"I also applied for the individual grant," McKenna said, tossing her curtain of glossy hair. "So, no, I don't act against my own interests. Or yours. I'm here for you, Archer. I'm trying to support you."
"That's a complete turn of events from how you were a year ago," I retorted.
"I want us to be successful. We're a power couple."
"We're not a power couple," I told her. "You tried to destroy my family. You turned me against them and accused my brother of something horrible."
"I did it for you, for us! You'll see. Harrogate will win the Art Zurich Expo. I'll win the individual grant, and then the only thing standing between you and a billion-dollar conference center is me. And I want you between something else." She leaned against me, running her nails lightly down my neck.
"Never in a million years."
* * *
After the meeting with Zoey,I went to see Hazel. She was in her café sitting at a table with her laptop, typing furiously.
"They're coming in two days," she said, chewing on her bottom lip. "What if this doesn't work?"
"Of course it will work," I said, rubbing her back. "The art walk looks great."
"There are still a couple sculptures that need to go up. I swear, working with artists is the worst sometimes. I had one person on the phone with me for an hour complaining that the concrete their sculpture is supposed to be bolted on is too aggressive of a gray. Like, it's concrete, people. We're paying you for your art. Get it up and shut up."
I laughed, hugging her and planting a kiss on her head. "You know," I said. "Not to stress you out, but there's one very important thing you forgot."
"I forgot something?" she asked, tensing up and pulling away from me. Hazel picked up her clipboard and started leafing through it. Tendrils of her hair swung in her face, and she blew them away. "I thought I had everything! We have the food. You've got the gala under control. The art walk is almost done. The muralists are almost done, and I've obsessively checked the weather and lit a few spiritual candles, so it shouldn't rain. I told Ida she was not, in any way, allowed to say anything remotely sexually suggestive, and if she did, I would kick her out of the final exhibition."
"No," I said, laughing. "You need a dress!"
"A dress?" She looked at me blankly.
"For the gala?" I prompted and raised an eyebrow. "Unless you're planning on showing up in yoga pants and a crop top. Not that I would complain, but you know those snooty art-world people."
"I can't afford a dress," she said.
"I'm buying you one," I told her, taking the clipboard out of her hands and guiding her outside.
"There's a nice consignment store a few blocks over," she said once we were in my car. "It's down that street. Oh, wait, you missed it. Turn around!"
"You can't show up in some hand-me-down," I told her as I kept driving. "We're trying to win a huge biennial expo, remember?"
I parked the car in front of a high-end boutique.
"This looks really expensive," Hazel said uncertainly.
I shrugged. "Probably cheaper than New York City."
We walked in. The sales associate greeted us. "Looking for anything in particular?"
"A nice gown for the gala."
The associate nodded. "Floor-length, no train. I think that would be best," she said. "We have several new ones in from one of our exclusive designers. She makes each dress unique so that you're not wearing what someone else has." She pointed to a dress on the floor. "How would you feel about something like that?" she asked Hazel. The dress had a corseted piece with pale-purple lace. It was sparkly and showed a lot of skin. I wanted nothing more than to see Hazel in it.
"Maybe something less risqué," Hazel said.
"Or more," I suggested.
"Let's not."
"You have to be daring, Hazel," I told her. "Be the artist."
