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But Kenny shook his head again and walked back to the bed. There, he collapsed and curled into a ball, shivering. Brea remained on the couch, completely shattered.
Oh, gosh. It didn’t make sense. It really didn’t. Brea pressed her palms hard against her eyes until she saw white spots floating in the black and traced her mind for something to do, anything that would solve this.How could she have spent today in exquisite boutiques, eaten red meat that cost an arm and a leg, and danced in a nightclub that featured mostly celebrities who had more money than God? How could she lurk in those circles, only to come home to a fiancé without enough money to keep himself alive?
She had to do something to keep him in the world with her, to keep them together. She just wasn’t sure what.
ChapterEleven
Present Day
Several days after meeting Roland and Grant for the first time, Oriana traveled to New York City on business— this time alone. When she breezed into the foyer of the Dominick Hotel, Meghan texted her, asking if she wanted to meet for lunch, and Oriana shivered with a feeling of loss and dread. Hadn’t she told her family she was off to the city for the week? Or, with the stress from the blackmailer, had she begun to lose sight of the pieces of her life, allowing herself to abandon her sister, her dearest friend?
In the elevator, Oriana texted her sister that she’d come to New York “spontaneously” and then checked her messages from Rita, the private investigator. There was nothing new to report. Apparently, Brea had fallen off the face of the earth.Great.
Although Oriana had worked for herself since she’d left New York City nearly twenty-five years ago, she was still affiliated with her first company. In this place, she’d had her apprenticeship and grown into herself as an art dealer. The company's current CEO, Gretchen Garris, was a sort-of friend, a wealthy woman in the art world who took no crap and proved her worth, even though, sometimes, that meant taking down people who stood in her way. Gretchen had asked Oriana to go to dinner with her on her first night back in the city, and, due to Gretchen’s power in the industry, Oriana couldn’t say no.
Oriana took a short, anxious nap, then rose to shower, do her hair and makeup, and dress in black tights, a black dress, and artistic earrings that hung like baubles. In the taxi to the restaurant, she reminded herself of all the important names in the art world, plus Gretchen’s husband and daughter’s names. She needed to play the part of Gretchen’s friend, at least for one night.
When Oriana approached Gretchen’s table, Gretchen stood to her full six feet, touched Oriana’s arms gently, and said, “Oh, darling. Don’t you look marvelous? That island life must be healthy for you.”
Oriana assumed Gretchen meant that Oriana wasn’t stick-thin, like New Yorker women, and that she had a bit of meat on her bones. It was probably a backhanded compliment. Still, Oriana took it in stride, knowing she could never show weakness in front of a woman like Gretchen. Once she did, Gretchen would slowly eat her alive.
Gretchen and Oriana ordered aperitif and regarded one another: two very important women in the art world, with Gretchen in charge of some of the most sought-after dealers in the city. Oriana couldn’t understand why so many of those dealers didn’t want to break out on their own, although she imagined Gretchen offered a bit of safety.
“Now, before we order dinner, I’d like to get one thing out of the way,” Gretchen began, folding her hands beneath her chin.
Oriana’s blood pressure spiked.What could Gretchen possibly need to tell Oriana about the art world that Oriana didn’t already know? Was it possible that Gretchen knew about the blackmailer? Had she begun to tell everyone what she’d done in 1998?
“All right,” Oriana said simply, her voice wavering.
“The fact is, you’ve been one of the greats in this business for just about as long as anyone can remember. And people in the art world have long memories,” Gretchen said.
Oriana’s stomach twisted into knots. Where was she going with this?
Gretchen leaned across the table, her eyes ominous. “I’ve just received word that it’s you this year.”
Oriana remained quiet.Her? This year? What?
“For the award, of course,” Gretchen continued. “The Brad Quinn Award in Commitment to Art. You’ve gone further in pushing the artistic agenda, getting names out there, and making artists rich— than nearly any other art dealer I can think of. And imagine! You’ve done all of that from that dinky island of yours.”
Oriana was speechless. She downed the rest of her aperitif and made eye contact with the waiter, wanting to order something a little harder.
“Say you’re thrilled,” Gretchen ordered.
“I’m thrilled?”
Gretchen smiled. “The award ceremony is the first week of October. Make sure you wear something absolutely iconic. I have a contact at Valentino if you want that information.”
Oriana needed to say something, to verbalize just how much this meant to her. After all, she’d given so much of her life to this cause. She’d believed in it the entire way, save for that one enormous mistake.
But worst of all, the first weekend of October was after the blackmailer’s end date. If she didn’t figure out who this was and stop it, her career would be ruined before the ceremony. Oh, gosh. She could just imagine the headlines in all the art magazines. She could just imagine their cruelty.
“I’m looking forward to celebrating you,” Gretchen said icily, making Oriana question if Gretchen cared for her at all.
“It’s every woman’s dream,” Oriana breathed, grateful as the waiter finally returned with a big glass of wine. She needed to douse her thoughts and fears with a bit of alcohol. She needed the world to go blurry for a while.
* * *
After several business meetings the following day, during which many of her clients congratulated her on her upcoming award, Oriana returned to the hotel, dressed to the nines, and headed back out into the night. She had plans to meet an old friend— and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
