by Ava Miles
“Caroline.”
She’d never forget the way that woman said her name. It was like she was saying the word “herpes” or something equally vile.
The cream coat was suddenly at her side—cashmere, she thought—and when she looked up Cynthia Newhouse was fake-smiling the crap out of her.
“Cynthia,” she responded, choosing not to introduce anyone else.
“This is Ferdinand Rollins,” she said, “our family lawyer. He just arrived to handle some business for me when I heard the incredible news about the lost Rembrandt. You and J.T. must have sold a kidney for Clara Allerton to bring forth that painting and the rest of her collection. Well, I suppose Ferdinand and I will simply have to readjust our plan.”
She knew? Suddenly Caroline felt lightheaded. “I beg your pardon.”
The woman pulled off her leather gloves slowly, like she was preparing to torture an uncooperative lover. “I mean, there will be questions, of course.”
“What?”
Slapping her gloves against that two-million-dollar purse of hers, Cynthia said, “About why Clara would have kept such an important work of art in secret for so long. I mean, it’s almost criminal. Art lovers everywhere are going to be up in arms. You and J.T. are going to have your hands full explaining things.”
She felt Moira grab her forearm under the table like she was trying to help ground her spinning brain. “But how—”
“Ferdinand and I will leave you to your dinner,” she said in that same dismissive, upper-crust tone.
Caroline watched as she and her lawyer were shown to a table a few feet away. Moira and Lucy were watching her with wide eyes.
“Are you okay?” her sister asked.
All she could do was wave a hand. She needed to talk to J.T. right away.
“I need—”
“To go,” Moira said immediately, signaling the server. “In all my days…”
“Not now,” she whispered, acutely aware of the proximity of her nemesis.
Grabbing her purse, she pulled out her phone. Her phone had blown up. She had dozens of text messages and phone calls from people she knew in the art community. She scrolled through the texts first, and there was one common theme that had her blood boiling.
Saw the press release. Heard about the lost Rembrandt. OMG!
J.T. had texted her again over an hour ago, she saw at the end of her messages, likely right as they’d sat down at their table. There was a voicemail from him as well. She read the transcript of the call. Nothing about him sending out the press release tonight. He’d only said it was urgent she call him. That bastard.
He’d told the world about the lost Rembrandt without her.
Chapter 29
J.T. was on the phone with one of his go-to art consultants in Rome when he heard a knock on his bedroom door.
He wanted to growl. Why in the hell was Trevor bothering him? He knew he was making calls. Vincento was going crazy about the lost Rembrandt, and he’d barely managed to get a word in edgewise.
Crawling off the bed, he walked to the door and opened it, taken aback to see Caroline. Glaring at him. She’d heard about the press release. Terrific.
The rapid-fire Italian continued to flow into his ear as he let her inside, pointing to his phone. She crossed her arms as he walked back to the bed and sat down.
“Vincento,” he interrupted. “Scusi.”
It took a few more tries, but he finally got Vincento to pause so he could tell him he’d call him back later with more information.
“To be fair,” he said, setting his phone aside finally, “you left without saying anything and I texted and called you before I sent out the press release.”
“That’s your defense?” she asked, walking toward him. “You only told me it was urgent that I call you back, not that you were going to publicize this to the entire world before we spoke. Did it ever dawn on you that I might be out to dinner?”
He could play hardball. “Did it ever dawn on you that I was serious? So serious that it might have been worth keeping your phone on during dinner?”
She shook her head slowly like she was having none of it. “You know I turn off my ringer while I’m eating.”
He stood up slowly, anger surging through him again. “You were ignoring me! You purposely went with Aunt Clara—”
“She invited me—”
“When you knew how strongly I felt about this,” he continued. “I told you we had to get the word out right away.”
“And I told you that we needed to plan this and do it right,” she said, flinging her hands into the air in frustration.
“You weren’t listening to me,” he said.
“Ditto! We need to move smartly. Or needed to. That’s out of the bag now, isn’t it?”
While he wasn’t surprised at her reaction, he still found himself crossing his arms in defense. “Caroline, this is my museum. I’m the one who decides what’s best for it, and in this case, getting the word out fast was the best move.”
Silence descended between them.
“Then why ask my opinion?” she finally asked. “Heck, why even have me as your art consultant if you’d prefer to be a museum of one.”
Her voice broke at the end, and he realized he’d gone too far. “I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I value you. I wouldn’t have hired you otherwise.”
She shook her finger at him, her whole body trembling with emotion. “No, you don’t get to have it both ways. First, you say it’s your museum and you know what’s best. Fine. But you don’t get to take that tack and then pretend to care about my opinion. I just saw your ex-wife at Brasserie Dare with her lawyer, and she told me there are going to be questions about why your aunt has been sitting on an art discovery of this magnitude.”
Shit.
“What? You didn’t see that coming? Well, I did.”
“You didn’t say—”
“You didn’t let me,” she said. “I tried to explain how I felt, but you cut me off. Your obsession with beating Cynthia to the next attack has clouded your judgment. Honestly, J.T., I don’t know what’s more important to you right now. The museum or getting a leg up on your ex. Frankly, I’m sick of it. We found a lost Rembrandt—a lost Rembrandt—and somehow you’ve made this all about her.”
He felt a burning sensation in his chest. He’d made this all about Cynthia? All he wanted to do was escape her!
“If Cynthia’s lawyer is in town, it means she’s planning something,” he shot back, “exactly like I thought. Hell, even Trev told me something was up when I got home.”
“And what was that?” she asked.
He worried his lip. “We aren’t sure yet. She moved her money to a new bank.”
“That’s it? That’s your reasoning here?”
Even to him it sounded weak, but he’d been going with his gut for three years. She was new to the Cynthia Newhouse game. She didn’t fully get it. “Please understand. I had to send out the press release when I did.”
“Then you’re going to have to answer those questions yourself because I don’t want any part of it.” She walked over to the door, and he didn’t have it in him to try and convince her not to leave. “I got fired because of your ex-wife and my name is currently dog shit in the art community. Another stunt like this, and I’m done. If this blows up in our faces, I’ll look stupid and reckless. The fact that you didn’t even take that into consideration says a lot.”
“Will you two stop shouting?” Trevor yelled out of the blue.
J.T. looked over to see his brother standing in the doorway. He’d been so intent on Caroline he hadn’t even noticed him.
“This is exactly what she wants,” Trev said, “and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand by and let her win. Let me cut to the chase here since I heard your entire conversation downstairs. Caroline, you’re first.”
She pointed to herself. “Me?”
“Yes, you. You come in here railing about not having your opinion valued. Well, that’
s bullshit. J.T. tried to reach out to you. He was upset you were avoiding him. If you’d gotten your head out of your ass—thank you, Uncle Arthur, for that phrase—and called him back, he would have sent you the press release for your review.”
“But I didn’t agree—”
“To the press release,” he said in the same hard-ass tone. “I know, but my bro is right. Regardless of your personal or professional relationship, he’s in charge here. Deal with it. He’s been fighting Sin City for three years now. No one knows her strategy better than he does. Not even me.”
Hearing Trev say those things clogged J.T.’s throat. In spite of the lapse in judgment that had cost their family so much, his brother still trusted him. Caroline looked like she’d swallowed a bug.
“Cynthia moving her money around does mean something—even if we don’t understand it yet. You waltz in acting like this lost Rembrandt is some completely separate issue from the larger problem with the university, when in fact, the museum is in serious trouble. You haven’t been at those ill-fated dinners with the trustees. Well, I have, and it’s bad. Time was an issue. If something didn’t turn around quick, the museum would have been dead in the water. With the Rembrandt, you have a fighting chance.”
J.T. thought about stopping his brother. He was being hard on Caroline. But before he could even open his mouth to say anything, Trev turned and looked at him. His eyes were scorching, and J.T. knew he was about to get a verbal whipping. Great.
“Your turn, boyo,” he said, walking forward and stopping inches in front of him. “You want to deck me afterward, you go ahead, but I’m finally going to get this off my chest.” He stuck his chin out. “It’s long overdue.”
The burning sensation in his heart spread, but he kept his face devoid of emotion.
“Caroline is right. You have lost sight of your priorities. You’re not just letting Cynthia control your life, you’re also putting someone you care about—someone who does technically work for you—at risk.”
That burning sensation in J.T.’s chest hurt like hell, but he couldn’t talk. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.
“Look, this museum would be welcomed by any university in the country, and you damn well know it. Does it suck that the university Grandpa Emmits founded might not want it? Yeah. But is it worth all this? Caroline’s reputation being called into question? Aunt Clara being seen as a greedy art hoarder or a senile old bird who forgot she had a Rembrandt in the attic? People are going to start asking questions, like why would an ex-wife come at someone like this without a good reason or what could he have done to her. Dammit, J.T., I’m sick to death of this mess too.”
He made himself stand tall at his brother’s words. Anything less would have hurt his pride.
“I know you’re tired too, but you’re hell bent on doing things the hard way. Releasing the press release like this is the hard way, and God…”
When he trailed off, J.T. gathered himself enough to drill his finger in his chest. “What?”
Trev stepped back. “No, that’s enough.”
J.T. got in his face. “No, you started this. You finish it.”
“You’re fucking up the relationship of a lifetime with this awesome woman over here.” He gestured to Caroline. “Stop spending your life fighting Cynthia. She’s taken enough from us.”
His brother never called her by her real name, and his point was stronger for it. J.T. looked over at Caroline and watched her swipe away tears and turn her head away. He swallowed thickly. God, he’d hurt her and his brother again, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He walked past both of them and left the house.
He had some thinking to do.
Chapter 30
Caroline was in her robe when she heard the knock on her front door.
Her nerves were stretched taut as she walked to it and looked through the peephole. J.T. was standing on the other side, as she’d both feared and hoped. God, what a fight they’d had. How could they have said those awful things to each other? When he’d marched out and left the house, she and Trevor had been speechless. Then Trevor had asked if she wanted a drink, and she’d declined. For once, he’d seemed grateful to see the back of her.
After coming home, she’d made a fire and sat in front of it, going over her actions in the last twenty-four hours. It galled her to admit that Trev was right—both she and J.T. had been out of line, good intentions aside, and they were letting Cynthia mess with their relationship.
“I’m sorry,” she said the moment she opened the door.
“That was my line,” he said, putting a hand over his heart. “Sorry isn’t good enough—”
“You already said it,” she said, covering her bare feet with her robe as much as possible. Cold wind was sweeping in around her.
“Yeah, but I wish there was something more I could say,” he said, pausing for a moment. “I’m sorry I walked out on you and Trev. I needed some air, and I thought a drive would help.”
So that’s where he’d gone.
“Ah…can I come in? I have some other things I need to say.”
Her muscles tightened again. “I don’t want to rehash things, J.T. I love you. I…don’t want us to keep fighting like this. Trev nailed it—this is exactly what Cynthia wants.”
He stepped toward her, his eyes searching hers. “Can I…hold you?”
His earnest gaze pulled her to him like a magnet. Going into his arms, she pressed her face to his chest. His arms were tight around her at first, and she realized hers had cinched around him too. It was almost like they both were afraid to let go now that they’d come back together again. She made herself relax, and felt him do the same.
Pulling him inside, she shut the door behind them, then returned to his embrace.
“I was wrong to imply you were just some employee who should listen to me,” he said. “I’ve never thought that or acted like that before. It’s not going to happen again.”
She wanted to believe him, but his ex had a way of influencing him.
“This is screwing up everything,” he whispered.
“What is?” she asked, wanting to be sure she understood.
“When I had the idea for the museum, I was so excited about coming back to Dare Valley to reclaim our family’s place here.” He edged back so he could see her. “Have I ever told you how nostalgic I’ve always been about this town? I used to say it had a sky of endless blue, like nowhere else in the world. I’d hike to the top of one of the mountains around here and feel like the king of the mountain. Trev used to make fun of me, but those summers here were some of the best of my life.”
Childhood memories were often viewed in a rosy light, she knew, as if they all took place beneath a glorious sunset. “I have feelings like that about the snow picnics we used to have when I was a kid. My mom would pack up submarine sandwiches and load us into her old van. We’d go to Black Lake on a sunny day and build snowmen and have snowball fights and giggle.”
“I miss those days sometimes,” he said. “The simplicity of them. Growing up has its perks, but my life didn’t turn out like I thought it would. I got married hoping to create a family of my own. Happy moments like going hiking with my family or slinging mud at my girl.”
He was referring to the famous mud incident when they were kids. Normally, it would have made her smile, but she found herself thinking about that little girl she’d seen in her mind, holding both their hands. Part of her still wondered what it meant. The other part hoped it was a vision of their future.
“I hate how weak this whole thing makes me feel, but I don’t know how to fix it. I feel like I’m paying for one mistake over and over again.”
Seeing the havoc Cynthia had already caused, she could well understand that point of view, but Trev was right. They couldn’t give in. They couldn’t let her win. “Your life isn’t finished yet, J.T.”
“No,” he said, “but it’s a constant battle. If I ever s
top fighting, she’ll take everything. That’s why I needed to get the press release out tonight.”
“I know you believe that,” she said with a sigh, stepping away from him. “How about some tea?”
“I’ll make an espresso, if that’s okay,” he said, following her to the kitchen.
Usually he didn’t ask. He just made one. When he didn’t move toward the espresso machine he’d brought from her place in Denver, her solar plexus tightened. The awkward tension was intense. Making coffee had been such a simple task before.
“Please,” she said, gesturing to the machine.
She made her way to the cabinet, taking her time to select an herbal tea even though there were only three choices. It struck her viscerally that their ease with each other was gone.
Oh, she wouldn’t let that slide. They needed to understand each other—and for that to happen, they needed to talk openly.
“J.T.,” she said, turning around. “I know how precious this museum and coming back to Dare Valley is to you, but I need you to know the stakes are different for us. You have limitless things you could do and a financial safety net in place to do it. You’re well known in business and now philanthropy…”
He walked over to the edge of the counter as she searched for the right words.
“What I’m trying to say is… Art has been my passion since I was a child. Some kids were reading Harry Potter, but I was combing through art books and those high-gloss coffee table books museums put out. This is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do, and I figured out how to have a career doing it, which wasn’t easy. I even managed to make a name for myself in Denver and the Western art community. But right now, it feels like all of that is in jeopardy. I don’t have anything else to fall back on.”
She watched him swallow thickly.
“More so, I don’t want anything else to fall back on,” she added, fingering the corners of the tea box as they stared at each other.