by Lee, Nadia
That explained why he’d looked Blaine up when he didn’t have to. Why he’d set up the trust fund, and was trying to treat Blaine just like his legitimate children.
And it explained why Ceinlys had felt the need to confront Georgia Love. Losing Salazar would’ve been a devastating blow to the image-conscious woman.
“What is it?” Amandine said.
“Huh?” Catherine said.
“You just got a ‘holy cow’ look on your face. What?”
“Oh…nothing.” Catherine shook her head. “I was just thinking about what I’m going to wear to the wedding.”
“Something sexy and flashy,” Meredith said.
“And really outrageous,” Kerri added. “I so want somebody to rub Barron the wrong way. Actually…don’t do that. He’d probably put out a contract on you, and that would suck.”
“I thought he’d already done that over what I said to you at Ethan’s.”
Kerri’s expression softened. “No. He has no idea, and I don’t want you to bring that up or think about it again. You were in a bad place, and frankly, everyone else in the family was too, what with Jacob and the company situation coming out like that. Anyone would’ve acted the way you did, and I don’t blame you. Let’s not hang on to bad feelings over something like that when we can start fresh. I want my family to be close and happy. I never had that growing up, so maybe it looks like I’m trying to force it. But I don’t care. I want us to try at least.”
The sincerity in Kerri’s tone brought tears to Catherine’s eyes. She blinked them away. “That’s really nice of you.”
Kerri smiled. “Hey, if Barron can start fresh, anybody can. That man…” She shook her head. “He’s overcompensating. I can’t wait until it’s over. Two more days…”
Natalie held her hand. “You can do it. Just think: as soon as the ceremony’s over, you’re off to Europe!”
“Thank god.”
Fern came over. “Kerri, you have a phone call.”
“From who?”
“Your grandfather.”
Kerri made a face. “Speak of the devil. And speaking of devils, how the hell did he know where I am?”
“The man found you in Hong Kong,” Natalie pointed out. “This probably wasn’t much of a challenge.”
Catherine had heard the story. Because of family problems, Kerri had decided to disappear after graduating from college. It had taken Barron years to find her and bring her back into the fold.
Fern handed Kerri the phone. The younger woman answered it and said a few things in a hushed voice. Everyone else waited, holding their breath, wondering what Barron could want.
Kerri put down the phone and sighed long and loud. The other women all traded glances. Finally, Amandine broke the silence. “Well? What did he say?”
“We’re all invited to dinner tonight at the Sterling home.”
“Kind of short notice,” Natalie said.
“It doesn’t matter.” Kerri sighed again. “He’s insisting, so that’s that.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Barron Sterling’s three-story mansion on a private beach redefined the term ostentatious. Marble, teak and crystal made up most of the house; every drape was pale cream silk with dark blue and gold accents. The vaulted living room ceiling soared heavenward, topped by a dome of crystal that transformed the evening light into an ever-changing mélange of oranges, reds and blues.
Amazingly enough, the house was also tasteful. A hint of restraint in the decoration—or maybe it was the elegant Mozart on the sound system—gave it just the right touch. Otherwise the place would’ve looked awful…what Olivia often referred to as “excess spectacle of the nouveau riche”.
Despite his age, Barron was a sturdy-looking man. A white Nehru shirt and linen slacks looked good on his comfortably fleshed frame. His mustache was neatly trimmed and immaculate, and there seemed to be fire burning behind his eyes.
The staff served chocolate cake with chocolate sauce drizzled over it. The moment broke up the conversation at the table. Catherine watched Barron offering more wine to Stella, who was seated to his immediate right. Despite his reputation, he wasn’t as horrible as she had expected. He actually seemed…grandfatherly.
Stella Lloyd was on Barron’s right; Ethan and Kerri to his left. The soon-to-be–happy couple looked frazzled; it couldn’t be fun to have two headstrong elderly people interfering in every aspect of their wedding. Next to them sat Natalie and her husband Alex Damon. Catherine had looked him up before coming over, and he was just as arresting as his public profile indicated. He played with his wife’s hair, wrapping it around his forefinger and twirling it. The movement unveiled a small patch of skin on her neck, and he kissed it, making Natalie blush.
Kerri’s second cousins Justin and Nate had pulled out their tablets and were checking them under the table. Catherine looked at both of them with half-curiosity. Her mother was certain that either would make a perfect husband for her. Justin was handsome and tall with dark hair and piercing eyes that would have looked threatening if it weren’t for how easily and frequently he smiled. His younger brother Nate was similar in appearance. Next to him, Meredith had her chin in her hand and was drumming her fingers, studiously ignoring him. Gavin and Amandine rounded out the table.
As soon as everyone had polished off their desserts, Barron cleared his throat. “As I mentioned earlier, I have something to show you all.”
“Please don’t tell me it’s another seating chart,” Kerri said. Ethan squeezed her hand.
“Don’t be fresh, child. Your wedding will be perfect, I guarantee it.” Barron gestured with his small fork before putting it down. “Now. Everyone, come with me.”
Stella rose and took his proffered arm, and they walked together like a king and a queen into a wide corridor off to the side. The others followed, and Amandine hooked an arm with Catherine. “What do you think?” Amandine whispered.
“I think Stella and Barron have something going on.”
“He’s not her type,” Gavin said, his voice flat.
Amandine laughed. “I mean what do you think he wants to show us?”
“Oh. I don’t know… Dinosaur bones maybe?” Catherine had heard Barron collected various things.
The enormous room they entered had a high ceiling and square columns of pristine white. Catherine’s lips parted as she took in the paintings.
Up ahead, Stella said, “I didn’t know you were interested in fine art.”
“I like fine things,” Barron answered. “Art included, of course, and I keep some pieces here. The ones that won’t get too damaged by humidity.” He gestured at the paintings and miniature sculptures. “What do you think?”
“Oh, I’m hardly one to judge.”
Barron didn’t seem entirely satisfied with that answer. He turned to the younger generation. “Well?”
“They’re nice enough,” Kerri said.
“And expensive,” Justin muttered next to Catherine.
“I hope he didn’t pay too much for them,” Catherine said under her breath.
“Why not?”
“Some of them aren’t that great. Maybe worth a few thousand dollars at the most.”
Nate looked up from his tablet. “I don’t think they were meant to all be good. The man likes to spend every penny of his budget.”
Catherine frowned. “You mean Barron?”
“No, his curator.”
“What’s wrong with my curator?” came Barron’s booming voice right behind them.
Silence descended on the room. She closed her eyes and willed herself to disappear. Sadly that didn’t happen. “He likes spending your money a little too much,” Nate said finally. “Problem is, he doesn’t seem to be very good at it.”
“And you know something about art?” Barron asked.
“Not really. But I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
“Is that a fact?” Barron turned to Catherine. “Well, come on,” he said in an even tone. “Out with it.
What’s wrong with them?”
“Well. Um.” Catherine felt like the chocolate dessert she’d had earlier was about to come back up. That would be a spectacular ending to the evening. “I was just saying that some of them aren’t good enough to be worth more than a few thousand dollars.”
“I do not buy cheap things,” Barron said. “Every piece in this room is worth at least a hundred thousand dollars. My curator has done a thorough job.”
She couldn’t believe he had paid for this kind of “curation.” Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “With all due respect, I have to disagree. I think you got ripped off.” Everyone, including Stella, sputtered. Catherine’s gaze flew to a gigantic landscape behind Barron. “That one there. The technique isn’t bad, but it’s not great either. There’s nothing particularly arresting about the way the landscape is presented on the canvas, and, well…”
“That painting is two hundred and fifty years old. My curator bought it from an oil magnate in Texas.”
“Well, that explains the size. But the question is, are you going to think back to it a month from now? Is it going to stay with you? It’s…an okay work for an average living room, but not yours. You need something more suitable.”
“More suitable, hmmm?” His eyes glittered. “What do you mean?”
“I mean something that actually has some merit, both artistic and historical. For example, if you like landscapes, especially American ones from the 1800s, a Thomas Cole would be a good choice. This is what I might expect to see in Sala—” Horrified, she swallowed the rest of the comment, but it was too late. She could see Stella close her eyes behind Barron.
“Salazar’s home, eh?” the older man said.
“Uh…”
“The man has execrable taste.”
“Well, in art. He has good taste in other areas.”
“Women, you mean.” Barron pointed at a small frame on a column. “This one is on loan and I’m thinking about buying it. What’s your opinion?”
She took a close look at it and pulled back in surprise. “Wow! This is gorgeous. There’s so much power.” She shot him with a curious stare. “Where did you find it?”
“The artist sent it over, trying to get me to buy it.”
“Then you should.”
“But I can’t decide how much to pay.”
“No more than four hundred thousand U.S.,” she said immediately.
“You sound quite sure.”
“What can I say? I keep track of the art world.” She smiled. “And I know talent when I see it.”
“Are you the Catherine Fairchild in that Wall Street Journal article?” Justin asked suddenly.
“If you’re referring to the one about François, then yes.”
“I read that too.” Barron grew speculative. “It said you never miss your mark with artistic talent.”
“Well. I’ve been very lucky.”
“My dear, once would be luck. Fifteen consecutive winning picks is an impressive record.”
Then an idea suddenly hit Catherine. If he was paying to have his collection curated, why couldn’t he hire her to do that? Surely she could do a better job?
But did she have what it took to work for somebody like Barron? She’d heard stories about how difficult it was to please him. On the other hand, what did she have to lose? This could be her chance to make something of herself and gain the self-respect and pride she sought.
“If you want, I could work for you,” she said, before she talked herself out of it.
“Could you?”
“J. P. Morgan had somebody curate exclusively for his collection. I don’t see why you can’t.” Catherine kept her gaze on Barron, but she could feel everyone’s eyes on her.
Barron’s gaze was sharp despite his paternal tone. “What would you want?”
“Want?”
“Surely you must have a salary in mind?”
Salary. Of course. “How much are you paying your current curator?”
He named a figure that made Catherine’s jaw slack. That much?
Barron’s chin lifted, and he regarded her over his cheekbones. “Your turn. How much?”
“I…” She saw Kerri point upward then hold out two fingers in her peripheral vision. “I want twice what you’re paying him.”
“Twice, eh? You think you’re that good?”
“You said it yourself. Fifteen consecutive winning picks isn’t luck.” Kerri kept pointing upward. Ask for even more? Oh god. Still, she probably knew more than Catherine about how to negotiate this kind of stuff. “I’d also want, uh, performance-based bonuses and full benefits.”
“Naturally,” Barron said.
She nodded, her heart pounding. The salary she’d asked for would put her in the top tax bracket. She was terrible at numbers and accounting, but she knew that much from chatting with her social acquaintances and the wives of the TLD executives. “Oh and housing expenses up to five thousand a month.”
“Would you like unlimited access to my bank account as well?” Barron asked. Several people coughed, and Kerri gave Catherine two thumbs up from behind her grandfather.
“I’m sure it’s pocket change for a man such as yourself.” Even as she said it, Catherine wasn’t sure where the courage was coming from. She’d never been as aggressive about anything she felt like pursuing, but she knew this could change everything for her. “When was the last time you had to budget for something you wanted?”
“That’s not the issue.” Barron drew himself up. “Very well, here are my terms: a one-year trial at the same salary as my current curator, and you will work parallel to him. At the end of the year, whoever’s acquisitions are worth more, on a cost basis, will be kept on. You will have performance bonuses that can potentially total up to twice the base salary, as well as full benefits, and a housing allowance of four thousand dollars per month. I’m sure that will be more than sufficient, even in London or New York.”
Catherine’s mind reeled. It took all of her years of training and poise to say, “Done.”
He smiled. “My dear, I like your style. I’ll have an employment contract sent to you.”
“I’ll need to have it vetted before I decide.” There was no way she could review the document herself.
“I’d expect nothing less from a woman who dares to haggle with me”—a twinkle replaced the glitter in his eyes—“even if we are going to be family.” He pulled out a business card with the Sterling & Wilson logo. “This is the Corporate Secretary’s number. He’ll fax it to whichever law firm you prefer.”
“Thank you.” She kept her hand steady despite the thrill she was feeling. This job would solve her money problems. She had no doubt that she could do better than his current curator over the coming year, and once the position was completely hers, she wouldn’t have to rely on anybody’s charity. Most of all, she wouldn’t need a man to take care of her.
But at the same time she couldn’t help but wonder if this was the right path…the answer to her prayers. There were things that she couldn’t do very well. Surely Barron would expect his curator to be able to read and write competently.
“Excellent,” Barron said, rubbing his hands. “Now that that’s all done, what do you think about this seating arrangement for the wedding?” He pulled out a tablet from his pocket and called up a diagram full of circles and names. Everyone groaned, but he ignored them. “First of all, you should know that I’ve commissioned a few ice sculptures. I think they should go here…and here…”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ethan and Kerri’s wedding was grander than anyone could’ve imagined. It wasn’t actually on the beach, since Barron had rented a huge private beach resort out for two days. But the outdoor view was amazing with the small waves curling into the pristine white sand. A small orchestra several feet away from the altar played the wedding march, and the sheer number of flowers could have put a botanical garden to shame. The resort staff had set up plenty of shade for everyone, and white satin covered hun
dreds of chairs. Ivory doves cooed in cages, ready to be released toward the end of the ceremony.
Kerri’s grandfather had been determined to give her the wedding of the century, and Catherine knew from reputation that Barron Sterling always got what he wanted. Now she sighed at how gorgeous Kerri looked. The white dress was a custom-made piece of art, but it was the bride’s happiness that shone through. Kerri positively glowed as Barron did the honor of giving her away.
As overzealous and irritating as Ethan could be from time to time, he’d never betray Kerri. The woman had no idea how lucky she was. She was beautiful, smart and had a man who lived for her.
Breathing in the salty air, Catherine glanced across the aisle at the throng of Pryces, who’d—surprisingly enough—come as guests on the bride’s side. Apparently Salazar was close to one of the Sterling cousins. Blaine was among them, four seats away from a stony Ceinlys, who could only occasionally manage a smile that looked more like a grimace. He caught Catherine’s eye, and she looked away, suddenly flustered. Her body tingled every time she was in his vicinity. It was her first time feeling like this. Was this the sizzling chemistry people always talked about? If so, it was inconvenient…and irresistible.
He wasn’t the only one who’d noted her presence. Maybe she shouldn’t have worn her favorite red dress. It commanded too much attention among all the pastel ensembles and tan tropical suits.
She and Blaine had avoided each other for the last two days. Well, he might have tried to see her, but she hadn’t ventured out to the beach again. Besides being unsure that she wanted to see him again so soon, she’d been busy with family gatherings, including the rehearsal dinner, and having her lawyer review the contract from Barron.
If Blaine hadn’t apologized at the restaurant, she could’ve told herself it was over. He’s rich enough now, came the familiar motherly voice that had always pointed out the most suitable men for her. He could be the guy who gets the 1787 Château Lafite.
Except Catherine didn’t want him like that. He was the only guy she’d ever slept with without expecting something material in return. She wanted him. He was a decent sort, hard-working and honest, a kind of pioneer stereotype that simply didn’t exist in her usual social circles. She also gave him credit for not being overly impressed with her looks. Not even her own mother thought she was good for anything except hanging off a man’s arm and looking pretty.
