“Does what?” her brother asked.
“He’s a philanthropist. According to her he has set up many charities including a foundation for the homeless. I know he does it for tax purposes, but I’m pretty sure she told me all those things to reassure me he’s compassionate too.”
“He seemed like a good man to me when I took him rafting down the river. No wonder he used the name Vince. It’s the only way he can have any anonymity.”
She buried her face in her hands. “I still can’t believe I picked him to paint.”
“I can,” her mother drawled. “So can all the millions of women who will mourn when he’s not on any more romance covers.”
“Mom—” Craig laughed. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“You’d have to be a woman to understand.”
“Is dad aware of your secret fantasy?” he teased.
“There are several things he’s better off not knowing.”
“Don’t tell me you read those romances too?”
“Rainey and I have been enjoying them for years. You were always too busy devouring your hunting and fishing magazines to notice.”
At this point Rainey couldn’t help chuckling. Her mother’s comments had managed to lighten her mood.
“It looks like we’ve arrived,” Craig muttered, sounding miffed by their mother’s confession.
On the whole Rainey found that men seemed uncomfortable by the thought of romance novels and heroes. It was very strange since statistics showed that men had fantasies about women on a daily basis.
Rainey lifted her head in time to see her brother pay the fare. They piled out of the taxi into a horde of people coming and going from the ferry. It happened to be the John F. Kennedy.
Craig pulled out his pocket camera and snapped a picture, then herded them toward the terminal for their tickets.
Being with her family until they left for the airport the next morning prevented Rainey from dwelling on the whole disturbing incident with Mr. Sterling. Her long talk into the night with Craig about his business plans had kept disturbing thoughts of him at bay.
But once she’d waved them off in a taxi headed for the airport, memories of him came rushing back with a vengeance.
To stem the tide, she straightened her apartment, did a wash and scoured the bathroom. When everything was neat and clean, she showered and dressed in cutoffs and a T-shirt. After going downstairs for her mail, she was ready to get back to her painting.
An hour later she’d finished the lace on the wedding gown. The cover for The Bride’s Not-So-White Secret was done.
She called the courier service to schedule a pickup for Monday morning. Now she could start on the next project for Global Greeting Cards which had come in the mail.
No sooner had she put the receiver back on the hook to get busy and her phone rang. She assumed it was Ken. He’d asked her to go to a jazz concert with him tonight in Greenwich Village and was probably calling to set up the time.
“Rainey Bennett Fine Art Studio.”
“Hello, Rainey.”
“Grace—” She clutched the receiver a little tighter for fear something else was wrong.
“Relax, my dear. All is well. Claud Finauer couldn’t be happier with the outcome.”
Relieved to hear that news, Rainey let go of the breath she’d been holding.
“For your information I had a call from Mr. Wallace a few minutes ago. If it’s convenient, someone will be coming by your apartment within the hour for your paintings of Mr. Sterling. I wanted to make certain you were home.”
“I’ll be here. Tell them to buzz me from the foyer so I can let them in. I’m on the third floor.”
“Good. I’ll call you next week. We’ll go out for lunch.”