25. Daphne
25
“Everything okay?” I ask. “You keep checking your phone.”
“I keep thinking this is just a dream,” Hazel says. “Or some ginormous bill is gonna hit and all that money will be gone.”
My worry eases. “Well, you earned it. Lord knows you deserve it.”
“I still can’t believe it, though. All these years, those two assholes couldn’t give me more than a nickel for a raise each year.” She sips her own coffee for a moment, lost in thought. “Now, they’re gone, Aubrey Day is in like an absolute queen, and whoever owns the place apparently thinks I’m worth way more than even I do.”
“Oh, hush. You’re always so hard on yourself.”
Hazel waves a dismissive hand. “What do I do? I curate art. I suck up to pretentious artists who vomit paint in the general direction of a canvas and expect bajillionaires to throw money at them. I’m not exactly changing the world here.”
“I’d argue that you are.” When she lifts a skeptical brow at me, I swallow back another large sip and try to tell the butterflies in my stomach to calm the hell down. I haven’t told her about the gallery’s new ownership yet.
I’d say I don’t know why, but I do.
She’s still trying to absorb the fact that she’s making six figures now instead of five. I’m still trying to absorb the fact that I own the place—and could make that happen.
I don’t want her gratitude or her fear. I don’t want anything between us to change just because I’m writing her paycheck now.
I don’t want her to change.
But I guess that would be unfair. I’m noticing I’m changing.
A lot.
“Hey, Haze… I need to talk to you about something.”
“Uh-oh.” She sets her mug down when she sees me to do the same. “I’m bracing myself. Go on.”
“It’s not bad, I promise.” I try to lean into the couch where we’re lounging, to look way more calm and relaxed than I feel. “But first, I am super curious. What do you know about the new owners?”
Hazel shrugs. “Not much. Some corporation, I can’t remember. Whoever they are, they nailed it on the head with Aubrey.”
That makes me feel relieved. I haven’t met Aubrey in person yet, but our communications have been positive so far. The complete turnaround of the gallery on paper has been showing promise, too.
“She’s good? I mean, I get the feeling she’s good with the business, but what’s she like as a person?”
Calm down, Daph. Slow and steady.
Haze grins. “Love her. Really, she’s such a breath of fresh air. Professional, but actually takes the time to get to know people. She took me out to lunch the other day and I thought it was going to be all business, but nope! All she wanted to talk about was me, my life, and her cats. She has two, by the way.”
“She sounds amazing. Especially compared to?—”
“I know, right? So whoever bought the place, whoever hired her, knows what they’re doing.”
I trace the rim of my mug with a finger. It gives me something to do, something to look at, so I don’t have to see her reaction right away. “Yeah, I’d say so. Chekhov International doesn’t cut corners when hiring staff.”
I see Hazel’s pause in the corner of my eye.
“Shit,” she breathes. Then laughs. “That’s Pasha’s, isn’t it? Your husband bought the gallery!”
“Yup.” I take another long sip. “That he did.”
“So he’s the new owner.”
I set the mug down. At this point, I’m just keeping myself busy with tiny distractions. “Nope.”
Another pause. Another breath.
And then she exhales, long and slow, as the pieces click together. “It’s you. You’re the new owner.”
I try to at least give her a slight nod. But I’m frozen up, waiting for her shoe to drop. Or to start flying at me.
Instead, Hazel shakes her head and grins. “Look at you. Rising to the top. I’m proud of you.”
“Hardly. It’s nepotism, don’t you think?”
“Hardly,” she echoes. “If anyone deserves to own the place, it’s you. After all the bullshit they put you through… and I mean the artists, too, not just The Tweedles.”
It’s the look on her face that fills in most of the space. She won’t say his name, but I know who she’s talking about specifically.
Almost as if on cue, my cell phone pings with an email from Aubrey. When I see the subject line, I can’t help but snort. “Wow. She is good. Psychic as well as efficient.”
I open the email regarding blacklisted artists and scroll through it. My hiccup of surprise turns into a sigh of relief. “I’m forwarding this to you.”
Hazel frowns but checks her phone. Then she sees what I read and has pretty much the same reaction. “Holy shit. I hope you’re paying her way more than you’re paying me.”
It’s an extensive list. Names, contact information, and the specific reason or reasons why each artist is not welcome at the gallery. Front and center on that list is…
Sidney Conrad Ewing.
Sexual Predator/Stalker. Restraining order in place with continued violations.
At the bottom of the email is information regarding the new security system recently installed throughout the building and the surrounding area. Aubrey also hired a third-party security company to provide live support and on-site personnel to enforce the blacklist.
“Hang on,” I tell Hazel absentmindedly as I tap the email forward button again and compose a new message.
Was this you?
I send the email and wait for the response. I don’t usually interrupt Pasha’s work schedule unless I absolutely need to, so I know he’ll answer pretty quickly.
Sure enough, I get the ping and open the thread.
You deserve to feel safe at work, moya plamya. So does everyone else.
I smile. The warmth in my chest grows.
“I’m just wondering, Daph—and feel free to tell me to shut the fuck up…” Hazel tilts her head to one side. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
I sigh and set my phone back down on the cushion next to me. “Everything is changing so fast. My life is… It’s upside down from just a few weeks ago. I didn’t want anything to change between us.”
She reaches over the coffee table to squeeze my hand. “Hey. Girl. Look at me.”
I do.
“You’re my best friend. You’re a badass bitch with her own empire now—but you’re still my best friend. I’ll never let you get drunk with power.”
We share a laugh and clink our mugs together. She’s right—I can always trust her to keep my ass in line.
“So. Speaking of changes, how is married life treating you?” Her brows waggle salaciously as she leans back and drapes herself on the chair. As if I’m going to kiss and tell.
Which I am, since there’s not much to tell. “Same as before. Not much has changed.”
Those same brows shoot up. “What? So you’re telling me he was blowing your back out before your wedding, too?”
“What?! No!” I wave her off, feigning a gasp. “I just had a baby, Haze. Things down there are still… you know. In recovery.”
“Uh-huh. How long has it been since Taty’s birth?”
I do a quick mental count. “Six weeks? Pushing seven?”
“Perfect. So you’re good to go.” She does a little dance in her seat. “Get your sexy on! Light his fire! Get yours tended, too. Objectively, I’m amazed you haven’t spontaneously combusted living with that man and not gettin’ some.”
My face instantly heats. “He’s been very respectful. And very?—”
“Paternal?”
I groan. “Hot! He’s so… How is he so hot just being a good father?”
“Primitive instincts, my dear. Your ovaries are recognizing your mate is top-notch and you totally wanna go again.”
“Ha. Right. I totally wanna rearrange my internal organs and rip my vagina open just to grow another human.” I roll my eyes.
“Look me in my eyes and tell me you haven’t been thinking about it.”
I can’t. We both know I’ve been fantasizing about life with Pasha—a life with more babies, more children running around. A home full to bursting with our own growing family.
“Fine. Guilty. I’m still thinking about it,” I confess.
“My advice?” Hazel grins as she reaches forward to tap a finger against my forehead. “Do less thinking with this…” She points that finger down between my legs. “And do some more with that. I think you’ll be pleased with the results.”