Page 1 of An Heir For Her Enemy

CHAPTER 1

DELANEY

“Ijust don’t know.” Delaney’s client, a glamorous middle-aged woman named Carmen, tilted her head to the side as though the different angle might shed new light on the painting before her. “Do you think I’ll be able to flip it for twice the asking price in two years?”

Delaney winced internally at the question, particularly the use of the word “flip.” Like most of Delaney’s clients, Carmen was more interested in profit than in art. The painting in front of them was a gorgeous Contemporary Impressionist piece, all swirls of pastel color and layers of a kind of melancholy blended with optimism that resonated with Delaney deeply. Yet Carmen didn’t care about the quality of the painting or the emotion behind it. She just wanted to increase her enormous fortune.

Delaney didn’t say any of that, of course.

“I think you will be able to resell it at a relatively high price — perhaps around double,” she said instead. “This artist is very up-and-coming. Not only is the Impressionist style popular right now, but she seems to have tapped into a kind of generationalmood. Plus, the work is very high quality, and the next buyer is likely to see that.”

“All right, then.” Carmen noted the number beside the painting. “I’ll make an offer. Even though I’m pretty sure a seven-year-old could have done something just as good with crayons.”

Delaney gave another internal wince. She spent four years getting a degree in art history, then another two working on a master’s in European art history. All that time and energy, and she was stuck working with wealthy clients who seemed to have little appreciation for art at all.

Still, Delaney gave a polite chuckle. She needed to put up with all this nonsense for just a little while longer. A few more years of working as an art consultant for wealthy clients like this and she’d have enough money for a gallery of her own. Delaney’s heart warmed at the thought. Ever since she’d stepped into her first art museum as an eleven-year-old, she had been transformed by the magic of artistic expression. She couldn’t paint at all herself — the various attempts she’d made over the years had invariably ended in disaster — but she was drawn to the beauty and artistry of professional pieces like the ones around her.

When Delaney had her own gallery, it would be filled with the kind of pieces that stirred real emotion in people, while lifting up talented artists. She’d collect art from both upcoming and experienced artists and arrange it in such a way that visitors walked through a story as they passed through her gallery. They’d leave feeling like something had changed, however subtly, in how they viewed the world.

Well, people like Carmen probably wouldn’t feel that way. The Carmens of the world would come to Delaney’s gallery to mineit for profit. That was an unavoidable part of working in the art world. But at least Delaney wouldn’t have to be face-to-face with profit hunters all the time, like she was now.

“How about that one?” Carmen asked. She pointed across the room to another painting, this one in a Cubist style. “That looks expensive.”

Delaney put on her practiced polite smile. “Let’s have a look.”

As they crossed the gallery to the next painting, Delaney took a moment to look around at the other patrons. Everyone was dressed elegantly in suits and gowns that must have cost a small fortune, which most of them could afford easily. This gallery, with its location on the Upper East Side and its history of selling pieces that promptly skyrocketed in value, catered to a very wealthy clientele. Everything from the hors d’oeuvres topped with caviar to the gleaming marble floors screamed wealth.

Over the last three years she’d spent working as an art consultant, Delaney had gotten proficient at blending into these kinds of crowds. No one needed to know that her dress, while beautiful and designer, had been purchased at a steep discount at a local thrift store. No one needed to know that she would go home that night to a modest studio in Brooklyn or that she’d spent the last few years getting her master’s while working more than a full-time job. Most of all, no one needed to know that Delaney felt as different from the people around her as an Andy Warhol in a sea of Rembrandts.

Carmen and Delaney spent a few minutes looking at the Cubist-inspired painting before Delaney shook her head.

“Not this one. I can see what the artist is doing here — he’s clearly done his homework, but the painting is more than a little derivative, if you ask me. I would go for a different one.”

“This is why I keep you around,” Carmen said with an appreciative nod. “You’re good at sorting the wannabes from the real talent.”

“I try.” Delaney smiled her polite smile again. In truth, even this painting had promise, and Delaney’s heart went to the artist.

“Well, I’m going to use the powder room. Let me know if you spot any more diamonds in the rough.” Carmen winked, then sashayed off towards the bathrooms. Her slinky black dress and silver shawl shone in the soft gallery lighting.

Delaney looked down at her own dress. It was a soft cream color and she wore it to most of these events, with different shawls, jackets, and belts to make it look a little different each time. Even though she knew she looked nice enough, she still felt out of place. She would never walk with the confidence of a woman like Carmen, not while she wore a thrift-store dress.

“I never understood Cubism.”

Delaney pulled herself out of her reverie and looked up at the man who had come to stand beside her. He was dressed, like most of the men in the room, in a designer suit that had been perfectly tailored to fit him. Unlike most of the gallery’s clientele, though, he was closer to Delaney’s mid-twenties than everyone else’s forties and fifties. He had short brown hair, dark gray eyes the color of storm clouds, and an athletic physique with the clear outline of muscles under his jacket. He looked like he’d walked off a poster.

“No?” Delaney clasped her hands in front of her. “Honestly, me neither. It isn’t my favorite style.”

“And what is?”

“I love Impressionism. And landscapes. I especially love Italian Renaissance painters — I’d love to go to Italy someday and see a few of their pieces in person. How about you?”

“I’m relatively new to the art world. But I know beauty when I see it.” He gave Delaney a long, meaningful glance and she felt warmth flood her. This handsome man was flirting with her, very openly, and it felt nice to be noticed by someone who was near her age and attractive. Delaney wasn’t usually one to flirt with strangers, but just for tonight she decided to lean into it.

“You have a good eye.” She winked. “What brings you here tonight?”

“I’m looking for investments.” The man sighed lightly. “But I’m absolutely clueless.”

“I doubt that.” Delaney didn’t love the idea that the man was just here for investments, but everyone was. They didn’t have to agree on everything to flirt a little.

---