Page 77 of Against Ebony Irish Seas

“Anyway, I was reaching out to tell you what I told your mother. You can feel free to disagree. She asked me what I thought about her coming tomorrow to the press conference. Either alone or with a whole bunch of other artists who are up in arms over what’s happened to you. The bottom line is that she wanted to be here to support you.”

Support you…Miracles did love company, she thought as emotion clogged her throat. “That’s very nice of her.”

“Yes,” she said crisply, “but I told her no. Let me tell you why. This press conference is about you and the arts center. Your story. Your art. The current situation. And, of course, what the center has planned for the future, although that’s not our present focus. Hence why I’m not having Jamie speak about the children’s program and the censorship issue. One volatile topic is enough. We’ll tease the rest out afterward… But if your mother came, people would want to talk abouther, and that’s off topic.”

She’d been around long enough to know Ghislaine was right. “How did my mother take the news?”

“She might have huffed a little, but she’s used me for decades as her publicist. Enough said. Are you angry?”

“Not at all.” She thought of the heron. “We have a plan. We take our steps and don’t rush things.”

“Exactly!” Ghislaine continued with her usual enthusiasm. “Do you need anything else for tomorrow? Another run-through?”

“We did that yesterday, and I need to rest.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “But you could send me the hologram you created of my statue.”

Ghislaine knew sometimes bigger was better, so she’d created a life-size hologram of the sculpture based on a digital image to wow the audience tomorrow. “The moment we end the call.”

“Thanks, Ghislaine. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too, Sophie. I just love surprises sometimes, don’t you? See you and Jamie tonight.”

Surprises, huh? Sophie had always thought surprises, like changes, were what you made out of them.

They were taking their recent curveballs and hitting for the fences.

Tomorrow, they needed a home run.

Her future and Greta’s depended on it.

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

Linc had never much cared for hoopla.

People might call press conferences a circus, but he’d rather be watching clowns and a lion tamer than pressing the flesh with a bunch of reporters. He had nothing against reporting as a profession. News was an important service. But reporters who twisted people’s words and information ought to be fired. It would be like one of his window makers substituting plastic or another inferior product for glass and still calling it a window.

Ghislaine had only issued invites to so-called credible journalists, but even so, they were a competitive lot, always looking to scoop one another. He was ready to step in if anyone asked a salty question of Sophie. Of course, she could stand on her feet. But if they went too far…

“You ready to go, cowboy?” Bets asked, coming out of the bathroom.

He whistled as he beheld her crisp navy pantsuit. “Business executive looks sexy on you.”

“Would we call that a misogynistic comment?” she asked, shooting him a look.

Gesturing to his gray suit and tie, he modeled for her. “Don’t I look sexy too?”

“You do.” She picked up the new earrings he’d given her—ones he hadn’t told her were diamonds although she’d probably guessed. “I’m doing my best to keep riding high after our kick-ass dinner with the new advisory board members last night, but my tummy is starting to get tight. This press conference is the biggest thing I’ve ever been a part of. Certainly, it’s the biggest we’ve done for the center.”

“All you need to do is smile when you’re introduced and make your statement welcoming everyone.” He crossed to her and rubbed her sides briskly. “Just tell your story. Why you started this place. It struck me right in the heart the first time I heard it. Others will feel the same, and if they don’t, then you know what they can do.”

She smiled. “Shove it where the sun don’t shine?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He extended his arm. “Let’s get going.”

His phone beeped, signaling a text. When he read it, he swore. “It’s Ghislaine. She got to the center just now, and she said there are protesters outside. All women, likely from some kind of local women’s association. They arrived in three buses and are blocking the driveway. Ghislaine has our security people trying to move them off the public road and is checking their permits, but our friend from the Garda is there with them.”

Bets fisted her hands at her sides. “Of course he is! Denis couldn’t have picked a better revenge. In Ireland, the Garda are supposed to help people keep it peaceful, but theycanprotest on public roads.”

“Terrific. As the saying goes, ‘the press is going to have a field day.’”

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