Page 163 of One Wrong Move

The gallery is busier than I’ve ever seen it be. Aadhya and I have been here since the early morning, looking over every last detail, preparing the airy space to welcome all these people.

Now they’re here, champagne flutes in hand, heels and dress shoes sounding sharply against the hardwood floors. The main doors are open to the square, and a band is playing soft music in the grand foyer.

And I feel like I’m not here at all.

Like I can’t focus, can’t think, can’t engage.

On my desk in the back office is a giant bouquet of peonies. So large, that it dwarfs my computer; so large, that all of my coworkers had raised their eyebrows and let out soft oohs and aahs when the flowers were delivered. There was a note attached.

Harp,

Congratulations on the party. I know how hard you’ve worked on it, and you deserve all the success in the world.

There’s a sharp pang in my chest from missing him. It’s only been a few days of sleeping in a hotel, of crying in the shower in the mornings, and of trying hard not to think about him. I mostly fail.

Like now.

As I’m looking around the space at the smiling and happily chatting faces, at Aadhya while she’s showing off a beautiful Covey abstract to a group of well-dressed attendees… I feel numb.

Staying focused on work has been the only thing keeping me going since I left Nate’s townhouse. I’ve thrown myself into my job and welcomed the distraction from my thoughts.

Eitan comes up beside me. He’s been a moving target all night—talking to guests, ensuring that clients who regularly buy from us are happy and feel special. There’s a glass of champagne in his hand that he’s carried for two hours without taking a sip, from what I can tell. Smart move.

“It’s going well,” he says.

I nod. “Yes. I think we already have a few purchasing agreements in place.”

“We do, yes. The large Jaxon Barn sculpture is sold.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And not a day too soon,” he says, and we both chuckle. The piece is not only mildly disturbing but is also so large that it occupies half of the West Room in the gallery. “I haven’t seen Nathanial Connovan anywhere,” he says. “Despite him being confirmed on the guest list.”

I look over at the gathered patrons. “Yes, he was planning on coming, but business prevented him from being here tonight. I got a text just a few hours ago.”

The lie rolls easily off my tongue. I wonder if that’s something I learned from Nate. False impressions and all that.

Eitan nods. “It so often does. Well, I hope you’ve made him aware that he’s welcome for a private tour anytime.”

“I have, yes. He’s always in the market for art.”

“The kind of client we like,” Eitan says. His voice is warmer today than I’ve ever heard it before. Still clipped, though, still sharp. “Harper, you’ve been here almost three months now.”

“By July first, it’ll be three exactly.”

“Your junior trainee position is five months, but I want you to know… We’ve already started considering offering you a full-time spot on our team.”

The words ground me. Full-time. Stay in London.

I’ve been thinking about how quickly my time in London was passing, I found that I wasn’t yet ready to leave. I hadn’t finished my adventure here.

“Thank you. I appreciate that a lot.”

“Would you be interested, then?”

“Most definitely.”

He makes a small humming sound. “Excellent. You and Aadhya make a solid team, and you’ve proven yourself with this bash.”

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