The Schemer (Harbor City 3)

“Probably because of that,” Helene said with a firm, sure nod that wasn’t reflected in the tone of her voice. “I’m not interested in anything like that back here in the real world.”

To paraphrase the bard, the lady was protesting too much. Not that she could just go and say that to Helene. The woman could verbally take her out at the knees without blinking.

“Why do you say that?”

Helene took a sip of the wine, her face remaining neutral except for the disgusted twitch of her nose. “Because I’ve already had love, and I’m not interested in being greedy. Anyway, I couldn’t do that to the boys and my husband’s memory.”

She shouldn’t interfere. It really wasn’t her place, but…Helene and Alberto so obviously went well together that she couldn’t help but give a little push.

“It’s too bad you feel that way, because Alberto is quite a guy. He loves art, is loyal, and can make a frittata that will bring tears to your eyes it’s so good.” Linking her arm in Helene’s, she pulled the woman off to the side just enough that they could have some privacy to talk while still keeping an eye on how things were going with the show. “I know he seems

like he’s nothing more than a horrible flirt, but there’s more to him than that. Has he told you the story of how his wife died?”

Helene shook her head, her eyes darkening with concern. “No.”

It wasn’t a story that Alberto often told, much preferring to let people think he was just a happy-go-lucky guy all the time, but there was something about seeing the two of them together that made Everly sure this was a story Helene needed to hear.

“It was ovarian cancer. She was thirty-two and Carlo was only four. Alberto saw her through it all, right up to holding her hand as she lay in their bed at home taking her last breaths.” He’d told her the story years ago after a mutual dark night of the soul and too many bottles of Chianti. He meant the tale to be a story of hope. It had been. “Losing her nearly broke him, just like losing Michael almost broke you.”

Helene’s sharp gaze narrowed. “Is this your not-so-subtle way of telling me I should have said yes?”

Busted.

“Like I’d ever tell you what to do. You’re Helene Carlyle, queen of the upper crust and despiser of the gallery house wine.”

The other woman sniffed disdainfully at the wine. “It really is horrible.”

She leaned in and dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s supposed to be, so people pay attention to the art instead of getting drunk on the wine.”

“I should have known you’d thought about it.” Helene chuckled and lifted her glass in a toast. “You consider all the angles almost as much as someone else we know.”

“Is that how you segue into asking me about Tyler?” She’d been expecting it ever since Key West. Helene wasn’t exactly known for keeping her opinions to herself. “We’re just having fun. It’s not serious.”

“Why not?”

Her muscles stiffened and she took a bracing drink of the house wine. Okay, this whole turnabout-is-fair-play thing wasn’t exactly enjoyable. “Because that’s not how things work out in the real world.”

“And how does it work out?”

The uncharacteristic soft sympathy in Helene’s voice was almost enough to undo her. A heavy sigh escaped, sinking her shoulders and taking her down from the high she’d been on for the past few days.

“With disappointment.” She knew it, and not only because of her nunni’s reminders.

“That’s too bad,” Helene said. “I think you two bring out the best in each other.”

Only temporarily, though. That was their agreement—just as long as it was fun. Dwelling on that wasn’t going to do her any good, especially not in the middle of a show. So after excusing herself from Helene, she made her rounds among the regulars and the newcomers. The feedback about Celeste’s work was fantastic. By the time the last few stragglers were on their way out, she’d placed discreet sold stickers on a third of the descriptor cards hanging next to each piece. Really, the night deserved a celebratory toast with a better wine than their house white.

Right on cue, the door opened and in walked Tyler with a bottle of something that was probably both expensive and delicious. He was spoiling her, and she was getting far too used to it. She was getting too used to him, too. Still, the happy buzz of butterflies riding roller coasters in her stomach didn’t abate even as she reminded herself of that fact.

Girl, you are in trouble. And what was worse, she didn’t even care.

…

Sitting at his desk, Tyler was starting to go numbers blind when a notification flashed across his screen from his assistant.

J. WEIR: There’s an Alberto Ferranti to see you.

Tyler double-checked that the door between his office and Jason’s desk on the other side was closed, then he did a fist pump. He’d been planting the seeds with Alberto, and it was all finally going to come to fruition. Not today, but soon. He’d bet money on it. All he had to do was keep things going in this direction and he’d make the deal. God, he loved it when a plan came together—especially one he hadn’t been paying as close attention to as he should have been thanks to his sexy upstairs neighbor, who managed to distract him more now than she ever had before, since she’d stopped hating his guts. Dangerous territory, that.