Chapter Eight #2
“Well, I probably could’ve lifted a few more weights before the season started,” Allie said, setting her drink down and reaching for a strip of caramelized maduros.
She forced the breeziest chuckle she could muster.
Getting visibly annoyed, especially after the very real possibility that Sutton had seen her tears during the challenge, would only make her look weaker.
And on a game like this, perception mattered as much as fire. “But work’s been busy.”
“You own galleries, right?” Hazel asked around a mouthful of grilled corn she’d smothered in chimichurri sauce. “I think I remember you mentioning that.”
“I do,” Allie said, tearing open an empanada. “Three in LA, but I’m considering expanding. Might even go as far as New York. The art scene there is unmatched.”
“My sister is an artist,” Hazel said. “She lives in Monterey. She actually went to school with Kiara Franklin. You might know her. I think the three of you went to Rhode Island School of Design together.”
Allie frowned. “Who’s your sister?” Could the world be this small?
“Sue Jacobson.”
It appeared that it could. Tiny. As small as a mouse.
“Are you serious?” Allie said, breaking into a wide grin.
“I haven’t seen Sue in ages. Years, even.
” Then she saw the confusion printed on both Barra’s and Sutton’s faces and felt the need to explain.
Frankly, it was the perfect pivot from a previously tense conversation.
“We all went to RISD together,” she said.
“That must’ve been about fifteen years ago now.
We were basically children pretending to be serious artists.
Kiara was always dragging us to these obscure performance art pop-ups in Pawtucket.
And Sue literally lived off vending machine granola bars.
” Then, without thinking, she asked, “Why wasn’t she at Kiara and Dominique’s wedding?
I didn’t see her there...” Her sentence trailed off as she realized what she’d done, as she spotted the horror on Barra’s face.
Shit! If Allie admitted to going to Kiara and Dominique’s wedding, then surely everyone would know Barra had been there too. Their paths would’ve crossed, which meant they’d both been less than honest when Sutton asked if anyone knew each other.
Hazel, however, seemed none the wiser. “Our grandmother got sick, and then three of the artworks she was supposed to exhibit in Paris got held up in customs. She was honestly devastated she couldn’t be there, but everything just spiraled.”
“Wait,” Sutton said, a frown forming slowly along her forehead.
“Didn’t you go to the wedding as well?” she asked, jabbing a fork in Barra’s direction.
“I’m sure I saw a photo of you on Dominique’s Instagram.
It was you and Aggie, Kendall and Frankie.
You were wearing a lavender dress. I only remember because I thought, what the hell is Barra doing wearing a dress?
” She laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world.
Allie swallowed the remainder of her empanada, though it felt like she’d swallowed a bowling ball. She’d fucked up monumentally and needed to fix it. ASAP.
“Did you?” Allie asked before Barra could respond.
“Because I didn’t see you there. But then again, there were over two hundred people, so no wonder.
” She brushed a strand of hair that had fallen into her face behind her ear and hoped her cheeks weren’t flushed.
Allie knew well enough that lies were best told simply.
But there was nothing simple about this.
“Honestly, I probably did bump into you, but didn’t recognize you.
Ha.” She added an unnecessary chuckle because she couldn’t help herself.
“Were you seriously wearing a lavender dre—”
“I was there,” Barra interrupted coolly. “But I didn’t stay long.”
This wasn’t technically untrue. By the time the cab had rolled through the venue gates, the only ones left on the dance floor were a few stragglers.
Sutton tilted her head. “Why not?” she asked, spearing a piece of grilled pineapple.
Barra shrugged, maddeningly calm. “I had an early flight out the next morning.” She bit cleanly into a strip of maduro, as if the conversation were boring.
Allie, on the other hand, was dying inside.
“I had to be back at work Monday. We were about to break ground on a large-scale mixed-use community hub in Brooklyn.”
Hazel’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“It’s been quite a process,” Barra said. “The brief was insane. Six-story glass atrium, an indoor running track suspended above a public library, a rooftop amphitheater for summer concerts, subsidized artist studios, and a farm-to-table café.”
Even Sutton looked momentarily distracted. “That sounds expensive.”
Allie, meanwhile, felt something inside her unclench. Somehow Barra had saved the two of them by doing the bare minimum. She didn’t even stop to consider how effortlessly Barra had redirected the conversation, how clearly she’d lied.
But then again, she didn’t have the time to think about anything because.
.. wait. Her knee bumped something under the table.
Something was stuck to the table. Was that even possible?
Very slowly, she slid her hand underneath the rough wooden edge.
No way. Her fingertips met soft leather.
A pouch. And then the realization hit her.
The protection bracelet. It had to be. Suddenly, heat flooded her body to the point where her ears actually popped.
It felt like she was taking off on a plane.
Even her pulse went feral. How was she supposed to get the pouch into her bag without anyone noticing?
“So, did you finish the project?” she asked, her voice just a little too high-pitched. The pouch felt like it had been riveted to the underside of the table. The fingers of her right hand worked frantically. “How long does something like that usually take?”
Then, the pouch came free. She quickly scooped it straight into her lap and, with one wildly ungraceful motion, shoved it deep into the waistband of her shorts and hoped no one had seen. But hope was a flimsy plan at best.
Across from her, Barra was frowning. “It’s a five-year build,” she said evenly, though her gaze had flicked to Allie’s waist before catching her eye and holding onto it a fraction too long.
Allie felt heat crawl like insects up her neck.
Had Barra noticed? Or was she just frowning because Allie was acting nervous?
“How about another round of sours,” Allie said, pointing at the jug sweating at the end of the table. “Then we should probably talk about alliances.” The subject change was abrupt enough to cause whiplash, but what did she care? She had the protection bracelet.