Chapter 29
J.T. was on the phone with one of his go-to art consultants in Rome when he heard a knock on his bedroom door.
He wanted to growl. Why in the hell was Trevor bothering him? He knew he was making calls. Vincento was going crazy about the lost Rembrandt, and he’d barely managed to get a word in edgewise.
Crawling off the bed, he walked to the door and opened it, taken aback to see Caroline. Glaring at him. She’d heard about the press release. Terrific.
The rapid-fire Italian continued to flow into his ear as he let her inside, pointing to his phone. She crossed her arms as he walked back to the bed and sat down.
“Vincento,” he interrupted. “Scusi.”
It took a few more tries, but he finally got Vincento to pause so he could tell him he’d call him back later with more information.
“To be fair,” he said, setting his phone aside finally, “you left without saying anything and I texted and called you before I sent out the press release.”
“That’s your defense?” she asked, walking toward him. “You only told me it was urgent that I call you back, not that you were going to publicize this to the entire world before we spoke. Did it ever dawn on you that I might be out to dinner?”
He could play hardball. “Did it ever dawn on you that I was serious? So serious that it might have been worth keeping your phone on during dinner?”
She shook her head slowly like she was having none of it. “You know I turn off my ringer while I’m eating.”
He stood up slowly, anger surging through him again. “You were ignoring me! You purposely went with Aunt Clara—”
“She invited me—”
“When you knew how strongly I felt about this,” he continued. “I told you we had to get the word out right away.”
“And I told you that we needed to plan this and do it right,” she said, flinging her hands into the air in frustration.
“You weren’t listening to me,” he said.
“Ditto! We need to move smartly. Or needed to. That’s out of the bag now, isn’t it?”
While he wasn’t surprised at her reaction, he still found himself crossing his arms in defense. “Caroline, this is my museum. I’m the one who decides what’s best for it, and in this case, getting the word out fast was the best move.”
Silence descended between them.
“Then why ask my opinion?” she finally asked. “Heck, why even have me as your art consultant if you’d prefer to be a museum of one.”
Her voice broke at the end, and he realized he’d gone too far. “I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I value you. I wouldn’t have hired you otherwise.”
She shook her finger at him, her whole body trembling with emotion. “No, you don’t get to have it both ways. First, you say it’s your museum and you know what’s best. Fine. But you don’t get to take that tack and then pretend to care about my opinion. I just saw your ex-wife at Brasserie Dare with her lawyer, and she told me there are going to be questions about why your aunt has been sitting on an art discovery of this magnitude.”
Shit.
“What? You didn’t see that coming? Well, I did.”
“You didn’t say—”
“You didn’t let me,” she said. “I tried to explain how I felt, but you cut me off. Your obsession with beating Cynthia to the next attack has clouded your judgment. Honestly, J.T., I don’t know what’s more important to you right now. The museum or getting a leg up on your ex. Frankly, I’m sick of it. We found a lost Rembrandt—a lost Rembrandt—and somehow you’ve made this all about her.”
He felt a burning sensation in his chest. He’d made this all about Cynthia? All he wanted to do was escape her!
“If Cynthia’s lawyer is in town, it means she’s planning something,” he shot back, “exactly like I thought. Hell, even Trev told me something was up when I got home.”
“And what was that?” she asked.
He worried his lip. “We aren’t sure yet. She moved her money to a new bank.”
“That’s it? That’s your reasoning here?”
Even to him it sounded weak, but he’d been going with his gut for three years. She was new to the Cynthia Newhouse game. She didn’t fully get it. “Please understand. I had to send out the press release when I did.”
“Then you’re going to have to answer those questions yourself because I don’t want any part of it.” She walked over to the door, and he didn’t have it in him to try and convince her not to leave. “I got fired because of your ex-wife and my name is currently dog shit in the art community. Another stunt like this, and I’m done. If this blows up in our faces, I’ll look stupid and reckless. The fact that you didn’t even take that into consideration says a lot.”
“Will you two stop shouting?” Trevor yelled out of the blue.
J.T. looked over to see his brother standing in the doorway. He’d been so intent on Caroline he hadn’t even noticed him.
“This is exactly what she wants,” Trev said, “and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand by and let her win. Let me cut to the chase here since I heard your entire conversation downstairs. Caroline, you’re first.”
She pointed to herself. “Me?”
“Yes, you. You come in here railing about not having your opinion valued. Well, that’s bullshit. J.T. tried to reach out to you. He was upset you were avoiding him. If you’d gotten your head out of your ass—thank you, Uncle Arthur, for that phrase—and called him back, he would have sent you the press release for your review.”
“But I didn’t agree—”
“To the press release,” he said in the same hard-ass tone. “I know, but my bro is right. Regardless of your personal or professional relationship, he’s in charge here. Deal with it. He’s been fighting Sin City for three years now. No one knows her strategy better than he does. Not even me.”
Hearing Trev say those things clogged J.T.’s throat. In spite of the lapse in judgment that had cost their family so much, his brother still trusted him. Caroline looked like she’d swallowed a bug.
“Cynthia moving her money around does mean something—even if we don’t understand it yet. You waltz in acting like this lost Rembrandt is some completely separate issue from the larger problem with the university, when in fact, the museum is in serious trouble. You haven’t been at those ill-fated dinners with the trustees. Well, I have, and it’s bad. Time was an issue. If something didn’t turn around quick, the museum would have been dead in the water. With the Rembrandt, you have a fighting chance.”
J.T. thought about stopping his brother. He was being hard on Caroline. But before he could even open his mouth to say anything, Trev turned and looked at him. His eyes were scorching, and J.T. knew he was about to get a verbal whipping. Great.
“Your turn, boyo,” he said, walking forward and stopping inches in front of him. “You want to deck me afterward, you go ahead, but I’m finally going to get this off my chest.” He stuck his chin out. “It’s long overdue.”
The burning sensation in his heart spread, but he kept his face devoid of emotion.
“Caroline is right. You have lost sight of your priorities. You’re not just letting Cynthia control your life, you’re also putting someone you care about—someone who does technically work for you—at risk.”
That burning sensation in J.T.’s chest hurt like hell, but he couldn’t talk. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.
“Look, this museum would be welcomed by any university in the country, and you damn well know it. Does it suck that the university Grandpa Emmits founded might not want it? Yeah. But is it worth all this? Caroline’s reputation being called into question? Aunt Clara being seen as a greedy art hoarder or a senile old bird who forgot she had a Rembrandt in the attic? People are going to start asking questions, like why would an ex-wife come at someone like this without a good reason or what could he have done to her. Dammit, J.T., I’m sick to death of this mess too.”
He made himself stand tall at his brother’s words. Anything less would have hurt his pride.
“I know you’re tired too, but you’re hell bent on doing things the hard way. Releasing the press release like this is the hard way, and God…”
When he trailed off, J.T. gathered himself enough to drill his finger in his chest. “What?”
Trev stepped back. “No, that’s enough.”
J.T. got in his face. “No, you started this. You finish it.”
“You’re fucking up the relationship of a lifetime with this awesome woman over here.” He gestured to Caroline. “Stop spending your life fighting Cynthia. She’s taken enough from us.”
His brother never called her by her real name, and his point was stronger for it. J.T. looked over at Caroline and watched her swipe away tears and turn her head away. He swallowed thickly. God, he’d hurt her and his brother again, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He walked past both of them and left the house.
He had some thinking to do.