Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Bonjour, mon cher,” Lizzy moaned, rolling over to face William. He looked so adorable with an outrageous bedhead.
He grunted.
“C’mon, wake up. It’s already eight o’clock. Time is fleeting.” She dragged a foot up his shin.
“Thirty more minutes.”
“What happened to Mister I Get Up at Five to Workout?”
“He was kept awake all night by your snoring.”
Play slapping his arm, she said. “You’re such a liar. Maybe it was your voracious need that kept you awake.”
“Either way, you’re responsible.” He chuckled, grabbing her waist and dragging her against him. “It’s Sunday, a day of rest.”
“Sure, it is,” she teased. “Hmm. On second thought ...” She snuggled against him and kissed his neck. “I love waking up like this.”
“Me, too. Let’s stay here all day.”
“Seriously? I thought we were going for a walk along the Left Bank to look at the artwork.”
“This is so much better. While I enjoyed the Musée d’Orsay yesterday, I could barely touch you.
Too many people. Nope. I’m perfectly content right here in our private world, doing absolutely nothing together.
” He kissed her sweetly, hand sliding down to her bottom.
“Mmm. Good morning, beautiful. I missed you,” he moaned, following up with another languid kiss.
Then it happened ... her mobile rang. “That’s Guy and his terrible timing. Darn, it can’t be good; it’s like two in the morning in New York City.” Unfortunately, she had to untangle herself from the linen and William’s arms to reach for the phone.
“Howdy, partner,” she greeted.
“Well, don’t you just sound like a contented little sex kitten. Are you in a position to give me the scandalous details of your aventure amoureuse?”
She glanced at William’s closed eyes and soft smile. “Of course not, you nosey man!”
“Too bad. I do so need a rise today.”
“Ha ha. I know you didn’t call me for gossip in the middle of the night, so what’s up?”
“My sweet, I’m sorry to bother you, but I have unsettling news.”
“Oh?”
“I hate to rain on your long overdue sexual liberation, but I’m just heartsick. I received a mucho disturbing call from the tempera maestro Gleason’s office this afternoon.”
“Wyn Gleason’s assistant telephoned on a Saturday afternoon?” She sat up, then jiggled William’s shoulder.
“We just hung up. I don’t know if there is anything you can do or say from Paris or even when you get back, but ...”
Putting the phone on speaker, she braced herself. “Go ahead.”
“Gleason canceled the reception and exhibition.”
“Oh no! Did he choose another date?”
“No. Gleason canceled indefinitely, citing misrepresentation by La Tempera.”
William sat up.
“What?” she asked, heart crashing to her stomach. “Why would he do that after contacting us? We clearly represented our mission, standards, and values. He had every opportunity to ask questions, and I even gave him carte blanche for the entire exhibit. What the hell? He signed the contract.”
“His assistant confided—you know, I have a way of getting the little people to talk—two separate art collectors heard La Tempera would be hosting the exhibit and had the gall to contact Gleason with fierce objection, stating that you did not do due diligence in authenticating the provenance of your acquisitions. Such caca! One went on to explain that you were involved in a civil suit for breach of contract as well as sexual harassment and money laundering through art sales.”
“Oh. My. God. None of that is true! Who would do such a thing?” She rested her forehead in her hand, tears pooling.
“I assured the young woman of your character and integrity, but she explained that, given Gleason’s reputation, he cannot associate with anyone remotely tarnished, even by unsubstantiated rumors. ?Pura mierda! I tell you, sheer, unmitigated bullshit!”
“Did she give the names of the accusers? Were they clients of yours?” William interrupted, running his hand down her back.
“Oh! Bonjour, Monsieur Handsome! She did not say.”
“Well, he’s on the hook for a lot of money for breach of contract,” William stated, throwing back the sheet. Storming to his phone on the dresser, he left the bedroom.
“Guy, I must contact him to dispute the allegations,” she said.
“Listen to me very carefully. Think, my dear, how did the slimeball take your breakup? That thing is just low enough to pull a stunt like this. Trust me, I know. Look at the hell I went through with Alberto-The-Snake. A scorned man who has had his well-planned treasure ripped from his grasp is worse than a woman with a vendetta and a meat cleaver. His wrath is mucho, mucho diabolical.”
“You think this was George’s doing?”
“El hijo del diablo? ... or ... maybe ... the jealous, toxic agent of chaos residing in Queens? See! Just like a telenovela.”
She sighed. “Fuck.”
“Oh dear! You never swear like a naughty sailor.”
“It calls for it. Jane’s been blowing up my phone since I arrived in Paris, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer her texts or play back her messages.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Exactly. I’m having too incredible a time to have her shit all over it and make me feel guilty for happily living my life beyond her sadistic control.”
“There is something else.”
She sat, again, cradling her forehead in her hand. “Go ahead.”
“There’s an anonymous poster ranting on the gallery’s FacePage, and it clearly isn’t from a fan.”
“Oh, God. The narcissistic smear campaign. Ugh. That is totally something she would do.”
“I deleted it all and blocked the account. Like I said, unmitigated bullshit is at foot here. To be on the safe side, I’ll have the alarm codes and locks changed. You’d best come home, darling.”
Fuming mad, Darcy paced the sitting room, trying not to raise his voice, instead using the steeliest threats he could issue in light of the tenuous situation of secrecy where Lizzy was concerned.
Never had he planned that his help to Lizzy would go sideways.
Wyn had always been an upstanding man with a generous nature when it came to assisting emerging artists and giving young art entrepreneurs a leg up.
This sudden reversal was beyond the pale, and he considered it an insult to his mother’s memory and all the Darcys and Fitzwilliams who had promoted Gleason’s fledgling career in the shadow of his mother’s superiority in the medium.
Yet, the businessman in him could see it through the artist’s perspective.
He couldn’t blame the man for distancing himself from drama and unethical behavior, and that was the culprit’s intent.
He spelled, “D. A. R. C. Y.”
“As in Pemberley Capital, Darcy?” The assistant asked.
“Yes. Wyn knows me and knows that I don’t take these things lightly.
You can inform him that his long-term board appointment to my mother’s prestigious foundation is now in jeopardy.
I expect a return call from him personally with the names of the so-called collectors who have maligned my client and art broker.
I also expect an immediate retraction and apology for his ill-informed decision.
At the very least, he should have discussed the allegation with Ms. Bennet or me.
He entered into a binding contract with La Tempera and Ms. Bennet as a personal favor to me and my late mother.
If not resolved, I will look upon his contravention as a betrayal of a twenty-year friendship and use every legal tool available to seek significant financial compensation on behalf of my client. ”
“I understand, Mr. Darcy, and I’ll make sure Mr. Gleason returns your call. I’m so sorry, and I promise you, we’ll work this out for all parties involved. I sincerely regret that I advised him on this without forethought,” the personal assistant said.
He grunted. “Fine. I don’t care that it’s the weekend or the time difference. I’ll be expecting his response.” Hanging up, he made one more call.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Where are you?” Gigi asked.
“Paris.”
“Ah, that explains a lot.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have I got tea for you.”
“I’m sorry, Gigi, but save it for when I get home.”
“No way—this is too good to wait. Rick brought your fiancée to Aunt Catherine’s birthday party last night. La! My dream has come true!”
He sat. “Seriously?”
“Bruh, you didn’t know?”
“Nope.”
“I mean, they played it off, all friendsy-like for Aunt C and her legal groupies, but Beanz can’t fool me—or Aunt C who freaked out and dropped the friggin’ gavel on her behind her back. The whole thing is so sus! I saw the way she looked at Rick. She’s playin’ you.”
“She’s not playing me.”
“She is. I told ya it’s all about the money. It always is. Even Aunt C said your whole engagement is a snow job. And let me tell you, oh man, Rick got an earful about being a homewrecker before you even have a home to wreck. She. Is. Pissed.”
“Wow. Caroline and Rick? How did I not see that coming?”
“Um ... duh. You have mad-cowgirl brain disease.”
“True. Well, whatever. I’ll deal with it when I get back. I need a huge favor today if you can spare the time.”
“Sure!”
“First off, call Sam and have him stick with you twenty-four-seven for a while. It’s just a precaution because something funky is going on, and I need you to be safe.
Contact Elizabeth’s art gallery, La Tempera, in Tribeca, and get in touch with Guy Benson.
See if you can meet up with him today. If you agree to my idea, tell him . ..”
William entered the bedroom, his heart breaking for Lizzy’s disappointment. He’d do what he could, but the Gleason decision was likely unretractable. As for Caroline and Rick, he was taken aback, but Lizzy was now his primary focus.
As she paced the bedroom, he could feel the anxiety rolling off her. “Babe? Are you okay?”