Page 117 of Flirting with Forever

Jacket turned to see if his rival was equally impressed, but Lely had disappeared.

Fifty-six

Cam scanned the heads as she descended. Ball should be obvious. Apart from having that rich man’s luminescent glow, he was generally a head taller than anyone else in the room.

She noted that the curtained Van Dyck painting had been removed and wondered if Lamont Packard had done the dirty work for her. Then she remembered they’d decided just before the gala to unveil it in the gallery upstairs, not in the space being used for cocktails.

She didn’t spot Ball, and, more important, didn’t see Peter, either.

Crap.

Anastasia was in a tête-à-tête with Jacket—of course—though when Jacket lifted his eyes and spotted Cam, he gave her a gentle smile.

Wow, this evening’s going to be more fun than my prom, when Billy Schuler spilled cherry brandy down the front of my dress, my date left early with Sue Rodriguez, the cheerleader-ho from the theater company, and Anastasia told everyone she could find that she used to think the reason I’d decided on Barnard was because I was a closet lesbian but had rejected that theory on the grounds that I really wasn’t interesting enough.

She reached the next-to-last stair and sighed. No Ball, no Peter. That could only mean they were upstairs—well, Ball at least—and she reversed direction.

“I don’t recall the invitation saying ‘bra optional.’ Bit of a mustard problem?”

Cam didn’t need to turn to recognize Jeanne’s voice, or her sense of humor.

“Yes, I’ve taken to eating in my underwear. Saves on dry cleaning.” She continued up the stairs.

“I’m sure the guy at the café loves it,” said Jeanne, who followed, drink in hand. “Remind me to recommend you to my friend at Hot Dog Quarterly. They’re always looking for the next centerfold. That is, unless you’re limiting yourself to art world porn at the moment.”

Cam swung around. “You saw the paintings? How?”

“Same way I saw my review, the bill from your mechanic, and the present state of your investment portfolio. The notes from Ball were on your desk. By the way, I’d stay away from Pfizer. That pipeline’s looking iffy. Did you sleep with him?”

“My mechanic? Nah, it was just a headlight. I wrote him a check.”

“Funny,” Jeanne said. “You know who I mean. Mr. MC Hammer pants.”

“Yes, but not like you probably think.”

“You have some pretty funny ideas about how I spend my time.”

“I’m not getting the directorship. Did you hear that?”

“Yes, I believe your sister is practically handing out flyers. I’m sorry.” She gave Cam a hug. “It sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Think of the upside. At least you won’t be seeing Anastasia every day. I’m going to be reporting to The Devil Wears Chain Mail.”

They had reached the top of the stairs, and Cam turned right for the first gallery. “It gets worse.”

“Worse than Sri Lankan chai with organic lilac honey at precisely nine thirty and bamboo paper notepads with her name in Kanji?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. Okay.”

“It wasn’t that the board didn’t pick me. I resigned. Had to. The Van Dyck’s a fake.”

“What?!”

“And there’s more.”