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“Margaux,” he says with a voice like velvet. I picture him sitting in a leather wingback chair in some dark room of his fancy home. Maybe a glass of scotch beside him. “It’s Roman.”
“Yes. Hi.” I settle against my headboard and pull my knees to my chest.
“Hope you don’t mind my calling,” he says. “Not a fan of texting. Things tend to get lost in translation unless you use a million emojis, and that’s never been my thing.”
“Have to say I wasn’t expecting to hear from you after Friday night . . .”
He sniffs into the phone. “Figured you’d say that.”
“What, um . . . what brought all of this about?” I ask the million-dollar question.
“My aunt,” he says. “She’s like a dog with a bone sometimes. She’s insisting that we give it another try.”
My shoulders tense at the thought of relaying that tidbit to my sister.
I’ve only met Theodora twice—once in passing when I had to drop something off at Margaux’s office and another time when Margaux made me her plus-one at a company holiday party. Although I’ve spent only a handful of minutes around the woman, there’s no denying she gives off powerhouse vibes. Tall, lithe, white hair shaped into a classic bob, thick Chanel glasses, a commanding presence.
If Miranda Priestly had a slightly less intimidating sister, it would be Theodora.
Every time Margaux says she likes Theodora, I secretly wonder if she’s simply afraid of not liking her.
“Anyway,” Roman continues, “I meant what I said Friday night. I’m not looking to date anyone right now. But I’m aware I didn’t leave the best impression that evening, and after noticing your key chain, I feel I’d be remiss if I didn’t offer you a personal tour of Halcyon’s studio as an apology. I’d like to make it up to you, if you’ll let me.”
If I had a drink in my mouth, I’d have spit it out by now.
“Wait, what?” I lean forward.
I thought he was going to ask me out to dinner again—not offer me the opportunity of a lifetime . . . an offer I couldn’t turn down even if I wanted to.
Silently reminding myself I’m “Margaux” right now and not art fanatic Sloane, I collect my jaw off my lap and clear my throat.
“Wow,” I say. “That’s . . . how do you have access to Halcyon’s studio? I didn’t even know Halcyon was still around? Do you know who they are? Are they still painting? And how do you know them?”
“Yes. I know who Halcyon is, but I can’t answer any of your other questions,” he says. “You interested in my offer?”
“Absolutely. Oh my god. Yes,” I say before wincing, biting my lip, and dialing it back. Margaux would never be this excited about seeing some artist’s studio. She’d give a delayed and casual yes before backtracking and acting like she had to check her schedule, and then she’d take a day or two to confirm . . . not because she plays mind games, but because her social calendar tends to be insane. “When were you thinking?”
If I let this slip through my fingers, I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting it.
I’ll move heaven and earth to make this work.
“How does tomorrow work for you? Sometime before five? My nanny leaves for the day at six, so I have to be home by then.”
I’m seconds from giving him a resounding yes when I remember Margaux’s flying to Salt Lake City tomorrow.
“I actually have a work trip,” I say. “I’ll be back Friday, though.”
“The girls have a dance recital Friday night. What about Saturday?”
“I have a—” I stop myself before accidentally mentioning the Javier Sosa exhibition I’m hosting this weekend at the gallery. “How’s next week look for you?”
“Monday,” he says. “Four o’clock. Can you make that work?”
For a chance to see where Halcyon works their magic? A hundred times yes. I’d cancel my own funeral if it meant stepping into that sacred space.
“Yeah. Sure. I’ll move some things around and plan on that.” I downplay the freight train of excitement speeding through my body and maintain a calm tone.
Thank goodness he’s not here to see the enormous smile taking over my face right now.
“Monday it is. I’ll swing by the office and pick you up around three forty-five,” he says.
An icy flash of panic rushes through me.
“Oh, wait. I might be working from home that afternoon.” I wince as I lie, nibbling on my thumbnail and praying he buys it. Though I don’t know why he wouldn’t. “I like to catch up on emails and phone calls from home after coming back from a work trip. Less distractions that way.”
I make a mental note to tell Margaux she’ll be working from home on Monday. On the off chance Roman were to mention something to Theodora, the jig would be up, Margaux’s promotion would be officially off the table, and all this would be for nothing.
