Page 14 of One Wrong Move

Nate locks the car, nods at a lot valet, and then we walk up the steps to the museum. It’s closed to the general public during the event, and suited attendants line the entrance.

After Nate gives his name to a woman with a clipboard, she smiles warmly at us. “You’re both so welcome. Come on in. There’s a cloakroom to the left and complimentary drinks right up ahead. My coworker by reception can get you started with a private tour if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” I tell her. “This is amazing.”

She smiles at me. “I hope you enjoy it.”

We check our coats, get a glass of champagne each, and then I head off toward the reception. Excitement is thrumming through me like a low-level electrical current. This place is astonishing, and I can’t wait to look around.

Nate’s voice is amused. “You want to start with the private tour?”

“Yes. Or shouldn’t we?” I glance at him. “I think that sounds incredible, but if you’d rather mingle or look?—”

“No, no, let’s do it,” he says. “Art waits for no man or woman.”

“I just want to ensure we get a spot.”

His lip curves. “Of course. Lead the way.”

The woman behind the counter beams at us when we come up. She’s wearing a name badge with the museum’s logo and looks directly at Nate.

“Mr. Connovan,” she says. “It’s an honor to have you here with us tonight.”

I glance at Nate from the corner of my eye. An honor? Just how much art does he buy?

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he says. “Harper here is my art adviser from New York.”

The attendant’s attention shifts to me, she smiles warmly. “How wonderful. Welcome to London, Harper…?”

“Elliot.”

“I’m very glad you’re here, too. I’m Susan Ritchie. I’m in charge of the new exhibition here tonight. We would love to show you both around, if you’re available?”

“Yes,” I say immediately. “We’d love that. I’ve heard so much about Soren’s art, and the interplay with light. It’s amazing to get to see his pieces showcased here.”

Her eyes sparkle. “We think so, too. Tell me, what art agency are you with, Ms. Elliot?”

“Oh, I’m… I work at a gallery. Just started here in London.”

Nate is a steady presence beside me, and his voice is steadfast when he speaks. “Harper has been a freelance art adviser for years. She’s helped inform most of the purchases I’ve made for my own collection.”

Susan nods. “Marvelous. Let’s see if a Soren might be something to add to it, then, shall we?”

“Let’s,” I say. “And perhaps we could drop by the permanent collections?”

“But of course,” she says smoothly and starts to lead the way. We follow a few feet behind.

I elbow Nate and quietly say, “You have to stop hyping me up in front of these people.”

“And why would I do that?” he asks. “Every word is true.”

Nate

“I can’t believe this,” Harper says while buzzing by my side and enjoying her second glass of champagne. A curl has escaped the headband and has fallen in a whirl over her temple.

She’s admiring a giant abstract. It has whorls of green and blue, and, to my eye, it’s nice but not unique.

“Believe what?” I ask. “It’s the fortieth abstract we’ve seen tonight.”

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