Chapter Twenty-Two
A few nights later, the gallery was packed. The show from a multimedia artist, Celeste, had brought out everyone from art critics to avant-garde collectors to Harbor City trophy wives who were caught up in the rush of the rebellion in each piece. And when the critic from the Gazette pulled Everly aside to congratulate her on finding the previously unknown artist and helping to nurture her along, Everly could have passed out from the adrenaline rush. Well, that was if she wasn’t already half-asleep on her feet as it was. Tyler might have developed into a passable cook, but he was so good at a million other things—most of which required being naked or damn close to it—that she wasn’t getting much sleep lately.
“You look like a woman about to conquer the world,” Helene said, handing her a glass of the house white she always served at the gallery shows.
“I feel like I already have.” She took a sip, the middling wine tasting like champagne. Being giddy had that effect on her. It was weird.
Helene held up her glass in a toast. “To conquering heroes.”
Even Helene took a sip after that, which was saying something, since she often compared the gallery’s house wine to swill or worse. They watched the crowd move through the gallery, couples and small groups stopping here and there in front of Celeste’s neon pieces. The artist herself was a natural at working a crowd and had a small gaggle of people around her as she told them a story, the retelling of which involved sweeping hand gestures and—Everly cocked her head to the side and listened closely—bird calls. Okay, then.
Of course, that meant she had a minute to pump Helene for information before she had to start mingling again. “So you and Alberto seem to be getting along well.”
A hint of pink bloomed on the older woman’s cheeks. “He wants to take me to the gala this week. Of course, I told him no.”
“Why? You two seemed to get along so well on the island.” And by “well” she meant like teenagers with their first crush.
“Probably because of that,” Helene said with a firm, sure nod that wasn’t reflected in the tone of her voice. “I’m not interested in anything like that back here in the real world.”
To paraphrase the bard, the lady was protesting too much. Not that she could just go and say that to Helene. The woman could verbally take her out at the knees without blinking.
“Why do you say that?”
Helene took a sip of the wine, her face remaining neutral except for the disgusted twitch of her nose. “Because I’ve already had love, and I’m not interested in being greedy. Anyway, I couldn’t do that to the boys and my husband’s memory.”
She shouldn’t interfere. It really wasn’t her place, but…Helene and Alberto so obviously went well together that she couldn’t help but give a little push.
“It’s too bad you feel that way, because Alberto is quite a guy. He loves art, is loyal, and can make a frittata that will bring tears to your eyes it’s so good.” Linking her arm in Helene’s, she pulled the woman off to the side just enough that they could have some privacy to talk while still keeping an eye on how things were going with the show. “I know he seems like he’s nothing more than a horrible flirt, but there’s more to him than that. Has he told you the story of how his wife died?”
Helene shook her head, her eyes darkening with concern. “No.”
It wasn’t a story that Alberto often told, much preferring to let people think he was just a happy-go-lucky guy all the time, but there was something about seeing the two of them together that made Everly sure this was a story Helene needed to hear.
“It was ovarian cancer. She was thirty-two and Carlo was only four. Alberto saw her through it all, right up to holding her hand as she lay in their bed at home taking her last breaths.” He’d told her the story years ago after a mutual dark night of the soul and too many bottles of Chianti. He meant the tale to be a story of hope. It had been. “Losing her nearly broke him, just like losing Michael almost broke you.”
Helene’s sharp gaze narrowed. “Is this your not-so-subtle way of telling me I should have said yes?”
Busted.
“Like I’d ever tell you what to do. You’re Helene Carlyle, queen of the upper crust and despiser of the gallery house wine.”
The other woman sniffed disdainfully at the wine. “It really is horrible.”
She leaned in and dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s supposed to be, so people pay attention to the art instead of getting drunk on the wine.”
“I should have known you’d thought about it.” Helene chuckled and lifted her glass in a toast. “You consider all the angles almost as much as someone else we know.”
“Is that how you segue into asking me about Tyler?” She’d been expecting it ever since Key West. Helene wasn’t exactly known for keeping her opinions to herself. “We’re just having fun. It’s not serious.”
“Why not?”
Her muscles stiffened and she took a bracing drink of the house wine. Okay, this whole turnabout-is-fair-play thing wasn’t exactly enjoyable. “Because that’s not how things work out in the real world.”
“And how does it work out?”
The uncharacteristic soft sympathy in Helene’s voice was almost enough to undo her. A heavy sigh escaped, sinking her shoulders and taking her down from the high she’d been on for the past few days.
“With disappointment.” She knew it, and not only because of her nunni’s reminders.
“That’s too bad,” Helene said. “I think you two bring out the best in each other.”
Only temporarily, though. That was their agreement—just as long as it was fun. Dwelling on that wasn’t going to do her any good, especially not in the middle of a show. So after excusing herself from Helene, she made her rounds among the regulars and the newcomers. The feedback about Celeste’s work was fantastic. By the time the last few stragglers were on their way out, she’d placed discreet sold stickers on a third of the descriptor cards hanging next to each piece. Really, the night deserved a celebratory toast with a better wine than their house white.
Right on cue, the door opened and in walked Tyler with a bottle of something that was probably both expensive and delicious. He was spoiling her, and she was getting far too used to it. She was getting too used to him, too. Still, the happy buzz of butterflies riding roller coasters in her stomach didn’t abate even as she reminded herself of that fact.
Girl, you are in trouble. And what was worse, she didn’t even care.
…
Sitting at his desk, Tyler was starting to go numbers blind when a notification flashed across his screen from his assistant.
J. WEIR: There’s an Alberto Ferranti to see you.
Tyler double-checked that the door between his office and Jason’s desk on the other side was closed, then he did a fist pump. He’d been planting the seeds with Alberto, and it was all finally going to come to fruition. Not today, but soon. He’d bet money on it. All he had to do was keep things going in this direction and he’d make the deal. God, he loved it when a plan came together—especially one he hadn’t been paying as close attention to as he should have been thanks to his sexy upstairs neighbor, who managed to distract him more now than she ever had before, since she’d stopped hating his guts. Dangerous territory, that.
T. JACOBSON: Send him in.
Alberto strode in like a man who never had a day that didn’t go his way. “Tyler, I hope you don’t mind my breaking in on you like this.”
“Not at all.” Tyler got up and rounded his desk. “It’s good to see you.”
He led Alberto to the small sitting area next to the windows, taking one of the wing chairs. Alberto eyeballed the matching chair for half a second then opted for the tan leather love seat—which not only looked more comfortable, it actually was.
“You had a good time on the island?” Alberto asked.
“It’s so gorgeous that it would be hard to have a bad time.” That would have been Tyler’s answer no matter what, but in this case it was the truth. Of course, the fact that he’d spent a good portion of it naked with Everly hadn’t hurt.
Focus, Jacobson. You can’t afford to get distracted.
“Very true,” Alberto said with a chuckle before brushing his hands together like a blackjack dealer at the end of a shift. “And now we must speak business. You have ideas for the hotel expansion?”
Thank God he was always prepared for any outcome, since he still hadn’t been able to nail down Alberto on a date to present his ideas to the hotelier and the board. He bounded up from his chair, heading straight for his laptop with his presentation.
“Let me tell Jason to hold my calls, and I’m all yours.”
Thirty minutes and four million questions later, Tyler relaxed against the stiff back of the chair his office decorator had picked out. She’d insisted it looked regal. He was just glad for the extra support. Despite their time spent laughing over fresh grilled fish on the island, Alberto hadn’t taken it easy on him. The man knew his business. Of course, you didn’t get to where he was without those qualifications.
“All of this looks good.” Alberto rubbed his chin and nodded. “You’ve got quite a few unorthodox ideas.”
It wasn’t an exaggeration—but the Ferranti Hotel group was the one for them. “To make an impact, you’ll need to stand out.”
The older man’s face broke into a smile. If it had been a test, then Tyler had just passed it. “I agree, but our board of directors doesn’t always concur with me. They can be quite conservative in their approach.”
“Please let them know that my approach may be a bit wild, but my commitment to success is not.” Because he always did whatever it took to make that happen.
“That might be enough.” Alberto stood and shook Tyler’s hand after he’d followed suit. “They aren’t like us. They are what you call old money. They have rules and expectations of personal behavior that influence them in business even though the two do not have to overlap. Mi fanno impazzire!” He threw his hands up in the air in disgust. “They make me crazy.”
“Don’t worry, I understand the type well.” If he hadn’t, he never would have been able to get them to trust him with their money.
“Good, several of the board members will be at the gala tomorrow, and I’m sure they’ll be watching you,” Alberto said as they crossed to the door.
“I’ll be sure to bore them to tears.” He’d out–old money the old money if that’s what it took.
“An excellent plan. They have no tolerance for passion or excitement, only a devotion to the boring and the profitable,” Alberto agreed. “But you won’t be bored; you’re taking Everly, sì?”
And suddenly, his attention veered from imagining disapproving looks to the soft curves and cherry lips of the woman he’d spent way too much time thinking about lately. Not that he’d made any efforts to stop. Fun. It was just until it wasn’t fun and it sure as hell was—even with the lack of sleep.
Tyler grinned at the older man. “She finally said yes.”
“Good,” he said. “The best women are always worth fighting for.”
Then, with a knowing wink, Alberto strode out of his office. Tyler gave him a friendly wave as the elevator doors closed before going back into his office. That left Tyler alone to think about Alberto’s parting words. Fighting for a woman? He’d never done that. Not even when he found out his fiancée, a woman he’d thought he loved, had tried to get with his best friend. For him, the fighting had always been about moving up the Harbor City ladder so he could leave Waterbury as far behind him as possible. Did that make him smart or stupid? He wasn’t sure anymore.