The Exhibition (An Executive Decision Trilogy) (6 page)

Chapter Seven

The light over the water was changing from hues of bronze and mauve to chrome and silver when Harris and Ellis slipped their kayaks from the river and settled on one of the sundrenched rocks for the breakfast they were both more than ready for. They’d been in the river for nearly two hours now and hunger had finally driven them to ground.

‘Let’s see – BLTs on Galina’s homemade potato bread, cinnamon rolls, and some of the blackberries she picked last night. Doesn’t get any better than this,’ Ellis said, pulling breakfast for the two from one of the waterproof bags while Harris poured coffee from the Thermos.

‘Well, it beats the hell out of the peanut butter and crackers I’d have packed,’ Harris said, as Ellis handed him a sandwich. ‘Say, does Galina have a boyfriend because I think I might be in love?’

‘She’d got two, actually.’ Ellis said. ‘She doesn’t think I know it, but I hear things.’

‘I don’t mind being a third.’ Harris spoke around a huge mouthful of sandwich. ‘Not if it gets me meals like this.’

‘I’ll give her your resume,’ Ellis said.

The men ate in companionable silence, watching a pair of dippers, now fully into their molt and unable to fly until it was over. They flitted in and out of the river, as at home in the water as they were on the rocky banks. The woodland was alive with the sound of birds and the rustle of a breeze in the evergreens, all set against the gurgling backdrop of the water. It was on the second refill of coffee that Ellis spoke again. ‘So, I hear Lynn was able to find a painting that suited you at Stacie’s auction.’

‘Yep. Mountain lion. For my front room above the fireplace.’ He glanced over at Ellis. ‘I hope it makes up for my rude behavior Friday evening.’

‘I’m sure it didn’t hurt,’ Ellis said, stuffing the last of his sandwich in his mouth and washing it down with coffee. ‘And Stacie was probably happy for a friendly gesture after Jamison showed up.’

‘Jamison? What the hell was he doing there?’ He found himself feeling way more sympathy for Stacie than he’d intended. ‘Wouldn’t wish that bastard on anyone. Is she all right?’

‘He spent a million dollars on a sculpture by an artist no one heard of before. A very good-looking artist, apparently.’

‘Jesus,’ Harris said, spilling coffee onto the rocks in front of him. ‘A million dollars? What the hell is he up to?’

‘I suppose he could be thumbing his nose at me after the Valderian incident. We may have won this round, but if he can toss about a million dollars for an evening’s entertainment, it’s pretty clear the message is that it would be unwise to underestimate him. The man’s not above using people I care about to get to me.’

Harris studied him for a minute, then bit a chunk out of his cinnamon roll. ‘Stacie’s your ex fiancée.’ OK, he sounded a bit tetchy, but if Ellis was going to marry his best friend, he just felt better stating the obvious.

‘Stacie’s a good friend. She’s my friend and she’s Dee’s friend. If you’ve got problems with it, that’s just too damn bad.’

‘I don’t have problems with it,’ Harris said. ‘But just so you know, the same rule still applies until I’m certain you’ll make Dee deliriously happy for the next 50 years or so.’

‘You mean the “rip my throat out” rule?’

‘That would be the one,’ Harris replied.

‘Then you’d better find another outlet for your violent nature, Walker, because a deliriously happy Dee Henning is my new long-term business plan.’

‘It better be,’ Harris grumped. In all honesty, there really wasn’t any doubt about Ellis’ feelings for Dee. No one could be stupid enough to miss how the two adored each other.

‘So, did Stacie tell you about her run-in with Jamison?’ Harris asked.

‘Nope. Lynn did. I haven’t heard from Stacie and probably won’t till she gets back to Portland. Maybe not then.’ He raised an eyebrow at Harris’ look of surprise. ‘When are you going to get it through your head the three of us all have lives of our own now? Stacie doesn’t run to me with all of her news any more than Garrett does.’ Before Harris could respond, Ellis continued, ‘Look, Walker, whether you like it or not Stacie is friends with both Garrett and me, and now she’s friends with Dee and Kendra too.’

Silence returned as Harris thought about that fact. It still bothered him, though he wished it didn’t.

‘Stacie would never manipulate me or Garrett, nor Dee or Kendra, for that matter. Especially not where her business is concerned. She’s the best in her field. She’s the whiz kid who single-handedly arranged a major exhibition of rare works from the Hermitage in Saint Petersburg, an exhibition that saved the gallery from certain bankruptcy and closure. The woman knows what she’s doing.’

‘Look, I didn’t mean to suggest that she isn’t competent at her job, it’s just that …’

‘That she makes you a little nervous because of our history and because she’s persistent?’

Harris didn’t answer.

‘Tell me, would she make you feel that way if she were older, uglier, male?’

‘I’m not sure how to take that,’ Harris said.

Ellis shrugged. ‘I know you don’t trust her, and I can’t make you, though if you’d give her a chance, it wouldn’t take her long to win that trust.’

There was more silence. Harris didn’t know what to say.

Ellis drained his coffee cup and wiped his hands on his trousers. ‘Harris, Stacie didn’t need Jamison’s million-dollar contribution to make her auction a huge success. It was a guaranteed done deal without his help. She’s that good.’

Again Harris said nothing.

‘This opening exhibition she’s planning for New World Gallery West,’ Ellis said, ‘all the proceeds will go to the Vigilant Trust. Surely I don’t need to remind you of that. And I can promise you right now it’ll be a lot of money, a helluva lot of money, for a cause you and I both believe in. It feels to me like you’re just being pigheaded. You can’t not know this would be a good thing to be a part of.’

Harris took a deep breath. ‘Are you asking me to do the exhibition?’

‘I’m asking you to at least meet with her. Then, if you’re not impressed – well, no one can really make you exhibit with her. Not if you don’t want to. And I promise you it won’t be difficult for her to find someone else willing to take your place. You’re the one she wants, Walker, or the position would have already been very well filled.’

Harris resealed the remaining food into the waterproof bag and tucked away the flask. ‘If I listen to her proposal, will you stop nagging me about it?’

Chapter Eight

Stacie sat at the dining table in the flat above the gallery, swaddled in an oversized pair of grey sweats and a ratty undershirt. They were Garrett’s, from the days when they were still occasional friends with benefits, after they finally realized the divorce was the best thing that could have happened to them. She owned the gallery outright by then and things were looking up. Neither he nor Ellis knew about the hard years before, and she planned to keep it that way. She flipped through the press coverage of the auction on her laptop. The amount taken in had been colossal. Maggie was beside herself, since it was the first auction she’d presided over.

Even without Jamison’s not-so-welcome million, the auction had been the gallery’s most successful ever. Stacie was clearly leaving New World Gallery in good hands. Now she could concentrate on the West Coast gallery. And on getting Harris Walker to exhibit his photography. That was the next step on her agenda.

She’d just read the write-up in the
Boston Herald
, concerned that still another paper had made a critical mention of Ingrid Watson’s absence at the after-party and dinner for the artists. Not a great start to the woman’s career. Her BlackBerry rang, and she knew immediately who it was. ‘Morning, Dina.’

‘I’ve done what you asked. All the money for the gallery’s expenses from the auction’s officially been transferred from your savings.’ Before Stacie could even offer a thank you, she added, ‘I don’t like it. I know I’ve already told you that.’

‘Ad nauseam,’ Stacie managed to put in before her accountant continued.

‘But I’d be lax in my duty if I didn’t tell you again. My job is to take care of your finances and advise you wisely. That’s what you hired me to do. And I wish you’d let me do it. I’ll remind you again that, under the circumstances, we could claim bankruptcy and you’d come out with at least something to live on, but like this, and with the opening of New World Gallery West – well, your savings won’t last long, and then what?’

‘You let me worry about that, Dina.’

‘You keep saying that, Stacie, but I don’t think you understand the gravity of what you’re doing.’

Stacie rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee. ‘I appreciate your concern, really I do, but I’ve already guaranteed you’ll get paid no matter what happens.’

She could almost hear the woman bristle on the other end of the phone. ‘You know that’s not the issue. How long have I worked for you now?’

‘Long enough to trust me, I hope.’ Stacie didn’t give her a chance for further nagging about using up her savings. ‘And the other account?’

‘It’s set up just exactly as you requested. All you have to do is go in and sign for it when you get back to Portland.’

‘Good. That’s great. Now, tell me, Dina, why are you working on a Sunday morning?’ She peeked out the window to check the weather. ‘And a beautiful Sunday morning at that. You know this late in the season there won’t be many more days like this. Take the girls out on the boat or go on a picnic, go to the zoo, do something other than worry about me. I’m all right, really I am.’

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone and Stacie could almost hear her accountant choosing her words carefully. At last she released a sigh as though she recognized the futility of arguing with her client and said, ‘Stacie, if you need me … If there’s anything I can do, you know you just have to call.’

‘I know that, Dina, and I appreciate it. Believe me, I won’t hesitate if I need your help. Now, go have fun with your girls. Pretty soon they’ll be teenagers, and then they won’t want to spend time with their boring old mom, so go. And Dina … Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

The line went dead, and Stacie realized, as she laid her BlackBerry back on the table, that her hand was shaking. Now she really was in over her head. It was sink or swim, and at this point, she was really keeping her fingers crossed that she could swim even half as well as she thought she could back before this whole thing began, back when she was only planning and scheming, back when it all seemed so doable.

She poured another cup of coffee and paced the small wood floor in the middle of the studio flat that had been her home for those first few years as she struggled to get the gallery back on its feet. No, this wasn’t the first time she’d had to sink or swim. Not by a long shot. At least this time she was going in with her eyes open. Not like back then. She leaned against the kitchen counter and let the thick morning light bathe her face, her eyes open just enough to see the slight motion of the lace curtains on the soft breeze that felt more like spring than autumn.

When she let herself into the flat that day, he had been standing there, the halo of that heavy, lazy light surrounding him, making him look like an angel, or maybe an apparition. Her gasp of surprise caused him to turn just enough that his face was in shadow, and he could have been anyone for an instant, except for the scent, except for the power of his presence that always filled any space he entered so there was room for nothing else. Come to think of it, he could have never been mistaken for anyone else. She would have known the feel of him anywhere. Then he moved forward out of the shadow, offering her a reassuring smile.

‘I’m sorry, Stacie. I didn’t mean to startle you. Zoe gave me a key to the flat a long time ago, and I forgot that this is no longer gallery property. This is your home. Please forgive the intrusion.’ He bowed his head in what, on anyone else, would have passed as an act of humility. Then he offered her a smile that made her feel things; the hammering in her chest that made her want to run away, the pulsing low in her belly that made her want to stay.

‘On the other hand –’ he stepped closer ‘– it is beginning to seem like if I want to see you I have to break into your flat to do it. If I didn’t know just how busy you’ve been with the gallery, I’d think you were avoiding me.’

‘I’ve been busy.’ She repeated his words, sounding breathless and slightly idiotic. ‘Where’s Zoe?’ she asked, fighting back the urge to run and close the door behind her. She hung her jacket on the peg in the hall and glanced at her watch. ‘What’s going on? I told her I had lunch with the rep from Americans for the Arts before our meeting. Didn’t she tell you we’d meet in her office?’

‘She told me, Stacie.’ His gaze felt like it would bore right through her. It made her squirm; made her feel as though she’d somehow done something wrong and he was here to punish her. Or maybe it felt like she’d done something very right and he was here to reward her. She felt wrong-footed having him here in her private space uninvited, having him here in a space that reminded her how tenuous her life in New York really was, no matter who she rubbed shoulders with. She’d been to Jamison’s penthouse suite. The bathroom alone was bigger than her whole flat; and it wasn’t really her flat. It was the space she stayed in, the place for her meager possessions, the only place she could escape to. But then again, why shouldn’t he come in without asking permission? After all, at least for now, the place technically belonged to him.

‘Darling, Zoe won’t be at the meeting today, and I didn’t have the key to her office. That’s why I came here.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Stacie said.

‘Oh, I think you do.’ He moved into her personal space and smoothed a strand of hair away from her face. His touch felt electric against her skin, like it always did; slightly disturbing; intriguingly arousing. ‘I think we both do, dear. Zoe’s drunk. Very drunk.’ Before Stacie could protest, he placed a cool finger against her lips and shushed her as he might a child. ‘I know, we’ve both made excuses for Zoe – Zoe’s sick, Zoe’s exhausted, Zoe’s too busy to attend – but we both know, we’ve both known for a long time that Zoe’s a drunk.’

Stacie’s face burned with embarrassment for her friend, but when she started to speak, he shushed her again, still holding her in the ice blue of his gaze. ‘I understand that Zoe’s alcoholism is an illness, believe me I do, but no one can force her into recovery, can they? And honestly, darling –’ he made a sweeping gesture to include the whole gallery ‘– we both know Zoe’s the reason the gallery’s in such bad financial straits. She’s made poor, incompetent decisions that a sober person, a stable person, would never make. We all know how much she depends on you now.’ He took her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. ‘You’re the salvation of this gallery. She knows it, and I know it. Everyone knows it.’

Stacie stepped back, finding it strangely difficult to breathe. Trying to remain casual, she straightened her shirt and offered her best business smile. ‘While it may be true that Zoe’s going through a rough patch at the moment, the gallery’s never done better. You’ve said it yourself, the last four exhibitions have all made money, and every one of them has gotten the right kind of attention it’ll take to move the gallery into the limelight, to make it even stronger and better than it is. Whatever Zoe’s problems are now, the gallery is here because of her, and I have a job because of her.’

‘The gallery’s her inheritance, Stacie, and don’t tell me you don’t know that. I know the two of you were childhood friends. The gallery’s Zoe’s because her parents left it to her.’

‘Maybe so,’ Stacie said. ‘But she’s kept the doors open through difficult times. Anyone can struggle, Terrance. You know that. I’ve seen the books. I’ve seen how things have improved in the last year. And I’ll do what I have to do until Zoe’s better.’

His look of pity took her totally by surprise as he tut-tutted her in the same condescending way he would a child. ‘Stacie, come, sit down. The reason I’m here is to show you the real situation, to show you what your dear friend hasn’t had the courage to.’ He took her hand and guided her to sit at the dining table where there was a black leather portfolio with the Omega Trust logo embossed in small gold letters at the lower right-hand corner.

Once she was seated, he opened the portfolio and sat by quietly while she read, her world collapsing around her in a mountain of debt she could have scarcely imagined, a mountain of debt all owed to the Omega Trust. And now half of that debt officially belonged to her.

‘This can’t possibly be right,’ she said when she was finally certain she could open her mouth without being sick. ‘Zoe didn’t show me this. She didn’t show me any of this or I would have never … and you … you didn’t say anything, even though you knew.’

Terrance looked deeply sympathetic, heartbroken almost. ‘I thought you knew, darling. I really thought you did. And I confess, I had hopes, I had real hopes that you could help Zoe out of whatever funk she’s in and that the two of you together could turn the gallery around, get out from under the debt. And then I realized she’d not been completely honest with you; that she hadn’t told you what the real situation was or surely you would have never come on board.’

She tried to push away from the table, but he grabbed her hand and held her there with the damning pages in the portfolio staring back at her. How stupid could she have been to trust to the situation without checking it out in more detail? How stupid? But she had wanted it all so damned badly and … she had wanted to please Jamison. As much as she hated to admit it, she had wanted, even needed his approval.

‘Listen to me, darling,’ he was saying, stroking her fingers in that same way, that same disturbing way that made her feel like he was way more intimate with her than she’d given him permission to be and yet not nearly as intimate as she pictured in her wild dreams. ‘Listen to me; don’t you understand? Your debt, yours and Zoe’s, is with the Omega Trust.’ He laid a hand against his chest. ‘
I’m
Omega Trust, Stacie. I’m the one who can make it easier for you.’ He lowered his gaze slightly; another attempt at humility for a man who’d never had to be humble. ‘All you have to do is not make it harder on yourself.’ He brought her hand to his lips and lingered there in a kiss that sent shivers up her spine. ‘Oh, I know it won’t be easy. Nothing worth doing ever is.’ He scooted his chair closer to hers, so close that she could feel his breath against the bare skin where the buttons of her blouse came together, hunched as he was, almost as though he were a knight petitioning his lady. Almost.

‘Stacie, if you’ll just trust me, just work with me on this, I’ll help you get through it.’ He laid a hand on her thigh, again no more than a parent soothing an upset child. ‘Together we can get through this and, in the process, maybe we can help Zoe too.’ He gave her thigh the gentlest of strokes through the fabric of her black wool skirt. ‘Obviously we can’t count on her help at the moment. She’s ill, darling, and we have to do our part to pick up the slack and to encourage her to seek the help she needs.’ He cupped her cheek, then ran a thumb along her bottom lip, and her insides felt as though they had been shocked into attention, knotted tight in anticipation. ‘It’s all right, darling,’ he said as he scooted still closer, his knee exerting an almost negligible press between hers, where they rested against each other just below the hem of the skirt. ‘I promise I’ll help you through this.’ His lips brushed hers, his fingers sliding down the side of her throat to the collar of her blouse and to the top button.

Stacie had no idea what might have happened if the phone hadn’t rung just then. She bolted backward, screeching the legs of her chair across the wood floor, ‘It might be Zoe,’ she managed breathlessly.

It hadn’t been Zoe. It had been Al Marston, and for the first time since she’d met the man, she was glad to hear his loud, jarring accent on the other end of the phone. The invitation he had extended for coffee she had managed to spin into an urgent meeting, and though it was clear Jamison wasn’t pleased, he could hardly interfere with the doing of business by a firm that owed him money. That meeting with Al Marston had been the beginning of a long friendship at a time in her life when she desperately needed a friend.

As Stacie struggled to deal with Zoe’s death and … everything else, she had meticulously paid off all the gallery’s debts, but the debt of gratitude she owed to Al Marston was one she knew she could never repay. She wondered if the man had any idea just what a lifeline he’d been to her.