The Schemer (Harbor City 3)

Of course, her relief had been short-lived.

“Oh, I’d love to join you,” Irena said, her eyes sparkling with fake sincerity. “It’s such a marvelous collection, and I’m dying to hear the stories behind your favorite pieces.”

Next to her, Helene mumbled something that sounded a lot like, “That can be arranged,” but Everly must have misunderstood. The older woman hadn’t been anything but gracious, if a few degrees colder than normal, since they’d sat down, continually drawing Irena into conversation. Of course, that could have been just so the woman kept her claws sheathed. Everly gave Helene a covert once-over and caught the other woman’s nearly silent groan of frustration. Yep, Helene hadn’t been acting nice, she’d been acting as distractor-in-chief.

“Don’t you want to spend more time with Carlo?” Alberto asked, obviously wanting to soften the edges building up around their little party and keep her with his son when he returned.

“We have the rest of our lives for that.” Irena flashed a beauty-queen smile at her future father-in-law and stood up. “Shall we?”

A flash of annoyance tightened Alberto’s features, but he recovered quickly and ushered everyone out of the dining room and through the house on a sort of art appreciation scavenger hunt before ending the tour in front of a Rembrandt in the sitting room. It was fantastic. Irena gazed up at the painting, everything about her screaming “art lover” except for the bored, slightly glazed look in her eyes. Alberto and Helene stood nearly shoulder to shoulder, discussing the painting, while Tyler stood a few feet away, thumbs flying as he texted on his phone. The rush of protective fury that had filled her when Irena unleashed her poisoned claws evaporated. How in the world could anyone be so close to something as amazing as this Rembrandt and not be in awe? Irritation pinched her nerves and a flush of frustration heated her cheeks. There was something seriously wrong with that man when he couldn’t take even a few minutes to turn his attention from whatever plot for world domination he was hatching to a painting that had brought tears to people’s eyes. Turning, she caught Alberto staring at her, an indulgent expression on his face.

“I know you disapprove of breaking up the collection,” he said, standing with his hands clasped behind his back as he admired the painting. “But art is like love; you never really own it, you can only enjoy it with an open heart while you have it. Anyway, beauty should be shared with the world, not hoarded indefinitely.”

It was hard to argue with his logic even if it broke her heart a little—the leftover nicks and scrapes of growing up watching everyone leave, no doubt. Getting maudlin about someone else’s art collection wasn’t going to patch up those hurts, and it sure wasn’t going to end in a commission that helped to keep her gallery afloat.

“If your mind’s made up, then I know several people who would be interested in this Rembrandt and the others you have,” she said. “We could host an invite-only show or make it an exclusive one-on-one sale so you can find the right buyer for your paintings.”

“All I ask is to find someone who will love them as much as I do, but I’ll do what you think best,” Alberto said. “Howe

ver, I do have several more pieces that I’m not sure about parting with. Irena, I know you have wedding arrangements to make, but why don’t the rest of us go down to my house in Key West next weekend, and you can argue with me to keep them.”

“What makes you say I’d argue?” she asked with a chuckle.

He laughed. “Because I know you, tesoro.”

She could argue about a lot of things, but not that. The Italian had her number.

“So I’ll arrange for the jet to take all of us to Key West,” he said.

Helene’s eyes widened, but she recovered quickly. “I don’t think my schedule will allow it.”

“Bellisima,” he said, beaming at Helene. “We both know you could will the world to your liking. Something like a calendar with activities penciled onto its pages can’t stop you.”

“You’re a horrible flirt. It’s most unbecoming,” she responded, the beginning of a smile curling her lips. “But I’ll see what I can move around.”

Seemingly satisfied—for the moment—with her answer, Alberto turned his big brown puppy-dog eyes on her. Oh, that was so not fair. She traveled for clients on a regular basis to appraise or advise, but a trip to the Keys when winter was just starting to think about slamming into Harbor City seemed more fun than work. She rolled options in her head as Alberto watched her expectantly. Even Tyler had looked up from his phone and was watching her.

“Oh, say yes,” Irena said, sauntering closer to the rest of them, an evil little glint in her eye. “I’m sure Alberto will cover everything so you don’t have to worry about cost.”

Everly didn’t think of herself as a violent person. Argumentative? Okay, she’d cop to it. A pain in the ass? Sometimes. But actually fist-to-face violent? No way. Then she met Irena the bitch ex-fiancée who’d gotten her talons into totally too trusting Carlo, and Everly had a sudden urge to smack the other woman stupid—or, more correctly, stupider.

Oblivious to the risks she was taking with her life, Irena went on. “I remember, Tyler, how you used to worry about how much to spend on things. This one time we were at dinner and he saw the wine list and he had to ask…”

The rest of what the hag was saying faded into static as red ate away at Everly’s vision. Oh, that was it. What a classist bitch. Pulling back from the hold-my-earrings edge, she strutted over to Tyler with an extra bit of aggression in the sway of her hips. The muscles in his jaw were getting a workout with the effort it was obviously taking him not to lash out at the future daughter of the man whose business he was so determined to land. Everly had been there, done that, and it sucked. She wasn’t about to stand by and watch someone else get humiliated in the snide little rich bitch fashion.

“Alberto,” she said, cutting off Irena’s passive-aggressive verbal attack and taking Tyler’s hand in hers. “Of course we’ll come. And no need to worry about cost. Tyler’s become incredibly successful since his days with his ex-fiancée.”

One of Tyler’s black eyebrows went up in question. “We will?”

“Wonderful,” Alberto answered before Everly had a chance to respond. “So it’s decided. Let’s celebrate with a glass of champagne and then we can look at our schedules, Tyler, because I believe we have some ideas of yours to discuss about bringing my hotels to America.”

Irena, Helene, and Alberto headed back into the dining room, but Everly lingered in front of the Rembrandt, trying to unravel what she’d just done. Spending time on a tropical island with Tyler was the last thing she wanted. The man was one of the most exasperating people she’d ever met, but her passion had gotten the better of her—something that seemed to happen all too frequently around him.

Tyler squeezed her hand, making her realize she was still holding his. A blush creeped up her chest, and she tried to unwind her fingers from his, but his strong grip held her close.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, something that looked like a mix of confusion and gratitude swirling in his eyes. “Our agreement was just for the introduction. You did your part.”

“I know,” she said, her gaze falling to their hands again before she forced her attention back to his face. “I just couldn’t help myself when she was acting like that. It was either say yes on your behalf or punch her in the face.”