28
Lydia
Twelve Months Earlier
I smoothed my hands down my black corset-style dress and heaved in a deep breath.
This was my third gallery event of the season and everything was going perfectly. The catering was delicious, and even better, here on time. All of the artists that were being showcased had arrived in various states of black-tie attire. I had a local vineyard here to pass out complimentary glasses of wine to everyone who entered. And as it turned out, that was a lot of people.
“I didn’t expect such a big turnout,” Lynnette Vintier said. As the gallery owner, she was my main point of contact as I coordinated curating the art and working with the artists. We had been planning this for over twelve months, but it was really the last three months that everything started coming together.
A sense of pride expanded my chest. “I was alwaysoptimistic it would be a success,” I lied. Lynnette laughed, low and throaty. She knew that was a lie. Up until about two hours ago, I wasn’t totally convinced we would be able to pull this off.
“Mrs. Vintier, Lydia,” my boss, Dahlia, said, coming to join our conversation. “This exhibit certainly appears to be successful. Did I just see one of the Divilio paintings sell?”
“Yes, Angelo is doing very well tonight. He’s actually sold three so far.”
“And the night’s still young,” I added.
“It’s all because of our Lydia. She’s been working so hard to make sure this event went off smoothly and drumming up the excitement that brought everyone out tonight,” Lynnette said with a smile.
“Of course, Lydia’s our best curator. We would only ever assign the best to work with you, Mrs. Vintier,” Dahlia said.
“That’s good to hear, because I only want to work with Lydia from here out,” Lynnette announced.
My jaw dropped, and I had to snap my mouth closed before I caught a fly. Lynnette Vintier was a huge account for us. She had made a name for herself in the New York art scene. It was an honor to work with her on this exhibit, but I didn’t expect to have the opportunity to again.
“Thank you,” I started. A commotion by the front pulled my attention, but it wasn’t until I heard his voice that my heart sank. “Excuse me,” I said quickly, rushing away from them.
“That’s my girl who did all of this. She wants me here,” Blake mumbled, barely opening his mouth but somehow yelling.
“Hi, excuse me,” I said to the attendant at the front. It was an invite-only event, a tactic used to give a feel of exclusivity and status to the exhibition, and I hadn’t added Blake to theinvite list. “Blake, baby, what are you doing here? You said you weren’t coming.”
“I’m here now. Let’s do this.” He slung his arm around my shoulder, wafts of body odor and alcohol circling us. I gave the attendant a small smile, sliding out from under Blake’s arm and taking his hand instead.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” he shouted at one of the patrons. “Keep your eyes off my girl.” He grabbed me by the back of the neck, tugging me to his chest.
“Blake,” I warned. “Not here, okay?”
“Oh, come on, baby. You want all these losers to know you’re with me, right?” He pulled me to him for a dirty kiss. My heart was beating faster as I tried to push him away. This was so embarrassing. My boss and my client were both standing by watching as it all unfolded. Blake continued to harass and verbally assault every person in the room, ignoring all of my pleas to stop.
A well-dressed man in his late twenties glanced toward us, where I had us huddled at the back of the room, and Blake flipped. He grabbed my breast, feeling me up, while yelling at the man, “She’s mine. Don’t fucking look at her. She doesn’t want you when she has me.” He cupped his junk in a lewd display.
“Blake,” I hissed. “Get out of here. Now. This is a work event, and you’re embarrassing me.”
Dahlia appeared beside me, along with the attendant from the front.
“You need to leave,” she said. Her face was a mask of fury and disappointment.
“He’s leaving. I promise.”
“No. Both of you. Please leave.”
My eyes bounced between her and the well-dressed but well-built attendant.
“Right. Of course.” Anxiety clawed at my throat, making it hard to swallow. “I’m so sorry, Dahlia.”
“Be at my office tomorrow morning, 9:00 a.m.” She turned and walked away. The attendant did not.
