The knock startled Semele; she’d been immersed in translating. She opened her office door to find Fritz gloating like a blue-eyed Bavarian boy. She fought the urge to slam it in his face. He had wanted the Bossard account and now it was his. She couldn’t believe she had considered buying him champagne.
“Don’t screw it up,” she snapped.
Fritz chuckled and wagged his finger at her. “Temper, temper. Someone’s milk got spilt today,” he said with a heavy German accent. She gave him a withering look he seemed to enjoy. “Anything I should look at first?” he asked in a more serious tone.
“All of it?” she answered sweetly.
She didn’t include the scan of Ionna’s manuscript in the USB drive she gave him, nor did she mention the manuscript’s existence. Let Wonder Boy find that gem on his own.
He took her files. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the auction is the highlight of the year while you’re eating egg rolls.”
“You know I’m ready to kill you.”
He laughed. “Sorry, Semele. You’re just too irresistible. What in the world did you do to piss off Theo Bossard?”
She looked at him blankly. “Nothing,” she said, knowing she sounded defensive. Maybe Mikhail wasn’t being honest and Theo really was behind her reassignment.
By the time Fritz left her office, she was in a black mood. She ignored all the mail that was still piled up and picked up her mother’s letter. She may as well open it. Nothing could possibly make her feel worse at this point. It was probably a belated birthday card with a check to go shopping. Usually her mother took a train to the city to give Semele the check in person. They would hit her favorite antique markets and vintage clothing stores in Chelsea and Williamsburg for the weekend. But not this year.
Semele hadn’t talked to her mother in six months. She knew she needed to call—the holidays were coming soon. But her mother would only start crying and apologizing again. Semele didn’t know if she could take the drama. Something in her had broken the day she found the adoption papers, and she wasn’t sure it could ever be fixed.
With a sigh she ripped open the envelope to find a fancy Papyrus card decorated with kaleidoscope patterns and flowers.
Her heart sank when she saw her mother’s penmanship. She could tell by the extended word length and spacing, the height of the letters and strokes, that her mother had been drinking when she wrote this. Even her signature looked shaky and weak, and the angle slanted downward. Her writing carried all the signs of someone struggling with depression and their sense of self-worth.
Semele returned the card to the pile, wishing she had never opened it. It actually made her feel worse.
She grabbed her purse and laptop and turned off the light. Her mother, office politics, and China could wait. She was officially done with this day.
* * *
She was headed toward the subway when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number and stopped walking.
“Semele Cavnow,” she answered in a clipped voice.
“Semele, it’s Theo. I was calling to check on the delivery.”
“The delivery was fine.” Her tone hardened. “You’ll be pleased to hear I’ve been taken off the account.”
There was a pregnant pause. “What are you talking about?”
“Our senior consultant, Fritz Wagner, will now be overseeing your father’s collection, per your request—”
“I didn’t request anything.” Theo cut her off. “I don’t want anyone else handling my father’s collection but you. Only you.”
Semele didn’t know what to say. So much for Fritz’s theory. Now she had made things worse by upsetting her client—ex-client.
“This is unacceptable,” he stressed.
“Mr.— Theo, I’m sorry but it wasn’t my decision. I thought it was yours.…” She trailed off.
“No, Semele. It wasn’t mine.”
The warmth in his voice reached out to her. Thousands of miles apart and it was as though they were back in the gallery.
He let out a pained sigh. “I’m afraid I didn’t handle our good-bye as I should have. There are things I need to say.”
She waited for him to continue.
“Semele … I’m struggling.”
His admission twisted her inside. She wanted to tell him she was struggling too, and had been ever since they’d kissed. But saying so felt like cheating on Bren all over again. Instead she said nothing.
A long silence passed between them.
“Let me handle Kairos,” he said, sounding frustrated again. “I’ll call you back,” and he hung up.
Semele stood rooted on the street as people rushed past. Was Theo actually going to demand she be put back on the collection? Here she was trying to forget what had happened in Switzerland, and just hearing him say her name like that wasn’t helping.
She was sure Mikhail would figure out a way to get Theo to accept Fritz: her boss was a master at handling difficult clients. Maybe it was better if Fritz took over. Fritz would be the one to review the collection piece by piece with Theo after all the appraisals were finished; he’d be the one taking him to client dinners and holding his hand through the auction process. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like Fritz was the better choice. Theo Bossard made her make very bad decisions.
She still couldn’t figure out how to tell Bren what had happened.
The truth was, her life had been unraveling ever since she had found Marcel’s note and the manuscript.