A Reckless Note (Brilliance Trilogy 1)

He glances around the shop. “I wanted to see where you work. It’s a cozy spot.”

“Why are you here?”

“You really don’t love small talk, do you?”

“I like things that are real,” I say and it’s the truth. Too much is not, but those things are out of my control. Others are not.

He studies me a moment. “That’s a very unexpected answer.”

“It’s an honest answer.”

“I guess I now know why you appeal to me so damn much, Aria. I brought you a gift.”

My brows furrow. “A gift?”

He reaches into his jacket and sets a notecard in front of me. “A list of wine collectors that buy and sell.”

Suspicion prickles and bleeds into my voice. “Why would you give that to me? I could use this to help Ed. I could use this and then charge you for my finds.”

“I’ll pay ten percent for any bottle you source from that list. Twenty for bottles you source elsewhere.”

“That wasn’t an answer. What’s the catch?”

“Ed’s going to call you. Don’t take the call.”

Alarm bells replace suspicion. “Whatever this is—”

“It’s business. Just business.” He reaches into his pocket once more and sets an envelope down next to me. “A healthy retainer for your exclusive services related to the wine.” He glances at his watch. “Unfortunately, I’m headed to the Hamptons on more of that business or I’d suggest we celebrate.”

“I haven’t said yes.”

“No,” he says. “I suppose you haven’t. Cash the check and I’ll know you accept my offer. Then we’ll celebrate.” He catches my hand on the counter, and I suck in a breath, shocked at the intimate connection, waiting for that tingling connection I feel with Kace, but it doesn’t come. He leans in to kiss my hand, lifting it toward his mouth, but I don’t miss the way he seems to pause to study the delicate silver ring of sunflowers on my finger. A full three seconds pass before his lips brush my knuckles and he releases me.

“See you soon,” he says, and he walks toward the door.

I’m vibrating with ten different thoughts and I follow him, and when he exits, I quickly lock up, and then lean on the door to study the ring. Sunflowers are a popular flower in Italy, which connects me to my birthplace, but that isn’t why I wear it. It was my mother’s ring, a gift from my father, passed down generations. Surely Alexander doesn’t know that. Or does he? Does he know who I am?

My gaze lands on the envelope with the retainer and I hurry back behind the counter, grab it, and lift the seal. I remove a check and stare at the figure: fifty-thousand dollars. It’s not the first large retainer I’ve been given, by far, so the figure doesn’t stun me, but I’ve never collected such a fee without a specific item in the spotlight. My gut is screaming that something is off, something is wrong. I glance down at my ring. Something hits too close to home.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The VIP Auction night has finally arrived.

I arrive at Riptide by way of Uber in plenty of time for the preview of the violin, as instructed by my VIP package. Unfortunately, I’m also in another black dress, which isn’t ideal from an impression standpoint, but beggars can’t be choosers. This particular gown is fitted, knee length with a V-neck, spaghetti straps, and a dusting of glitter. My petite black purse is more a just-big-enough for the necessities. My heels are the same red-bottomed pair I wore to the last event. Nothing I have on except those heels are name brand, but a fancy dress to the common eye is a fancy dress. Of course, not many at this event likely have a common eye, but I can’t worry over such things, not tonight.

Exiting the car, I shiver with the night air while my nerves cling and clang, and not just from the windy chill of the night air blowing through my long dark hair. I’m terrified that Gio won’t show up. I’m on edge with the idea that Sofia will and that I’ll have to confront her, which is exactly what I’ll do. I’m also hyperaware of the fact that I’ll be seeing Kace tonight.

Leaving my Uber behind, I approach the Riptide entrance and do so in the midst of women in fancy gowns and men dressed in a mix of tuxedos and expensive suits.

A staff member, also in a tuxedo, opens the door for me and once I’m inside, I check my coat, and quickly smooth my hair to order. It’s not an updo like so many of the women are wearing tonight for a reason: I’ll take whatever shield I can get when I intentionally bid, and lose the bid, on the violin that I can’t afford to win.

I follow the lobby signs that direct me and a large portion of the ten or so visitors present along with me, to a winding staircase. A short climb later, I step into a room where a dozen dangling crystal chandeliers sparkle above shiny, gold standing tables. And of course, waiters weave in between guests, delivering finger foods and flutes of champagne.