Chapter 39

“Goddammit.”

I’m muttering under my breath, but I’m pretty sure my driver for today—Ivan—still hears it.

Not that I care. I’m busy freaking out over the giant hickey Pasha left on my neck.

“‘I can mark you however the fuck I want.’” I mimic Pasha’s voice as I fish through my bag for my coverup. Thank God I keep a stash of makeup on hand for emergencies. “‘I have no regard for your professional life. Look at me; I’m big, bad Pasha Chekhov: I’ll just throw money at you because I’m a big, powerful man who simply must pee all over his territory.’”

Ivan glances in the rearview mirror and offers me a sympathetic smile. “If Mr. Chekhov gave that to you, ma’am, it’s best to leave it as it is.”

I frown. “How will he know either way? He’s not visiting me at work.”

“He might.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Is a visit on his itinerary?”

“Mr. Chekhov loves to deviate from the itinerary.” He looks up in the mirror again. “I can’t begin to know what it’s like to be in your shoes, ma’am. I just know that it’s always best to assume ‘when,’ not ‘if,’ as it pertains to Mr. Chekhov.”

I like Ivan. Something about him feels warm. Genuine. “I appreciate your concern. For now, I’m gonna take the gamble. Better to bet on his good graces than that of my employers.”

Ivan nods and leaves the issue alone. I finish blending the concealer into my skin with my fingers and, even though it’s not completely invisible, it’s nowhere near as noticeable now.

I breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s short-lived.

One problem down.

A million more to go.

Surprisingly, everything goes pretty well once I get to the gallery. Todd and Keith are in great moods, Hazel is as lovely as ever, and all in all, this is shaping out to be a decent, uneventful start to the day. Just what the doctor ordered.

Until Todd turns in his office chair and says, “We’re organizing another show for one of our more renowned artists. We’d like for you to spearhead the efforts. Should be easy. You’re familiar with the artist and his work.”

I’m all in until I hear “his.” My pen pauses over my planner. “The artist is…?”

“Conrad. He’s thinking that he’ll display⁠—”

“I’m not comfortable with taking this on.” I set my pen down and glance at Hazel, who looks like she’s seen a ghost. “Respectfully, I’m going to pass.”

Keith frowns. “Well, respectfully, you don’t have much of a choice. Your job is to curate our shows. That’s exactly what you’ll be doing with Conrad⁠—”

“Who is my ex.” I pick my pen back up to repeatedly tap against my planner so I’m not tempted to stab it through the table—or, better yet, through either Tweedle’s throat. “My lying, cheating, manipulative ex who is just this side of a restraining order.”

“Be that as it may, he is one of our most prestigious artists and brings in significant revenue per showing.”

“Which doesn’t say much about our selection, does it? Especially since this gallery’s biggest sale literally went up in flames.”

The room goes completely silent.

My job might’ve just gone up in flames, too.

Hazel clears her throat. “I can take this one, guys. Conrad won’t give me any issues.”

Todd rolls his eyes. “Both of you need to stop with the dramatics⁠—”

“An obsessive ex is nothing to be dramatic about.” Between the two of us, Hazel holds her own much better and hasn’t been testing their patience lately like I have. “I’ll make the call later today and get the arrangements going. I’m sure Daphne will be happy to trade a few projects with me to accommodate.”

“Absolutely.” I breathe a sigh of relief. Hazel, you’re a real one.

The brothers don’t look thrilled, but they don’t fight it, either. “Fine. As long as it gets done. And since you mentioned it, Daphne—make sure we vet our guest list before we send out the invitations.”

“Mr. Chekhov was a safe bet, though,” Keith mutters.

“Revisit the hired security, too. We may need to go with a new vendor.”

Hazel nods and takes notes. I just focus on calming my temper. Usually, I’m ready to curl up in the corner and assume the fetal position until all the confrontation fades away.

But lately? I’ve been feeling far more aggressive. Assertive. Fight more than flight.

The brothers end the meeting with a few final notes that fly in one ear and out the other. I just want to get back to my office and stare at the screen of my laptop for a good half hour until my brain simmers down to a silent mush.

“Thanks, Haze.” I squeeze her hand as we leave the conference room. “I owe you one.”

“Hardly. Count this as a freebie.”

But only ten minutes later, once I’m finally settled into my comfy chair and have my laptop set up, Todd pokes his head through the door. “Hazel has to field a shipment emergency. We need you to make the call to Conrad. No excuses,” he adds with a firm tone when I open my mouth to protest.

I take a deep breath. Then another.

And another.

I might as well practice my Lamaze breathing—what I’m about to do feels more stressful and painful than what childbirth might be.

But then, fuck it—just rip the Band-Aid.

The phone rings a couple times and for one fleeting, hopeful moment, I think I might be in the clear. Not my fault if he doesn’t answer, right?

“This is Conrad.”

Shit.

“Con—” I clear my throat; just the first syllable of his name lodges there like some stuck bug. “Conrad, hi. It’s me. Daphne.”

“Oh my God. Daphne!” He laughs, clearly elated. “Daphne, baby, it’s so good to hear from you!”

“Slow your roll. This is a professional call.”

“I don’t care what it is. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, and after those last texts… God, baby, I can’t stop thinking about you. I miss you.”

I glance over to where my small trash can is nestled between the desk and the wall. Maybe I should scoot closer, just in case the nausea becomes overwhelming. “Once again, this is not a personal call. Strictly professional.”

“Baby—”

“Or I can hang up and pass the showing on to someone else.”

Conrad sighs into his phone. “Fine. What do you have for me?”

Literally nothing. And I’ll continue to have nothing for you until the day I die. “We need to set a date for the next showing. They’ll want something within the next month or so.”

“Ah, jeez. I’ve been working on a few pieces, but I don’t know… You know what? Ignore that. Ignore me. I’ll make it work.”

Oh, if only. “Great. When should we pencil this in for?”

Conrad sucks air through his teeth and takes a moment to respond. “I’m really going to have to go through my inventory to see what I have. Can we meet later today? I’ll bring a catalog.”

I pretend to be flipping through my planner while I shove down the bile creeping up my esophagus. I want so much to be too busy for a meeting I desperately don’t want to have.

But, to his credit, he is maintaining professionalism. He mentioned a catalog, and nothing else. That is a legitimate reason to meet.

In view of every security camera in this place, of course.

“I have one o’clock available. Hard stop at two, though.”

I can hear his face break into a grin. “Perfect. God, seriously, you don’t know how happy this makes me, Daphne. I’m really looking forward to this.”

He’s not going to hang up first, so I do it for both our sakes.

And then I contemplate thumping my forehead against the keyboard until I need concealer for that, too.