Chapter 2
2
[She] will win who, prepared [herself], waits to take the enemy unprepared.
THE ART OF WAR , SUN TZU
OPERATION TROJAN HORSE
Lull CM into false sense of security.
Identify key players.
Become likeable.
Become invaluable.
Bella had identified the location of the gallery fifteen minutes ahead of her arrival, had visited the highest rated coffee shop within a four-minute walking radius, and was now standing on West 30th, on a very cold January morning in New York, in front of what would be the Nayak Gallery.
A glass-fronted ground floor framed in thick black metal with gold edges created a stark contrast with the classic New York limestone building. Central enough for decent foot traffic, and certainly in the right district for art, the gallery was well positioned between culture and cuisine to make it an attractive prospect for visitors and that was without Nayak’s name already making it worth a look.
Chase Miller as gallery director drew even more notoriety. His reputation as an artist, albeit slightly longer than a New York minute ago, was still impressive and one that some artists would be uncomfortable vying for attention with. But then again, notoriety was notoriety and in the art world, that meant money.
Her fingers gripped the stacked cardboard trays holding enough coffee cups to allow for nearly every possible permutation of coffee possible.
Chase Miller.
It had been one thing to look him up online and another all together to see him in person.
Being forced to listen to the litany of her perceived inadequacies by a man who had cheated on his wife and dragged another woman unwittingly in to the mire with him, had been nothing short of galling. By the time she had exited the elevator and reached her door, she’d been almost trembling with rage.
Until she’d put down the boxes and turned to find all six-foot-four, sweaty, toned inches of the man looking somewhat embarrassed at having been caught bad-mouthing his new direct report.
And then she’d been trembling for a whole different reason.
But her initial, and momentarily confusing, response to him had only been – she decided at some point around 2a.m. the following morning – because she had expected Chase Miller to have devil horns and crimson skin.
So, seeing him dressed in sweaty workout gear that showed off a physique she would admit only on pain of death was nothing short of spectacular, had been simply that: the difference between expectation and reality.
Usually, Bella would urge on the side of charitable. He clearly hadn’t known it was her, and she could concede that he had every right – as director – to question the qualifications, or lack thereof, of his new staff member. But Bella was done being charitable.
No, she was here to declare war on Chase Miller and his ilk. Sun Tzu-level war.
She glanced up. The number seventy-two was placed in simple, but elegant gold typography. The thick glass door, sandwiched in between two large front windows, with a thick strip of frost running across both, afforded a little privacy while creating curiosity too.
Nerves unfurled within her. What if she wasn’t good at the job? What if the other staff didn’t like her?
And then, a very Paige-sounding voice said, You got the job. We didn’t lie on your CV.
Astrid mentally chimed in too. Listen love, you handled that press storm around your wedding, you can sure as shit handle the comms for a gallery. At least until you need to that is.
One month ago, she hadn’t even known these women existed. And now she knew them well enough to hear them in her head!
But they were right. She wasn’t here to do a good job. She was here to do a certain job. And that job was to secure the downfall of Chase Miller by any means necessary. And that Bella was certain she could do.
Shifting the tray of coffees to one hand, she pressed the button with the little bell sign on the intercom.
‘Hello?’
‘Bella Carmichael,’ she said, confidently. ‘Your new communications director.’
* * *
Bella stepped out of the grey frosty cold into the warm embrace of soothing neutral tones and temperature-controlled warmth and gave in to the temptation to sigh.
The frosted windows either side of the entrance had concealed a large space that was surprisingly comforting despite its bare white walls. There were tracks along the ceiling which she presumed were for moveable walls to create smaller separate areas for a more intimate viewing and towards the back of the gallery the space opened out in an area that could be used either for group pieces or individual artwork that commanded greater focus and attention.
‘Oh my God, it’s really you,’ a female voice exclaimed at a level of such surprise, Bella wondered whether the ‘you’ was actually someone else.
She turned to find a young brunette with wide brown eyes looking at her with something like awe.
Frowning, Bella resisted the urge to look behind her.
‘You’re so pretty!’ the girl exclaimed and at this Bella’s eyebrows shot upwards.
‘I—’
‘And I’m so sorry about your wedding!’
The rapid fire of statements caught Bella in a stunned vortex.
‘Alison Burberry, you leave that poor woman alone,’ a strong masculine voice ordered from the bottom of a staircase at the back of the gallery.
She watched as a tall man regally descended from the floor above. He had cheekbones half of Manhattan would die for and glowing ebony skin. The look he sent her was sceptical – but it wasn’t anything she hadn’t overcome before.
‘Mr Bamboux,’ she said, placing the name to the face from her research on the gallery. She closed the distance between them, hand outstretched. ‘It’s really lovely to meet you.’
‘Mmm,’ he replied, as if the jury was out and would remain firmly out until she proved herself worthy. Bella maintained her smile, respecting that territorial lines were being drawn.
‘It’s so nice to meet you,’ Alison exclaimed and for a second Bella thought she might actually jump up and down. ‘Me and my sister were also Alpha Phis and saw you speak at the NHL charity in Boston three years ago.’
For a moment, Bella’s mind blanked. That was the night she’d met Olly and it took more effort than she’d care to admit to yank herself back from it.
Glaring at the girl, Bamboux inhaled his impatience before continuing, ‘Please call me Maurice. The offices are this way,’ he said, leading her towards the back of the gallery. ‘There’ll be time for a full tour a little later, but we have a 9.30 meeting scheduled.’
Bella checked her watch with a frown. Nine twenty-five. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware of the meeting,’ she said, unsure how she’d missed that. She’d spent the whole of yesterday synching her phone to her Nayak email account and reading through all the messages she’d been copied in on following her hire. Worried that she’d not activated her alerts correctly, she pulled out her phone to double-check.
‘That’s okay. The email only came through ten minutes ago.’
Nope. Nothing.
Maurice peered over her shoulder. ‘An oversight, I’m sure.’
Unconvinced, Bella followed Maurice upstairs into a surprisingly light space. More glass walls sectioned the floor into two rooms and an open kitchenette with a break-out area. The same frosted strip from outside the gallery continued in here, affording staff some privacy while also maintaining that sense of light and space.
One room contained four desks, which she presumed would be for her, Maurice, Alison and the art intern they employed when he wasn’t studying at college, Ye-Joon. The opposite room, containing one large desk and a sofa sectional for guests would be Chase’s office.
Maurice opened the door to their office and gestured to the only table bare of the various layers of chaos that could be seen on the other desks.
‘Mine?’ she asked with a smile.
He nodded and Alison rushed to her side.
‘I’ve set you up with everything you’ll need. There are binders with the current gallery schedule, prospective artists, client lists, as well as all the list of current vendors and some prospective ones.’
Alison’s words rushed out and Bella affectionately surfed the tsunami of enthusiasm.
‘I was going to offer to make you coffee, but…’
‘I brought you all some instead,’ Bella said, holding up the tray. ‘Thank you though, Alison.’
‘Oh, please call me Ali. Everyone else does.’
Maurice hmmed.
‘Well, almost everyone else,’ Ali confided with an eye roll.
‘Perhaps we could have the coffee at the meeting,’ Bella hedged, looking to Maurice who confirmed her thought with a nod. ‘There are some extra shots and some hot milk, in case I got the orders wrong.’
‘Kind of you,’ Maurice replied in clipped tones that still conveyed his Martinique heritage.
‘The last comms director would never have?—’
‘Alison Burberry,’ Maurice exclaimed with such outrage Bella had to bite her lip to stop from laughing.
Alison blushed prettily but the need to gossip filled her fit to burst. Maurice’s frustration was as harmless as it was affectionate – and who could blame him. Alison was like a golden retriever puppy, all happy and excitable.
She turned to see Chase stalking through the offices with a natural authority that felt like an afront to Bella. But even she couldn’t deny that he commanded attention. This time, he was dressed in a long dark wool coat, collar upturned with a dark orange scarf draped around his neck. A navy blue knit jumper clung to his torso and even the frosted glass failed to mar the dark blue jeans that clung lovingly to thighs she remembered from the day before yesterday.
She could understand how Astrid had been taken in. There was no doubt about it, Chase Miller had looks. But looks were deceiving and Bella was glad that she’d been on her guard from the very beginning.
‘And so it begins,’ Maurice proclaimed ominously, before tapping his watch to remind them of the meeting.
And so it begins, indeed.
* * *
Chase stalked into the office at 9.29, already in a mood. He’d hoped to have seen Bella in the apartment block but she had remained elusive. And while the last place he’d ever wanted to have this conversation was in the office that they now both shared, it was all he had. He knew he needed to apologise and this time he wouldn’t let her shake him off.
At least he’d done a little more research on Bella Carmichael, including reading her CV, and while it still remained to be seen whether she was, in fact, a pampered princess socialite, she certainly was qualified for the role. At least, more qualified than the last one.
He removed his jacket and hung it up, dropping his bag beside his desk and turning on the computer. For a moment, he saw himself from outside his body, this smart clothed stranger, settling into a near enough nine-to-five job with a pension and healthcare.
Not once in his childhood had he ever wanted this, or anything like it. It certainly wasn’t what his mother had imagined for him. And somewhere deep inside was that seven-year-old boy telling him that he still didn’t want it. That he shouldn’t be here. He should be elbows-deep in oil paints, acrylic and terps. His fingers twitched reflexively, as if in response to the absence of a paintbrush, before he shoved that thought aside as Maurice knocked on the door to the office.
He nodded and Maurice and Ali came in and sat on the sofa, leaving the two armchairs on the other side of the coffee table free.
Chase frowned, rounding his desk. ‘Is she coming?’ he asked Maurice.
‘Yes, but not because you invited her,’ Maurice replied tartly.
Chase closed his eyes and bit back a curse. It seemed that once again he was on the back foot with his new comms director.
Through the glass walls he saw her at the kitchenette. He braced himself for what he knew he needed to do. For what he should have done immediately after the incident in the lift.
‘Give me a moment,’ he tossed over his shoulder as he made his way out of his office and into the kitchen area.
She had her back to him. Cream wide-legged pants were nipped in at the waist with a gold belt. A matching cashmere polo neck jumper made her look elegant again. Gold earrings winked in the kitchen’s lighting and by the time he reached her face, he realised she’d turned and caught him staring.
Shit.
Why did she make him feel like a naughty school boy?
‘I owe you an apology,’ he said, straight out. ‘There isn’t an excuse for what you overheard in the elevator. I was presumptuous and rude,’ he admitted, ‘and I’m sorry.’
She stared at him in a way that made him wonder if they taught classes to society women on how to make you feel inadequate. She put the lid back on one of the four take-out coffee cups in a carry tray on the counter, nodded once to acknowledge his apology and returned that startling grey gaze back on him.
The weight of that gaze was unfamiliar. Heavier than it should have been, assessing and perhaps secretive even. But then in a heartbeat everything changed.
‘Of course. You couldn’t have known,’ she offered with a smile and a kindness that he probably didn’t deserve but wanted to take with both hands.
She shrugged as if dismissing the matter and held out her hand to shake.
‘I’m Bella and I’m really looking forward to working with you.’
She held his gaze as he took her hand in a shake.
‘Chase Miller,’ he said by way of finally introducing himself, trying to ignore the unaccountable feeling he got when they touched. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’
She nodded, that little curve to the edge of her lips suggesting… warmth? No, that didn’t quite feel right. It was harder than that. More knowing. Wry .
She picked up the cardboard tray of coffees and waited for him. ‘Shall we?’ she asked, head gesturing to the meeting.
‘Yes,’ he said, nodding more firmly than necessary.
He was pretty sure that he’d escaped a little less scathed than he should be, but he’d take it. Because professionally he needed something to go his way. He’d just about managed to surf the rumours surrounding the change in direction of his career – with Tej’s help at least. And he was pretty sure that once news of the sudden departure of the last comms director got out, it wouldn’t help him one bit. What he needed now was smooth sailing, all the way to the opening. And whether he liked it or not, he was going to need Bella Carmichael on side to do it.
He led her back to his office and they settled in around the coffee table where Maurice and Ali were already sat, reaching for the coffee cups in front of them. Bella pushed a paper cup with a lid towards him.
‘That’s okay, I like my coffee a particular way,’ he dismissed before she could get offended. Or more offended at least.
Her smile pulled at a lip a dusky shade of rose.
‘I know,’ she said simply and pushed the cup towards him again.
He eyed it suspiciously. He was still deeply attached to his morning coffee and the very specific amount of sugar required to keep him compos mentis at this point in the day.
He picked it up, all eyes on him, and hoped that the scent of the coffee would give him advance warning of any alien flavours, lack thereof, or – given the first impression he’d made on the new comms director – poison.
Smelling nothing – while noting that there were a good number of poisons that had no scent whatsoever – he clenched his jaw before taking the smallest possible sip, without being seen to be rude.
He tried to keep the pleasant surprise from his features as he welcomed the rush of coffee that was, as his father used to say, strong enough to fight back. No milk, obscene quantities of sugar and caffeine. A lot of caffeine.
‘Thank you,’ he said, somewhat bemused.
‘You’re welcome. Maurice was kind enough to advise me on your coffee preference.’
Maurice accepted the credit, but Chase’s gaze returned to Bella. A distant part of his brain – the one he couldn’t switch off, no matter how useless it was – categorised the parts of her features that drew his attention. She was bordering on conventionally beautiful – which for an artist was about as repellent as you could possibly get. But…
And it was the ‘but’ that kept him coming back. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on…
Maurice cleared his throat and Chase, realising he was staring, remembered where he was.
Shit. Get it together, dude.
Leaning back in his chair, he pulled out the pad he’d been making his notes on.
‘First order of business is to welcome the new comms director. Bella Carmichael, this is Maurice Bamboux our registrar and archivist, responsible for everything that happens inside the gallery as well as the archives and catalogues. Alison Burberry, our receptionist and general gallery assistant. And later on in the week you’ll meet Ye-Joon, our intern, who handles the pieces and manages the storage in the basement level below the gallery on the ground floor,’ he concluded.
‘Thank you,’ she said with a beauty-queen-level smile. ‘And thank you for giving me this opportunity. I know that my… history ,’ she said, her head cocked to one side, ‘might give the impression that I… mmm, how should I put this, that I’m a bit of a spoiled socialite.’
Chase felt his cheeks flush.
‘But I have every confidence that I will be an asset to the team, once I’ve got fully up to speed. And I can assure you that I want nothing less than a roaring success to the opening of the Nayak New York.’
Ali clapped and did a little jiggle in her seat, and Maurice scowled a little less.
She had been eloquent, humble, affable and sincere – and even managed to put him in his place without everyone knowing it. As such, Chase was pretty sure that she would do exactly what she said she would. Be an asset to the team.
So why was it that Chase felt there was something he was missing?