The Gallery_A Reverse Harem Romance

by Mika Lane

“Yes, it is. I’m going over to check out the venue one last time, and we’ll be all set.”

  “Cool, thanks. It will be nice to kick back and relax tonight. I need it after that tight-assed party in the Hamptons.”

  Gio snickered. “Well, amico, those Hamptons folks are the very people making us extremely successful right now, so watch your disdain for them.”

  “I am, don’t worry, I am. Who knew those prepster types were such a bunch of pervs?” I said, amused.

  “Hey, you’re one to talk.”

  And he was right. I said my goodbyes and got up to dress for work—my day job as a finance hot shot, and my night job as a sex party promoter for Manhattan’s elite.

  Guess which one I liked better?

  Chapter 5

  AVRIL

  “Holy shit, girl. That is some kind of story,” Blu said, holding one of my hands while I blew my nose with the other. I looked up at his kind eyes. Every woman should have a gay best friend. Especially an adorable one with red hair and freckles.

  I nodded at him, only slightly uncomfortable with shedding a few tears at one of the city’s top lunch spots. I was not, however, about to start sobbing into my chilled celery soup and gluten-free breadsticks. Not that I’d eat the breadsticks. I didn’t eat carbs.

  “Worst of all, Blu,” I said with a sniffle, “you know who he was fucking? You want to know who?”

  Of course, he wanted to know. He wanted to know more than he wanted air to breathe or water to drink.

  “Tell me, baby. Tell me who the nasty whore is,” he begged.

  “Dagney.”

  “Who?”

  “Dagney. You know her.” The sobs were dangerously close. I might have to excuse myself for the ladies’ room.

  “DAGNEY?” he screamed.

  I looked around the room as the glances shot our way. Nothing to see here, folks. Please get back to your lunches.

  I lowered my voice for privacy, hoping Blu would follow with his inside voice. “Yup.”

  “Get out. Dagney, your assistant? That little thing with the curly hair and glasses?”

  I pressed a tissue against my mouth in case a wail were to try and escape. Because of that, I couldn’t speak.

  So I just nodded.

  “Holy. Shit.”

  I nodded some more.

  “That nasty, fucking bitch. You gave her a job and taught her everything she knows.”

  I kept nodding, although I couldn’t really see Blu now. The tears were fully blurring my vision, and it was all I could do to keep up with my runny nose. I wouldn’t be eating a thing for lunch, which kind of bummed me out. I really loved celery soup.

  And Blu was right. I’d taken Dagney under my wing. She’d been a recent art history grad with no prospects—I mean, what prospects does any art history major have?—and I taught her everything I knew about running a gallery. My gallery, I might add, which was known as one of fastest “up and comers” in all of Manhattan.

  So now, I was down one husband. And one assistant.

  It wasn’t fucking fair.

  My distress was obvious, and not going to subside anytime soon, so Blu waved at the waitress for the check. I must have really looked bad because if Blu glances around the room to see if people are looking, they most definitely are.

  “Don’t worry, sweetie, we’re getting you out of here.”

  I fished through my Birkin bag and placed my AmEx on the table. I figured I’d charge everything to Devon for as long as I could.

  But it turned out that wasn’t to be for long. The waitress returned with a smug face.

  “Ms. um, Crane. Your card didn’t go through.” She took a step back when she realized the shape I was in.

  I fished for another card. I never let Blu pay. After all, I was the one who’d landed a loaded husband.

  But that card didn’t go through either.

  “Oh, for chrissakes, here take my card,” he said, thrusting his Visa at the waitress.

  He could afford one lunch. He did quite well for himself with some party-planning business he had.

  “My cards…my cards…” was all I could mumble. Why weren’t my credit cards working?

  Blu and I walked over to the closest branch of my bank, my arm hooked through his like I was a feeble old lady. The greeter saw the shape I was in and immediately brought us to a small cubicle in a corner, affording me a modicum of privacy.

  “Our manager will be right with you,” she said, backing away slowly.

  Blu nodded, and put an arm around me. “Thank you,” he said to her. He was good in a crisis, as long as it wasn’t his crisis.

  About five minutes later, a very serious branch manager settled into his desk and looked from me to Blu and back. His mouth pressed into a hard, thin line, and he folded his hands in front of him.

  He spoke very slowly. “Has someone important passed away?”

  We both looked at him in silence, but Blu came to his senses first.

  “My friend here, Avril Crane—sweetie, can you give the man your picture ID?—just had her credit cards refused at lunch. Can you tell us if everything’s okay with her accounts?”

  The manager looked at my driver license, and back to me. I guess I was pretty unrecognizable with mascara pooling under my eyes and a tissue constantly under my nose.

  “Is there a reason everything might not be okay with your accounts, Ms. Crane?” he asked.

  I nodded, but my chest was in convulsions from all the crying, and I still couldn’t speak. I gestured for Blu to explain.

  “She’s um…well, there are some problems at home,” Blu said with a nod and a wink, to emphasize the gravity of his euphemism.

  And the bank manager understood loud and clear. He jumped to his feet with my ID in hand. The shit they must hear about…

  “I see. I’ll be right back. Don’t worry, Ms. Crane. We’ll get this figured out.” He dashed off, shaking his head.

  While the bank manager was doing whatever bank managers did, Blu took the opportunity to make me feel worse than I already did, if that were possible.

  “So, have you heard from him? I mean, did he tell you to your face?”

  I sniffled loudly. It seemed as if the tears were subsiding, at least for a momentary break.

  I cleared my throat. “I got home from that party in the Hamptons, after trying to call him the entire ride. He never once picked up.”

  Blu thoughtfully reached into my bag for another tissue, after taking the snotty ones from my hand and throwing them in the waste bin. That’s a true friend for you.

  “So, couldn’t get ahold of him. When I got home, there was a note, and his closet was cleaned out. The whole thing seemed like a joke. A bad joke.” The tears threatened again.

  “What did the note say?”

  “That basically he was out of there, he was sorry, and that he’d fallen in love with another woman. Oh, and that he’d always love me, too. He said I could have his stereo.”

  Blu’s eyes were huge, and his mouth was opened to a small circle. He reminded me of a hungry baby bird.

  “His stereo? You know, I never really liked him…” he started to say, shuddering from the indignation.

  I put my hand up.

  “People always say that after the fact. It’s not doing me a bit of good right now.”

  “Sorry, sweetie. Just trying to help. Anyway, how’d you find out it was Dagney?”

  “I put two and two together. First, she left me a note at the gallery that she was resigning. She’d thrown her key back through the mail slot after she left.” I had to say, she did a good job of finishing up everything she’d been working on. She was conscientious that way. Didn’t do anything halfway, including steal my husband.

  “Okay, so she quit. How did that give it away?” Blu asked.

  “Well, I was outside the gallery, locking up to go home, and the owner of the gallery across the street came over to tell me she’d seen Dagney’s husband spending a lot of time in the gallery, especia
lly at night, after closing time.”

  “But Dagney has no husband, right?”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  Where had where the damn bank manager had gone?

  “I asked her to describe the man, and boom. It was my Devon.”

  “What?” Blu gasped. “Jesus Christ. You can’t make this shit up.”

  We turned toward some rustling papers and found the manager standing right there.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have some information for you.” His tone was low and quiet. I guess it sort of was as if someone died. He settled back into his chair, and Blu tossed the rest of my soggy tissues.

  “Ms. Crane, it seems as if all but one of your joint accounts with…” he flipped through some papers, “…here we are, Mr. Devon Crane, have been closed. There is one that remains open, with a balance of…” He slipped a piece of paper that looked like a cash register receipt across the desk towards me.

  Blu grabbed it before I could see it. “What the fucking fuck?” he screamed, standing and shaking the piece of paper. He leaned over the desk toward the manager, who’d moved back in terror.

  But Blu wasn’t letting him off the hook. “Please check again. It’s not possible my friend here has an account with a balance of only”—he clutched the piece of paper to his chest as if his heart were breaking, then lowered his voice to a whisper—“one thousand freaking dollars. You know how loaded her husband is?”

  Holy fucking shit. I go from a Park Avenue penthouse and a limo to take me everywhere to a bank account with one thousand dollars? Actually, he’d not taken away the penthouse or the limo. Yet.

  Tears didn’t threaten this time. A nauseous stomach did.

  Blu took returned to his seat and the bank manager recovered, leaning toward me. “Ms. Crane, you have a job, right?”

  I nodded, wondering where he was going. I didn’t know if I should go as far as explaining that it was more of a sort-of job. Like, I didn’t really make any money at it.

  He snapped back in his chair.

  “Okay. I think all will be well then,” he said with a proud smile, like he’d just discovered a cure for cancer.

  Maybe that was why people hated banks.

  Yeah, I had the gallery, and yes, it was growing nicely. But after covering some very expensive rent, catering for openings, and the generous salary I paid my ex-assistant Dagney the whore, there wasn’t much left. I didn’t even pay myself. I donated any extra money we had to the school down the street, the Children’s Art Center, where I volunteered. Devon had liked calling these activities my hobbies. Fucker.

  Shit. Speaking of volunteering, I had to be downtown in forty-five minutes for the drawing lesson I was scheduled to teach. I stood, leaving the bank manager and Blu discussing my financial situation.

  “Oh, honey, you think you’re up for teaching, today?” Blu asked, taking my hand to pull me back to my seat. Evidently, he wasn’t done with my suffering.

  But I was, at least for the moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I am,” I said, smoothing out my dress. “I gotta go.” I shook the bank manager’s hand.

  His face brightened when he realized we were leaving.

  Outside in the blinding sunshine, I pulled on my designer sunglasses while my limo zipped up to the curb. Devon hadn’t thought to take that away.

  At least not yet.

  Chapter 6

  GIO

  With a long day and night ahead of me, I sucked down an afternoon cup of caffè at the office while I scrolled through my online calendar. My schedule was booked so solid that day, I didn’t know when I’d be able to relieve myself, and the guys kept pinging me about the night’s upcoming party, since I was the one to handle the venue arrangements.

  Why couldn’t I get a break?

  I had to admit, though, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I buzzed our admin.

  “Is our next meeting here?”

  “They just arrived, Gio. I put them in the big conference room and let the others know.”

  I’d worked for months to set up a meeting with some of the city’s most successful private equity firms to see if they wanted to throw some money at our ventures. I took my place at the head of the conference room table after a round of hellos and introductions.

  “I’m Gio Rosselli, one of the founding partners of RESLR. Thank you all for attending.” Some of the faces looked familiar, and others were new. I coasted through my presentation with a particular emphasis on our latest acquisition, the airline mechanic company. Just as I was wrapping up, a hand went up in the back of the room. I pointed, and the man stood.

  “Gio, I’m Devon Crane from Crane Enterprises. I think what you’re offering could be a good fit with our business objectives…” He kept talking, but I was having trouble following him.

  Devon Crane…how did I know that name?

  Oh shit, that was the guy who was in the news the other day. The scumbag who’d dumped his wife and who was under investigation.

  I wanted nothing to do with this guy.

  As everyone filtered out of the room after the meeting ended, I caught up with him.

  “Devon, thank you again for joining the meeting,” I said, extending my hand for a shake.

  He beamed. “Thank you, Gio. I think we could really make some things happen together.”

  Yeah, like enjoy prison food? I wouldn’t have done business with that cretino if my life depended on it. But I wore my smile like a shield and turned to shake the hand of the pretty associate he’d brought along.

  “Where are my manners?” Devon asked with a laugh. “This is my fiancée, Dagney Gardner.”

  Fiancée? The man was still married. And as if he didn’t already look sleazy enough, he dug himself in even deeper.

  “Yeah, Gio,” he said, putting an arm around my shoulder like we were old buddies.

  I was dying to shake him off, but wanted to hear what he had to say.

  He turned me slightly toward the wall for privacy.” You see, it’s time for some new ventures for me and my firm. I just got out of a bad, bad marriage. You know how it is. The woman was a loon.” He did the twirling crazy finger thing next to his head for emphasis. “My new woman, Dagney, gets me. She wants to learn my business. She wants to be by my side.”

  Was he fucking kidding?

  No, no, no. I backed up a step. “Well, my friend, I really don’t want to know about your relationships, and I think it’s pretty shitty to even bring them up during a business meeting. Further, you are under investigation by the D.A., so you have a lot of nerve showing up here.”

  “Well…but…” he sputtered.

  “Sorry, my friend. We don’t be doing any business together, and I’d appreciate if you left my office right now.”

  His face turned deep red. He grabbed his fiancée’s hand, and they marched out of the office.

  Smith and Ash caught me in the hallway.

  “What was that all about?” Ash asked me.

  I shook my head. “You know what an asshole that man is, right? There’s no way we’re doing business with him.”

  Ash looked around to make sure all our guests had left the office. “Gio, I appreciate your concern, but isn’t that the kind of decision we usually make together, after some analysis and discussion?”

  I didn’t need any egalitarian merda right then.

  I ran my hand through my hair, frustration levels rising.

  “Look guys, sorry. I just think there are some scumbags out there we don’t need to be affiliated with. Google the latest on Devon Crane. You’ll see.”

  I’d had enough for one day. At least of my day job, that was for sure. I headed over to the venue for the evening’s party to see how the set up was going.

  Chase and Blu were directing people with last minute preparations.

  “Things are looking good, guys,” I said to Blu, who began unpacking a giant box of condoms.

  I glanced around the huge loft space we’d managed to lease for the last time. The building was be
ing turned into condos, so we were on the lookout for someplace new.

  “Can I see the guest list?” I asked Chase. That was his area to handle.

  “Sure, Gio. Here ya go,” he said, passing me an iPad.

  While a lot of our attendees RSVP’d with their fake “club” names, I saw several familiar ones—people who’d been attending Kink Lab consistently in the two years since we’d started it.

  There were other sex parties in New York. The city was freaking full of them, like every major metropolitan area. You just had to find out about them, which was not hard because people had big fucking mouths. But Kink Lab was different. You had to be invited, which meant a current member had to vouch for you, and then you had to be vetted. If you were granted membership, you then had to pay not only a steep membership fee but also a high admission charge for each party attended. But it was worth it, and I knew tonight’s event would be another huge success.

  “Hey Gio, I gotta run home and make sure the babysitter is all set up. I’ll be back in an hour or so,” Chase said.

  “Sounds good. I’m just going to chill out, have a drink, and try to forget my day.” I went behind the bar that had just been set up for the party and poured myself a nice, dark beer. “By the way, how is your bambina?”

  Chase’s face lit up. It had been only a few months since his ballet dancer girlfriend had said arrivederci, leaving him with their little Ruby, and he was doing a great job on his own. I had to hand it to him.

  “Princess Ruby is great. Getting fatter every day.” He shook his head.

  I’d never seen him as happy as he’d been since Ruby had come along.

  “And you know, Gio, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “I know it. You’re killing the fatherhood thing. Wish I’d had a papa like you.” Chase was one of the few who knew my story—and why my family had to flee Italy years ago.

  “See you in an hour, man,” he said.

  I watched the bubbles rise in my beer glass as I enjoyed the first quiet moment I’d had in a while to mull over the events of the day.