel. My voice was hoarse from screaming inside my little car. I didn’t want to see happy faces celebrating the impending Christmas season.
