40. Ava
40
Ava
T he Conrad New York Hotel ballroom reeks of money. Not the subtle kind either. We’re talking aggressive, gold-plated wealth that throws Dom Pérignon in your face and expects you to thank it. The purple lighting bathes everything in an almost otherworldly glow. Crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling, and the tables? Oh, they’re not just set; they’re curated. White orchids spill over towering vases, flickering candles cast a soft, calculated glow, and the whole thing hums with the quiet arrogance of people who know their last names open doors.
I absentmindedly adjust the straps of my midnight blue dress, fighting the urge to tug at the neckline that keeps threatening to reveal more than I bargained for.
Nothing says “legitimate businessman’s wife” like constantly checking if your boobs are making a surprise appearance.
I can’t shake images of Vanessa’s own neckline faux pas from my mind .
I knew I should have went with my usual blue dress. But Gideon said ‘I looked fine.’
“Stop fidgeting,” Gideon murmurs, his hand warm against my lower back. “You look perfect.”
“Easy for you to say. Your outfit isn’t plotting an indecent exposure charge.” I whisper back, taking a champagne flute from a passing server.
Gideon’s lips quirk upward. “That dress is worth every penny of the small fortune it cost.”
“I still can’t believe I let your personal assistant talk me into it.” I take a fortifying sip of champagne, letting the bubbles dance across my tongue.
“Mrs. King.” A balding man with anxious eyes approaches us. “And Mr. King, of course. Wonderful to see you both.”
Gideon’s posture shifts immediately, his CEO mask sliding into place. “Preston. Good of you to come.”
Preston Hammond. He’s the key investor in the Riverside Corridor project. The one threatening to pull $200 million in financing after hearing rumors about Blackwell’s takeover attempt. I’d overheard Gideon on the phone with Jonas this morning, their tense conversation revealing just how precarious the situation had become.
“Could I have a word?” Preston asks, not quite making eye contact with me. “In private?”
Oh sure, because the little woman couldn’t possibly understand the big important money talk.
Gideon glances at me apologetically. “Will you be okay for a few minutes?”
“I’ll try not to burn the place down,” I reply with a sweet smile. Preston blinks in confusion.
“She’s joking,” Gideon clarifies, squeezing my hand briefly. “I won’t be long. ”
I watch them disappear into a side room, leaving me adrift in a sea of New York’s financial elite. I’ve gotten better at this part. Somewhat. The small talk, the polite laughter, the way to hold a champagne glass without looking like I’m afraid I’ll break it. But it still feels like playing dress-up in someone else’s life.
I wander toward a less crowded area near an ice sculpture of what I think is supposed to be Mercury, god of commerce, speed, and whatever else impresses rich people. Honestly, it looks more like a melting alien who got caught mid-abduction and forgot his pants. The comparison makes me snort into my champagne.
“Something amusing, Mrs. King?”
The voice behind me sends a chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the ice sculpture. I turn slowly and recognize Mark Blackwell.
In person, he’s both more and less intimidating than his photos. Shorter than I expected, but with the laser-focused intensity of a predator. His silver hair is slicked back, his suit probably costs more than the ballroom rents out for, and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
Don’t panic. You’ve practiced this. Channel your inner Gideon. Or better yet, your inner Lucy, who once told off the Dean of Parsons after three tequila shots.
“Mr. Blackwell,” I say, proud that my voice doesn’t waver. “What a surprise.”
“Is it?” He takes a position beside me, examining the ice sculpture. “I assumed your husband would have mentioned I’d be here tonight. Communication is so important in a marriage, don’t you think?”
I feel heat creeping up my neck. “Some details must have slipped his mind.”
“Yes, I imagine he has many... details to manage these days.” Blackwell swirls his scotch. “Especially with the SEC poking around.”
My stomach tightens. How does he know about that?
“Business is always complex at Gideon’s level,” I respond, deliberately casual. “But he thrives on challenges.”
“Indeed. And what about you, Mrs. King? Do you thrive on challenges? Or perhaps... arrangements?”
The word hits like a slap. I resist the urge to look around for Gideon, instead meeting Blackwell’s gaze directly.
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”
“No?” His smile widens, shark-like. “A talented art student suddenly marries one of New York’s wealthiest men, just as he needs to secure a complicated trust arrangement. Quite the whirlwind romance.”
I take another sip of champagne, using the moment to gather my thoughts. “Love often takes us by surprise, Mr. Blackwell. Though I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand that.”
His eyebrows rise slightly. “Someone like me?”
“Someone who views people as assets or liabilities. Nothing more.” I’m surprised by my own boldness, but continue. “Tell me, how are the old Hartman warehouses working out for you?”
Now it’s his turn to look startled. Score one for the art student. “You know about that deal?”
I shrug. “Creative hubs are a passion of mine. I did suggest a similar approach for Riverside, after all.” I pause, letting curiosity edge into my voice. “Though I’m curious why you’d invest in a concept someone else pioneered. Lacking original ideas? ”
His eyes narrow. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Mrs. King. Besides, location is everything in real estate. The Hartman warehouses are positioned perfectly for what’s coming to that neighborhood.”
Bingo. “And what exactly is coming to that neighborhood?”
“Let’s just say the area will see significant appreciation once certain development plans are announced.” He leans closer, lowering his voice. “Plans your husband might have secured himself, had he been paying attention to business rather than playing house.”
I feel my cheeks burning but maintain eye contact. “Funny, I was about to say the same about your understanding of the creative community. Those warehouses require a specific approach to attract the right tenants. Something tells me you’ve missed several key elements in your rush to copy Gideon’s project.”
Uncertainty flickers across his face before he can mask it. “Confident for someone so new to this world.”
“I know art. I know artists. And I know they won’t be attracted to sterile corporate environments masquerading as creative spaces.” I take another sip of champagne. “But please, continue. I’d love to hear more about these development plans.”
Blackwell studies me for a long moment. “You’re not what I expected, Mrs. King.”
“I get that a lot,” I reply, just as I spot Gideon making his way toward us through the crowd. His expression darkens as he recognizes who I’m talking to.
Blackwell follows my gaze. “ Your husband appears concerned. Afraid I might reveal something uncomfortable?”
“More likely he’s wondering why you’re wasting my time with transparent intimidation tactics.” I smile sweetly. “But don’t worry, I found our conversation quite informative.”
Gideon reaches us, his hand immediately finding the small of my back in a possessive gesture. “Blackwell,” he says, his voice glacial.
“King. Just getting acquainted with your charming wife.” Blackwell’s gaze flicks between us. “She’s quite the advocate for your projects.”
“Of course she is,” Gideon replies, his eyes never leaving Blackwell’s face. “She designed half of Riverside’s concept.”
The genuine pride in his voice catches me off guard.
Blackwell’s smile tightens. “Talented and beautiful. You’re a fortunate man.” He nods to me. “Mrs. King, a pleasure. I look forward to seeing more of your... contributions to the industry.”
As he walks away, I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“You okay?” Gideon asks quietly, his eyes scanning my face with concern that feels anything but transactional.
“Fine. Just need some air.” The room suddenly feels stifling.
Outside on the terrace, the cool evening air helps calm my racing heart. Gideon stands beside me, our shoulders almost touching.
“What did he say to you?”
I turn to face him. “He knows about the SEC investigation. And he strongly implied our marriage is an arrangement. ”
Gideon’s jaw tightens. “He’ll never be able to prove it.”
“I think I got something useful.” I tell him about Blackwell’s slip regarding future development plans for the neighborhood around the Hartman warehouses.
Gideon stares at me for a long moment, then shakes his head with something like wonder. “He’s planning more developments in the area, then. You got more out of him in five minutes than my team has in weeks.”
I find myself smiling despite everything. “What can I say? He underestimated me.”
“A mistake I try not to make anymore,” Gideon murmurs.
The intensity in his gaze makes my stomach flip. For a moment, I almost believe this isn’t just business between us.
Don’t go there, Ava. Less than two months and counting, remember?
“How did it go with Preston?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Better than expected. He’s still in, for now.” Gideon runs a hand through his hair. “You want to get out of here?”
I nod, suddenly exhausted. “God, yes.”
As we walk back inside, I can’t help glancing over at Blackwell, who’s now deep in conversation with someone I don’t recognize.
Even if our marriage is temporary, I’m not letting that shark win.
Tonight, I’ve proven I can hold my own. But my hands are already itching for paintbrushes, for the solitude of my Brooklyn studio where I can process all of this on canvas, away from prying eyes and complicated feelings for a husband with an expiration date.