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There was no way she would recover from this. If her secret came to the surface, her future would be destroyed.
ChapterTwo
That night and the following morning, Oriana did her best to play the part of a happy, confident older sister— the woman Meghan knew. Throughout, she swam with fears and suspicions and frequently had to sneak off to the bathroom to hyperventilate.
The worst thing about receiving this notecard was that she didn’t know what the person planned next. They knew what she’d done, but how would they use it against her? When would they strike? Or were they willing to talk it out, learn why she’d done what she’d done, and back off— perhaps for a sum of money? What would stop this person from revealing her secret?
Oriana and Meghan decided to go to the Museum of Modern Art after lunch, before Oriana’s first meeting with a rich client. As they walked through the grand rooms, assessing modern art, Oriana found it difficult to appreciate anything. In fact, she’d begun to look at the people in the museum instead. It occurred to her that whoever sent the card had tracked her down at the Dominick Hotel— which meant they were following her in some capacity.Were they tracking her, even now?
Toward a big red sculpture, a man with gray hair and glasses eyed her and tugged his ear.Was that a signal?On the other side of the room, a woman in a magenta dress frowned suspiciously. Did Oriana recognize these people from anywhere?Were they from her past?
“You’ve been so quiet today,” Meghan said, not unkindly. “Still nervous about later?”
“I guess so,” Oriana lied. “Geoffrey is a difficult client to please. I researched extensively for him, but I have doubts he’ll like any of it.”
“But you have other meetings lined up this week,” Meghan pointed out. “So, it’s not like the trip is a waste if you don’t sell to him.”
“Right.” Oriana nodded in agreement.
After the museum, Oriana and Meghan parted ways for the day. Meghan was off to see an old friend from high school who lived in the city, and Oriana had her client meeting, followed by the artsy party with high-rolling dealers and fantastic artists. Oriana hugged Meghan a little too hard as they parted.
“You promise you’re okay?” Meghan asked, locking her gaze with Oriana’s.
“I’m totally fine,” Oriana assured her. “Go. Have fun. I’m jealous you don’t have to go to this swanky party. I’m sure there will be many pretentious people talking about nothing at all.”
“They’ll adore you,” Meghan said. “At least you’re not boring like they are.”
“If you say so.”
Oriana watched Meghan walk down the road, her trench coat whipping in the wind before she disappeared around the corner. Then, Oriana turned around, eyeing each and every person on the street, standing outside the bodega, and across from her, at the park.Had any of them been inside the museum with her? Did any of them seem suspicious?
Oh gosh. She was losing her mind.
Oriana’s client meeting was held on West 71st Street at a very old apartment with high ceilings and exposed brick. The man who owned it was Geoffrey Thompkins, and he’d used Oriana as his exclusive art dealer for the previous twenty years— since they’d met at a party held by the then-owner of the Mets. Geoffrey had been struck by Oriana’s wit and art knowledge and had hired her to purchase art for his new apartment, this very one. Since then, he’d needed frequent updates as he grew bored of looking at the same art every day. Oriana was pleased to help, even if his arrogance got on her nerves sometimes.
“Welcome, Oriana.” Geoffrey kissed her on both cheeks, probably because he spent too much time in France every year, and opened the door wider to let her in. Just as he often did, Geoffrey had covered several paintings on the wall with cloths, as they’d gotten so boring that they “hurt his eyes.”
“I see you’ve fallen into the same old trap, Geoffrey,” Oriana teased him as she sat on his chaise longue and crossed her ankles.
“The colors of that Henrietta painting began to burn my pupils, Oriana,” Geoffrey said.
Oriana bristled with annoyance, thinking of her half-niece, Hilary, whose eyes had genuinely failed her. Geoffrey’s jokes weren’t funny.
“I’m sure we can find something that suits you,” Oriana said, studying Geoffrey’s face, ornate glasses, and thick beard.Was that a flicker in his eye? Did he know something about the note she’d received yesterday?After all, he’d known she was coming to New York City for quite some time at this point. Perhaps he’d told whoever this was that she always stayed at the Dominick Hotel. Or perhaps he was the one who had the information in the first place.But why would he use that information now? What good would it do him?Plus, he had more money than God.
Trying to push her fears aside, Oriana brought out her portfolio to show off the various fresh artwork she now dealt with— most of which were priced in the millions. Looking vaguely bored, Geoffrey went through them, selected six or seven at random, and then instructed her to sell three pieces he no longer wanted. Normally, Oriana would have been thrilled, but nothing about this day could please her.
“I’ll see you at the party this evening?” Geoffrey asked as she stood to leave.
“I’ll be there.”
“Wonderful. I always find those people so boring.”
Oriana wanted to point out that he was one of the most boring people to attend, but she kept her mouth shut.
Back in the hotel suite, Oriana sat and stared at the notecard for a long time, her heart thudding. Nothing about the card gave any indication of who it was from. She supposed if this was a crime thriller, the person receiving the card would find a clue— a dash of blue paint on the notecard that suggested the person was a painter, or even the type of print, which perhaps could show what kind of typewriter had been used. But Oriana was just an art dealer. She had never read any Sherlock Holmes books.
For the party that night, Oriana dressed in a simple yet sophisticated black dress and styled her short blond hair so that it was especially shiny and sleek. A taxi pulled up just as she left the hotel, and she slipped into the backseat wearing a smile as she said the address of the party.
