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It felt like watching two boxers in a ring, neither willing to back down. Their verbal blows and icy glares were jabs and hooks thrown with precision. They were locked in a fierce battle of wills, and I held my breath, waiting to see who would land the knockout punch.
“I didn’t realize my absence was such a problem for you, Miss Whitenhouse. I’ll make sure to be here more often then, for your personal pleasure, of course.”
Jade’s cheeks turned bright red, whether from anger or embarrassment, it was hard to tell. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Lazzio. Your presence is hardly a pleasure for anyone, especially not for me.”
Okay, stop.
I’d heard enough.
I coughed loudly. “Good morning, Sir. I’d love to discuss the transfer of Mario’s painting if you’re available this afternoon.”
Angelo turned his attention to me. “Of course,” he replied, his tone more professional. “I am available in the afternoon. Let’s meet in my office at 2.”
With a final glance at Jade, he pivoted and strode back toward the elevator.
The doors began to close, but just before they sealed him off, he couldn’t resist a parting shot: “Stay away from me, Miss Whitenhouse. Wouldn’t want you to catch the flu.”
As the elevator doors closed, the ringing bell echoed in the silence that followed.
“Well, damn,” I muttered under my breath, shooting Jade a hard look.
“What?” she said innocently.
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head in exasperation.
Turning away, I made my way through the museum’s basement to the open door leading outside, where three annoyed movers were still waiting for me.
Chapter
Forty
“Depending on who viewed it,
Persephone had either been stolen or she had run from Demeter.
Either way, she made herself queen.”
? Olivie Blake
Sofiya
Amidst the elegance and excitement of The Changing Season exhibition’s opening night, a few unexpected mishaps unfolded: some guests got so tipsy they accidentally shattered champagne glasses, Jade kept flirting with different men, and an annoying flicker from a display light added to the chaos.
However, these minor incidents couldn’t overshadow the celebration of my dream finally coming true.
The grand hall hummed with well-dressed guests, immersed in conversation and captivated by the exquisite sculptures and paintings on display.
Cheryl Bloss, radiant in her stunning violet Vintage Chanel dress, appeared deep in conversation with her husband, who was a good twenty years her senior.
I couldn’t help but wonder if they were debating the mysteries of the universe or simply the rising taxes due to inflation. Perhaps they held the secrets to world peace beneath their overpriced attire.
Near the bar, Lory Clarks and Deliah Hassan, both dressed in fashionable Yves Saint Laurent outfits, shared conspiratorial chuckles. I could only imagine the hilarious gossip or inside joke that had them in stitches. Maybe they had stumbled upon a secret stash of unlimited cocaine, relishing the thrill of keeping it to themselves.
Meanwhile, Alexander Mono, slightly tipsy, sought attention from his father Richard, who looked more exasperated than usual. It seemed like the classic tale of a son trying to impress his father, only to receive eye rolls in return.
In the background, Alexsei and Angelo, masters of nonchalant charm, leaned against a pillar, sipping champagne with a sophistication that could rival James Bond.
I wonder what they were discussing.
