SEDUCTIVE: A Contemporary Romance Anthology

by Anthology

  “Then we pair it with a second sculpture, at differing heights to showcase each.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” a trembling tenor voice called from across the room. “I kind of think it would look good by the window. The natural light would highlight the details, don’t you think?”

  Olympia stiffened. Her boss had a nasty habit of popping up when he wasn’t wanted. She had serious reservations about his creative vision most days.

  He strode forward, standing a scant five-foot-three, hands in his jacket pockets and black-rimmed glasses perched on a hawkish nose. His white hair looked more Bea Arthur than Warhol, and his voice was more Pee-wee’s Playhouse than Clooney. Was she being bitter? Probably. Honest? You betcha.

  “With all due respect, Carl,” Olympia said, finger impatiently tapping on the clipboard she carried, “we’re hammering out the last-minute bugs with the gallery layout for the fundraiser. This is the final crucial step of planning before we set everything in motion. If we move the sculpture again,” that part was said more to Ashleigh than to her boss, “then it causes a tidal wave of issues for the rest of the pieces. We only have a month left.”

  She hated the way her last words cracked at the end because it meant she was stressed, and the last thing she wanted was to show off her nerves in front of those two. The show needed to go off without a hitch. If it did, it meant more money for the gallery, better artists coming in, and more media presence. It would mean the culmination of years of work.

  If it failed? She’d be out. It was clear to her that young Ashleigh was after her position, and if the fundraiser was a bust…Carl would blame Olympia and she’d be out on her ass before she could tell him to shove it where the sun didn’t shine.

  It was a risk she couldn’t allow.

  Being the curator for the Parrish Art Museum in Water Mill, New York, kept her busy most days and drowning in boredom others. But it was her passion. She loved being surrounded by the masters. Paintings and sculptures by some of the greatest artists, remembered by history, cared for by her and her team. If it wasn’t the greats, it was local artists wanting a foothold, a chance to display the pieces they’d worked so hard to create.

  An exhibit was coming up the following month and they were getting in pieces from across the country. For the most part, her concentration was focused on the details that tied the whole picture together. This week, however, she was all over the map. Scattered in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a teenager and unsure of where she wanted her life to go. Scattered like how she’d felt after her parents died.

  Carl studied the area in question, the bright corner currently occupied by another piece standing nearly nine feet toward the vaulted ceiling. “Ashleigh might have a point, Oly.”

  Ugh, she hated when he called her Oly. It was juvenile in the worst way.

  “I mean, the piece in question—” he continued.

  “Dryer’s Matriarch.”

  “Yes, that one. Wouldn’t it be splendidly illuminated in the afternoon light? With the sun’s rays catching the red of the maple tree outside? I can see it now…”

  “Sir, by the time the fundraiser starts, the leaves will be off the trees. The fundraiser is scheduled for November.”

  And it wouldn’t matter whether the red light of afternoon hit the damn thing or not. It would be in the center of the room on full display, where it belonged. Because out of the three of them, Olympia was the only one with a degree in art history and had at least an educated instinct about these things. But even her seven years at the gallery didn’t seem to matter when Carl got an idea in his head.

  “Let’s move on, shall we?” Olympia swiveled around for a swift exit and rammed straight into Ashleigh. Knocked off balance, she stumbled back on her heels, dropping the clipboard, tripping over her own feet, stubbing her toe on the marble pedestal and then scrambling to keep the copper wire statue she’d bumped from falling to the floor.

  She growled, trying not to give in to the stream of curses welling up in her throat. Her toe throbbed and at once her heels felt three sizes too small. One breath at a time, she told herself. It was a mantra she frequently repeated throughout the day. It probably added up to fifty percent or more of her mental chatter.

  “I’m fine,” she said, more for her benefit than anyone else’s. Carl and Ashleigh were halfway across the room, chatting over a different sculpture, a different painting. Paying no attention to her. Thick as thieves.

  It made her job harder, Olympia thought, straightening out her shirt and squaring her shoulders. Plastering a fake smile on her face. She retrieved the clipboard from the floor before walking over to join the duo.

  “Ashleigh, I need the oils sorted for rotation this week.”

  They stared at each other, neither looking away until Ashleigh forced an I-can’t-be-bothered-with-you smile. “Right now?”

  The attitude made Olympia want to tear her hair out. She barely reacted but felt a muscle clench in her jaw. The girl was hardly twenty and had a serious authority complex. Olympia herself was pushing the tail end of her thirties and wasn’t used to children of any age. Hell, she hadn’t even been one. Her mother always insisted she’d burst from the womb with an agenda and a pen.

  “Yes, right now. We have a lot planned for the day and I want to get it all in before we break for lunch.” She swallowed a sigh when the fire alarm went off again. “Maintenance!”

  She was going out of her mind. Pull it together, she tried to tell herself when the breathing mantra didn’t work. She had another month and a little bit to get the details hammered out for the gallery show. A month and a little bit to prove she had what it took to not only run the gallery for Carl but bring in more revenue and eyes on local artists.

  She was about to jog—in a very ladylike manner—out of the room and strangle the maintenance worker doing God knows what on the alarm system. Also in a very ladylike manner. She was interrupted mid-stride by her cell phone.

  Carl swiveled in her direction with an eyebrow arched.

  “It’s fine.” Olympia reached down and silenced the monster in her trouser pocket. “Probably just my mom again.”

  Carl crooked a finger in her direction. “I want to talk to you more about the stencils in the hallway. I was thinking we could—”

  Her phone rang again, and mortification didn’t begin to describe what she felt. Her insipid smile was the first step in covering up her embarrassment. She held out a finger. “One moment. It must be an emergency. She knows better than to call me at work.” Olympia fumbled for the phone, her clipboard determined to slip out of her hands again, and finally pressed the button to answer. “Hello?”

  “Is this Mrs. Trumbald?” inquired a masculine voice.

  So it wasn’t Mrs. Nunez, unless the woman had been secretly gorging herself on testosterone. “It depends on the person on the other end. May I ask who is calling?” She blinked bleary eyes at the red numbers of the clock across the room. Stifled a growl when they blurred together. Her staff would be breaking for lunch in thirty minutes. She didn’t have time to waste on telemarketers.

  “Mrs. Trumbald, my name is Marvin Bower, I’m an attorney, and I’ve been appointed as trustee for your cousin’s estate.”

  Olympia, with her finger still held high for good measure, sent an apologetic look to Carl and tried to distance herself by walking across the room. “Sorry, you have me mistaken for someone else. I don’t have a cousin.”

  “Your mother’s brother’s only child? Joshua Salant?”

  “My mother is dead.”

  “Then who is it you thought was on the other line?” Carl called out.

  Damn. Still within listening range. She didn’t have the time to explain her odd relationship with her neighbor and the way the older Hispanic woman had appointed herself Olympia’s guardian. Mrs. Nunez liked to be called Mom and settled for nothing less.

  Her mind was still too focused on her to-do list to understand what the man was saying.

  “Oh, yes,
I’m aware. Miss Marianne Salant, married to Gilbert Crane, both deceased.” Papers shuffled in the background. “I have their death certificates in front of me, along with those of your aunt and uncle. I’m speaking of your cousin, Joshua.”

  “Joshua…oh. Oh! Oh God, that’s right. Josh.” Olympia drew in a breath. “I haven’t thought about him in years. When was the last time we saw each other? Must have been when we were about five. His father took a job in…where was it? France?” She was rambling again. Why couldn’t she turn off her mouth?

  “Paris, yes,” Marvin Bower continued. “However, I’m afraid this is not a simple courtesy call.”

  “Wait a minute. You said trustee. Estate. Did something happen?” Her stomach lurched in the familiar way it did when she received bad news. Which happened more often than not in her life. One would think she’d be used to it.

  “I regret to tell you there was an accident last week. Your cousin and his wife lost their lives.”

  Another accident. More senseless death. Her mind flashed back to her parents’ car wreck. Her husband’s. “I’m…wow. I’m sorry to hear that. Were they in the States at the time? No, that doesn’t matter.” She was slowly coming awake to the situation, the gears in her mind clicking into place.

  “As I’m sure you’re aware, you are your cousin’s closest living relative. Therefore, the task of managing the bulk of his estate passes to you.”

  “Wait. I inherited property in France?” She struggled to understand.

  “No, Mrs. Trumbald. I’m sorry to tell you any property must be sold to pay the debts—”

  The phone crackled and the rest of his statement was lost. “Sorry, what was that?”

  “I said—”

  Static answered her back and she held the cell away from her ear. “Where are you? I can hardly hear a word you’re saying.”

  When Marvin finally came back on, he was practically shouting. “I asked if you are free to meet me this afternoon!”

  Thank goodness she had held the phone away from her ear. “I have a few appointments but I can push them back depending on the time. What works best for you?”

  “Actually, now works best for me. Can you meet me at the Radisson? As soon as you can.”

  “Now? Well…all right, I guess that works, but it has to be quick. I’ve got so many things to do today—”

  “Yes,” he interrupted, “no problem.” They set up a rendezvous point to meet and Olympia signed off, stunned at the sudden turn of unexpected events.

  Her poor cousin. She didn’t know the details yet, but it made her feel bad thinking about it. He wasn’t much older than she was. A couple of years at the most. Then again, she had become a widow at thirty-four. Maybe she needed to adjust her thinking a little bit.

  Guilt rose over the years of disconnected distance between them. She’d never reached out once the family moved, except for the occasional Christmas card. Now she’d never get the opportunity.

  Wow, she was a terrible cousin. Which was inexcusable because she didn’t have much family to keep in touch with anymore. Josh might have been her only living relative on the spectrum, barring of course those third- and fourth-removed type cousins and aunts and uncles in the greater range. With whom she’d also never interacted.

  She should have done better. Reached out to Josh. Kept track and kept in touch.

  Then again, where had he been when her husband committed suicide two years ago? Oh, that’s right. In Paris.

  Olympia let her back hit the wall and thought about beating something for the emotional release. Sometimes the feelings were too much for her to handle, and she needed an outlet. This was why she’d toyed with the idea of setting up a punching bag in her basement, with the option for a similar but miniature model in her work office.

  Pull yourself together. Maybe the good thoughts would work this time.

  “Carl, I need to head out,” she called, glancing down at her clipboard and the workload for the day she hadn’t yet accomplished.

  She heard the harried click of his heels along the floor. “You were just saying you had a full plate scheduled for today,” he told her almost petulantly.

  “I realize what I said. However, an emergency has come up and I’ll need to step out of the office for an hour. At the most.”

  He stared at her, one of those I-can’t-believe-you’re-serious looks similar to the one Ashleigh had given her earlier. What did they do, hang out together in their spare time?

  “An hour, tops,” Olympia reiterated. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

  Trying not to look at him, she strode past and into her office to grab her purse.

  Josh was dead? Her only remaining close relative was now gone too? Why did this suddenly make her feel exceedingly sad? And more alone than ever? “Everything is going to be fine,” she told her reflection in the small mirror on the wall near her desk. Her reflection smiled back at her, earnest if somewhat strained. “This is just a standard meeting to finalize the estate. No big deal.”

  At least she hoped it was no big deal. After everything she’d gone through after her husband passed away, she wasn’t willing to dive into that particular arena again. Hopefully, Josh had a better plan in place than Dan had. The same Dan who had assured her multiple times he had made a will and she would be taken care of if anything happened to him.

  That hadn’t been the case. He’d lied about having his affairs in order. And instead of letting her in to help him handle things before it was too late, he’d shut her out on the important stuff. Like he’d shut her out on his struggle with depression and bipolar disorder. Like he’d chosen instead to self-medicate with illegal prescription drugs and alcohol until he succumbed to both.

  Olympia shook her head to dispel those thoughts, anger and sadness lingering beneath her sternum. Today she would focus on Josh. Focus on…what was his name? The lawyer?

  Within minutes she was in her car and on her way to the Radisson for a meeting with her cousin’s lawyer. She was determined not to think of this as a wrench in her plans for the day.

  In the hotel parking lot, she took a moment to compose herself before getting out of the car. She pinched her cheeks to give them a bit of color. Pushed her hair out of her eyes and tried to make order of the mess. The gray strands at her roots were starting to show through the strands of chestnut. Soon it would be time to take herself to the salon and get them covered again. The maintenance was a killer but it was better than looking older than her scant thirty-six years of age.

  Marvin! Marvin…something. That was the lawyer’s name. It came to her in a flash on her way into the lobby. He said he’d requested one of the common rooms on the main floor for their consultation this afternoon. He was staying at the hotel while he was in town and thought it easier to meet there. She’d agreed with him. It was better than trying to navigate her way through city streets—never a pleasure—or have the man come to her home. She didn’t want to take the chance either way.

  Finding her way to the right room, Olympia took a seat at one of the tables, crossing her legs, setting her purse down and rooting around for her lip gloss for something to do with her hands.

  It was agony not to look at the clock and count the minutes. How had she managed to beat Marvin to their meeting? Normally prompt, she’d given herself a few extra minutes of cushion, but if he was late, it ate into her allotted hour.

  She craved a cigarette. Which was odd, because she didn’t even smoke.

  “Mrs. Trumbald?”

  A freakishly tall man with a goatee, a bald patch, and deep lines carved into his face approached her, briefcase in one hand and his other hand out for a shake.

  “Mr…Marvin.” When his name escaped her again, she stood and offered him a megawatt smile instead, holding out her hand. “I’d like to say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but truly…”

  She trailed off and he filled in the blank. His goatee bristled. “I understand. These are not exactly the perfect circumstances, are they? I’m
sure you weren’t expecting this today.”

  It was work to keep the smile from turning snarky, but of course none of this was his fault. “Not in the least.”

  “However, I do appreciate your promptness in the meeting.” Marvin glanced around him, rotated in a complete circle, his eyes turning suddenly frantic.

  “Did you forget something?” she asked politely.

  “No, ah, I’m sure she’s around here somewhere…likes to run off, I’ve found.”

  “She?”

  Marvin took a giant step back like a man on stilts, his arm shooting out around the door of the room. “Reneee, please!”

  When he retracted his hand, his fingers were clenched around a bright red pea coat, leading down to stubby stocking-clad legs and adorable buckled black patent leather shoes.

  Olympia studied the little girl, from the pout to the pudge of baby fat. The riot of curls like a halo around her head gave her a cherub-like appearance. “Is this your daughter? She’s beautiful.”

  “No, she’s not my daughter.” Marvin sighed and led the little girl to a seat at the table. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get the proceedings started.” He laid the briefcase on the table, clicked it open and searched inside for papers. The inside of the case looked like a mini Tasmanian devil had played havoc there. “I have a few papers for you to sign and then everything will be turned over to you to handle the bulk of Mr. Salant’s estate.”

  “Sure. No problem.” She sent a grin to the little girl, currently kicking her legs back and forth and knocking her feet into the underside of the table. “How old are you, sweetie?” she said softly, signing the first paper Marvin sent her way without even reading it.

  The little girl huffed, crossed her arms over her chest.

  “What? You don’t want to answer me?”

  Marvin handed her the next stack of papers in need of her signature. “Her name is Renee, and she is four years old.”

  “Four, wow. You’re such a big girl.”

  Again, Renee refused to answer. Was she unbearably shy?

  Olympia felt her heart ping against her ribs. She’d pretty much given up on having children. That ship had sailed when her husband died and she’d been diagnosed with cysts on her ovaries.