“Even I don’t want a Dali. The work of a certifiable madman would not present well over the mantle.”
“Exactly my thought. Also, Amanda has arranged for the limo to pick you up at noon tomorrow. It shouldn’t take you more than three hours to get out to Westhampton Beach. Please be ready. Taylor really hates it when you mess up his schedule.”
“And yet, he’s always late. Will you be arriving Friday night?”
“No. You know how I hate that saccharine wedding rehearsal shit. I’m taking a charter flight out after a breakfast meeting with a prospective client on Saturday.”
“Saturday? Oh, c’mon! The wedding is Saturday! Need I remind you of my role in the ceremony?” Caroline balked.
“I am more than aware when the wedding is and that you’re the maid of honor. You have my word. I’ll be there, just later than expected, and yes, I’ll make it clear to everyone you are my fiancée, the woman I love more than life itself. And that I’m happy to spend a million five on our over-priced society wedding.”
“Good. I’m expecting an Oscar-winning performance, darling! Ta-ta!”
He rolled his eyes, then clicked off the call. Leaning back, he considered the stressed tone in her voice. After all these years, hecould tell when Beanz lied. She was born a liar, and he was born to detect bullshit. This was the second time now that she didn’t want him to go to the gallery with her. Why? Perhaps she was having one last fling, which in itself wasn’t earth-shattering, but why risk stressing things so close to their nuptials? She’d always been careful to keep her hook ups on the DL, and he appreciated that. Hell, he certainly didn’t expect her to be entirely faithful once they got married, but he knew she’d pursue her dalliances out of the country and double protected. Both clauses were in The Marriage Pact.
“Hey, Amanda,” he called out to his assistant.
“Yes, Mr. Darcy,” she said coming into his office.
“I’ll be out of the office for the rest of the morning. Please forward all my calls, especially Chase Intelligence. I’m expecting their decision, and I want to wrap it up before I leave for the Hamptons.”
“Yes, sir. Will you be back this afternoon? You have a dinner meeting at seven with Empire Shores Resorts at The Reading Room. Do you want me to cancel?”
“I’ll be back, and I’ll keep the dinner meeting. I just have some personal business to attend to for the wedding.”
“Ah! If I can help with the plans, just ask.”
“I appreciate the offer, but Caroline has most everything covered.” He forced a smile, then blinked, checking himself. “How is your mother feeling?” he added.
“Oh! That’s nice of you to ask. She’s much better, thank you.”
He smiled again, this time from his heart. Amanda was an excellent assistant and a good person, certainly not the cause of his grouchiness.
“Oh, and if you can do a complete workup on La Tempera Art Gallery. I think they’re down in Tribeca. I want to know everything about them by Monday.”
“Are they a Pemberley potential client?”
“I am a potential client of theirs, but I want to be sure they’re on the level before I invest tens of millions.”
“Of course. It’ll be in your inbox before you arrive at the office on Monday.”
Foregoing his security detail, six minutes later, he was in the back of a yellow cab headed downtown to La Tempera and its owner—according to Infopedia—Guy Bernard.
Finally, after two detours, he sat in the taxi examining the gallery storefront in an old, refurbished building. The place had curb appeal and the artwork in the window was a pleasing presentation of three traditional landscapes hanging from ceiling wire. At first glance, he liked what he saw but would do his due diligence on the place on Monday. Exiting onto the busy sidewalk, he cracked his knuckles and cricked his neck in usual fashion before entering any business meeting. Buttoning his suit jacket, he confidently strode to the entrance.
Through the cut glass on the inside vestibule door, he spied an older, white-haired man talking with a middle-aged couple. Animated, his hands flew this way and that as he spoke about the pieces on the wall.
Darcy waited for a break in the conversation to ring the bell.
Smiling, the man waved, then buzzed him in.
“Welcome to La Tempera!”
“Good morning. I’m looking for Guy Bernard.”
“That’s me! How can I be of service—anyservice—to you?” he replied with a flourish of his arm.
Looking around the yellowish gallery, he was impressed by the warmth, layout, and the current exhibition, meager as it was, but the artwork was superior. “Your gallery came recommended by a friend who attended the reception last Saturday. Is this the same artist?”
