Page 64 of Sinful Bride

I don’t want her gratitude or her fear. I don’t want anything between us to change just because I’m writing her paycheck now.

I don’t want her to change.

But I guess that would be unfair. I’m noticing I’m changing.

A lot.

“Hey, Haze… I need to talk to you about something.”

“Uh-oh.” She sets her mug down when she sees me to do the same. “I’m bracing myself. Go on.”

“It’s not bad, I promise.” I try to lean into the couch where we’re lounging, to look way more calm and relaxed than I feel. “But first, I am super curious. What do you know about the new owners?”

Hazel shrugs. “Not much. Some corporation, I can’t remember. Whoever they are, they nailed it on the head with Aubrey.”

That makes me feel relieved. I haven’t met Aubrey in person yet, but our communications have been positive so far. The complete turnaround of the gallery on paper has been showing promise, too.

“She’s good? I mean, I get the feeling she’s good with the business, but what’s she like as a person?”

Calm down, Daph. Slow and steady.

Haze grins. “Love her. Really, she’s such a breath of fresh air. Professional, but actually takes the time to get to know people. She took me out to lunch the other day and I thought it was going to be all business, but nope! All she wanted to talk about was me, my life, and her cats. She has two, by the way.”

“She sounds amazing. Especially compared to?—”

“I know, right? So whoever bought the place, whoever hired her, knows what they’re doing.”

I trace the rim of my mug with a finger. It gives me something to do, something to look at, so I don’t have to see her reaction right away. “Yeah, I’d say so. Chekhov International doesn’t cut corners when hiring staff.”

I see Hazel’s pause in the corner of my eye.

“Shit,” she breathes. Then laughs. “That’s Pasha’s, isn’t it? Your husband bought the gallery!”

“Yup.” I take another long sip. “That he did.”

“So he’s the new owner.”

I set the mug down. At this point, I’m just keeping myself busy with tiny distractions. “Nope.”

Another pause. Another breath.

And then she exhales, long and slow, as the pieces click together. “It’s you. You’re the new owner.”

I try to at least give her a slight nod. But I’m frozen up, waiting for her shoe to drop. Or to start flying at me.

Instead, Hazel shakes her head and grins. “Look at you. Rising to the top. I’m proud of you.”

“Hardly. It’s nepotism, don’t you think?”

“Hardly,” she echoes. “If anyone deserves to own the place, it’s you. After all the bullshit they put you through… and I mean the artists, too, not just The Tweedles.”

It’s the look on her face that fills in most of the space. She won’t say his name, but I know who she’s talking about specifically.

Almost as if on cue, my cell phone pings with an email from Aubrey. When I see the subject line, I can’t help but snort. “Wow. She is good. Psychic as well as efficient.”

I open the email regarding blacklisted artists and scroll through it. My hiccup of surprise turns into a sigh of relief. “I’m forwarding this to you.”

Hazel frowns but checks her phone. Then she sees what I read and has pretty much the same reaction. “Holy shit. I hope you’re paying her way more than you’re paying me.”

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