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Gavin sighed. “I knew you were going to say that.”
“Then why did you call?”
“Because it sounds more official coming from you.”
I looked toward the dining room. Sergei sat in the chair beside mine with one hand resting against the back. A small plate of lemon cookies waited near my coffee.
“Anything else?” I asked Gavin.
“The Providence club wants another thirty pieces from the performance line.”
“They just placed an order four days ago.”
“They already had advance orders sold for three quarters of it by the end of the weekend.”
“Tell them I can get it to them in six weeks’ time.”
“They want it in three.”
“Ask them how it feels to want.”
Gavin laughed, then I ended the call and returned to my chair.
The first six-piece Vesper collection had started at Nocturne and spread to four partner clubs along the East Coast before we produced the second run. The pieces were built for bodies that moved, sweated, bent, climbed poles, worked private rooms, and occasionally needed to escape a hand that ignored the rules. Amy handled production and the art of convincing buyers that the tangible results of my hand-drawn sketches were worth waiting for.
Nocturne’s managers called me when the VIP floor became complicated, when the books developed a discrepancy no one else could make sense of, or when a performer needed an advocate who understood the difference between an expensive client and a valuable employee. I enjoyed my work immensely.
“What happened?” Amy asked.
“Celeste handled a client. Providence needs more costumes.”
“Already?”
“The reinforced mesh line is apparently quite popular.”
Aleksei lifted his wine and his chin. “I predicted that.”
Amy looked at him. “You said the black velvet would outsell everything.”
“It will eventually.”
“A man is just wrong sometimes,” I told her, and she laughed.
Maxim took the chair at the head of the table while Nonno took the one directly across from him, so the two of them could assess the estate’s windows while pretending to discuss the weather. Nonna sat between Riley and Amy, explaining why both women had used far too little garlic. Nikolai was attempting to steal a meatball from her plate. Nonna smacked the back of his hand with a spoon.
Nikolai stared at her in disbelief. “You struck me.”
“You were thieving.”
“I was testing security.”
“Test it again and lose a finger.”
Sloane lifted her glass. “I love her.”
“You encourage violence against your husband,” Nikolai complained, looking over at her.
“Only useful violence,” she replied with a wink.
