Summer in the City
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Synopsis
There’s nothing like summer in Manhattan. The days are long and the nights are even longer. But when the lights go out on the city, fireworks explode. . .
Night at the Museum by Lori Wilde
Art restorer Ria Preston knows a thing or two about beauty. And when she discovers her neighborhood crush, gregarious Wall Street advisor Vic Albright, is locked overnight in the Metropolitan Museum of Art with her, she can’t resist taking him on a very private tour . . .
Lights Out by Priscilla Oliveras
Back in high school, Vanessa Ríos and Mateo Garza were theater troupe rivals. Now Mateo’s a rising Broadway star and Vanessa’s his most scathing critic. Cue a plot twist straight out of central casting: the two end up alone in his New York City apartment during the blackout, setting the stage for what could be their second act romance . . .
Mind Games, by Sarah Skilton
What happens in college stays in college—unless you never get over it. In fact, Alison has been waiting to take her revenge on Nick, once the hottest guy on campus, now the hottest guy on the rising magician’s circuit. But her plans to sabotage his first show are upended by the power outage. That’s when the real magic happens . . .
Night at the Museum by Lori Wilde
Art restorer Ria Preston knows a thing or two about beauty. And when she discovers her neighborhood crush, gregarious Wall Street advisor Vic Albright, is locked overnight in the Metropolitan Museum of Art with her, she can’t resist taking him on a very private tour . . .
Lights Out by Priscilla Oliveras
Back in high school, Vanessa Ríos and Mateo Garza were theater troupe rivals. Now Mateo’s a rising Broadway star and Vanessa’s his most scathing critic. Cue a plot twist straight out of central casting: the two end up alone in his New York City apartment during the blackout, setting the stage for what could be their second act romance . . .
Mind Games, by Sarah Skilton
What happens in college stays in college—unless you never get over it. In fact, Alison has been waiting to take her revenge on Nick, once the hottest guy on campus, now the hottest guy on the rising magician’s circuit. But her plans to sabotage his first show are upended by the power outage. That’s when the real magic happens . . .
Release date: May 25, 2021
Publisher: Kensington Books
Print pages: 306
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Summer in the City
Lori Wilde
Holy Picasso, it was him!
Fine-art restorer and lover of beauty, Ria Preston ogled the sexy guy as her heart skipped a beat.
Okay, full disclosure, it skipped a lot of beats.
The mysterious man she’d been crushing on for the past four months was right here, right now, gliding smooth as cream through the lobby of her Chelsea apartment building.
She pushed her glasses up on her nose for a better look and wished she had her contact lenses in.
Today, he wore what she’d come to think of as his Wall Street persona—black suit, crisp white shirt, and snazzy silk tie. This time the tie was an azure paisley print. Last time it had been maroon plaid. The time before that, a dove-gray chevron pattern.
Yes, she’d noticed and remembered.
But while he rocked a tailored suit like a hurricane, she preferred him on the High Line in exercise attire. Tan muscular legs on full display in nylon shorts, Boston Marathon T-shirt, feet shod in trendy running sneakers, and wearing an iPhone strapped to his biceps with a Velcro armband. In his height and handsomeness, he stood out in the sea of joggers, owning the park like a boss.
Her stomach fluttered.
Whether he was in a business suit or athletic attire, whenever she spotted him in the city, she found it hard to catch her breath.
He was, in a word, magnificent.
It was her second sighting this week. She’d seen him on Wednesday at the Chelsea Market. She’d been at the bookstore. He’d been in the coffee shop across the way. She glanced up from browsing the latest bestselling romances and bam!
He was watching her back.
Just like now.
Their eyes met, and a slow, sexy grin lit up his gorgeous face. She felt the impact hit her throat first and then slide down her body to lodge in a hot tingle right between her thighs, and she thought illogically, Serendipity.
Although maybe not so illogically after all. He did resemble the handsome male half of the romantic couple in the painting she’d spent four months restoring.
Serendipity was one of four works in the artist’s Soul Mate Seasons in the City. The series focused on a pair of lovers in New York City during the shifting seasons of their lives in the late 1800s. Serendipity featured spring when the couple were young and first falling in love. And tonight, Ria was giving a presentation about her labor of love during a fundraising event at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Right after the party, she was leaving the city for her parents’ summerhouse in Sag Harbor to get ready before her best friends, Vanessa and Alison, arrived for their all-girls weekend. It had been too long since they’d spent time together. They were so busy with their careers that every time they set up a get-together, something managed to derail it at the last minute.
But not this time!
Ria had the keys to the summerhouse, and she was bubbling over with excitement. She’d planned everything in minute detail. Nothing would go wrong this time. She was sure of it.
An active evening lay ahead of her, and the last thing she should be doing was standing spellbound in her lobby grinning at Mr. Gorgeous.
He sauntered straight toward her, and she thought, At last, he’s going to speak to me, and her heart was off again on that hop-skip-gallop pattern.
To her right, she heard the elevator ding as it settled to the ground floor, but her entire attention was locked and loaded on him.
This masculine walking work of art.
Her breath was shallow, and she felt her eyes growing wider with each step he took in her direction and . . . and . . .
She moistened her lips, this time determined to say something to him if he didn’t initiate a conversation with her, but before she could get out a breathless “Hi,” an elderly couple burst from the elevator and barreled into the lobby.
“Ria!” called Mrs. Markowitz. “Yoo-hoo, honey, over here.”
Reluctantly, Ria let go of his gaze and turned to her neighbor, opening her arms for a hug. “Second Grama! There you are.”
Maxine Markowitz hustled over, her husband, Harry, following her like an imprinted duckling.
Purple-haired Maxine was a pixie-size, four-foot-eleven powerhouse with a personality that more than made up for her lack of height. Harry was her polar opposite, towering well over six feet with a solid beer belly and an easygoing nature. He was mostly bald, save for a few tufts of flyaway white hair that ringed the back of his head, and Ria thought he looked a bit like former NYC mayor Ed Koch.
“We dropped by your apartment.” Maxine enveloped Ria in a hug. “But you weren’t there. We came to tell you to break a leg tonight, didn’t we, Harry?”
“Break a leg,” Harry echoed. “But don’t break a kneecap.”
Ria laughed. “Harry, you’re priceless.”
“That’s what she said.” He cocked a lazy grin at Maxine.
Ria gazed over Maxine’s head in search of him, but in the hubbub, Mr. Gorgeous had disappeared.
Well, fiddlesticks. Another missed opportunity.
She’d almost spoken to him two weeks ago when she’d seen him in the park, stretching before his run. She’d worked up a whole conversation in her head and had even strolled close enough to notice that he wasn’t wearing a wedding band. She’d primed her mouth to speak, and just as she’d been about to say hello . . .
A drop-dead beautiful woman pushing a baby stroller walked up to him.
The child leaped from the stroller and into his arms. Laughing, he’d swung the boy up on his shoulders for a piggyback ride.
Giggling, the toddler clung to his hair, and shouted, “Giddy-up, horsey,” while the woman had slipped her arm through his, leaned in, and whispered something intimate to him.
Feeling like a fool for thinking the silent flirtation they’d had for the past four months had meant something, Ria kicked herself for believing in things like soul mates in the city—working on that darn painting had scrambled her brain—and she’d slunk off.
He had a girlfriend / wife / significant other and a child, and here she’d been dreaming impossible fantasies. She blamed her heart-surgeon parents. Their romantic, thirty-five-year marriage that engendered false hope in their impressionable daughter.
Then she’d heard Mr. Gorgeous exclaim, “That’s wonderful, Cuz! Best news I’ve had this year. Congratulations! Another baby!”
The woman was his cousin. Whew! And whoosh, Ria’s faith was at it again, believing there was such a thing as serendipity.
But alas! Today was not destined to be the day they finally spoke their first words to each other. He was long gone.
“Snap out of it, Ria,” she mumbled under her breath.
“You’ll have to speak up, dear.” Maxine cupped a hand around her ear. “My hearing is the worst.”
“Because she’s too vain to wear hearing aids,” Harry supplied.
A bit absentmindedly, Ria drifted over to where Mr. Gorgeous had been standing and caught the faint hint of manly cologne: sandalwood, basil, oak, and a sophisticated something she couldn’t quite identify.
Mmm. He even left a delicious aroma in his wake.
Talking nonstop, Maxine trailed after her. Ria had been so busy inhaling she hadn’t heard what the woman said.
“Have you seen that man before?” Ria asked her.
“Pardon?” Maxine blinked, and feathers from the purple boa she wore floated up around her chin.
“The guy who was standing here when you and Harry got out of the elevator?”
Maxine was plugged into everything that went on inside their building. “Aww, the looker. He was here checking out the vacant third-floor apartment.”
Really? Mr. Gorgeous was apartment shopping? Now that was fated.
“Quite the cutie patootie, no?” Maxine winked and nudged Ria with her elbow. “Maybe he’ll move in. It’s been far too long since you’ve had a boyfriend.”
“Maxine,” she protested. “I’m too busy for a love life.”
“Your pink cheeks tell me you’re lying.” The elderly woman reached up to pat Ria’s cheeks. “No shame in having your eye on someone.”
“No shame at all,” Harry said, slipping his arm around Maxine’s waist and drawing her gently to his side. “Come along and let’s leave Miss Ria alone. She’s got a big night to prepare for.”
Maxine wriggled her fingers goodbye, said, “Break a leg,” again, and let Harry lead her out the door.
Smiling at the elderly couple, Ria said goodbye. Would she ever have a solid, lasting relationship like Maxine and Harry’s? Like her own parents’ and grandparents’.
He might be moving into your building, hope whispered in her ear. How about that?
If he did, that was a sign, right?
It seemed as if time and time again, the universe kept pushing heaven and earth to put them in the same place at the same time.
The scientific side of her that loved research and logic said that was utter nonsense. The universe was not interested in what was happening in her measly human life.
But the romantic part of her that loved art and beauty and the breathless idea of one day finding the kind of deep and lasting love her parents had found told her seeing him today, in her building, was nothing short of serendipitous.
Sweet bull market! It was her.
Money manager and lover of the bottom line, financial adviser Victor Albright couldn’t stop smiling. He’d been within seconds of finally striking up a conversation with the ravishing redhead who looked so studious and brainy with her dark-framed rectangular glasses and serious blue eyes.
Vic liked intelligent women. He found them challenging in the best kind of way. You had to stay on your toes with the smart ones, and he enjoyed keeping his reflexes sharp.
Although a part of him was reluctant to ruin the exciting eye-flirting they’d been doing all around the High Line for the last four months, he did ache to talk to her. From the first time he’d seen her sitting in a café sipping hot tea and drawing in a sketchbook, he’d been smitten.
He’d felt an instant pull of longing, and it surprised him. Vic was not the type who spent much mental real estate on feelings. Feelings came and went. They weren’t something to invest in.
Yet, every time he saw her, he felt bowled over by her beauty, refinement, and self-containment. She looked like an oasis.
He feared that once they actually spoke to each other, the fantasy would crumble, ruining this fun diversion. He liked the allure of mystery and the thrill of the chase. In his experience, actual relationships didn’t hold up to the promise.
Cards on the table?
Her calmness, empathy, and intelligence weren’t the only things he admired. She also had a rocking hot bod, although too often she kept it camouflaged in loose-fitting clothes. She wasn’t one to flaunt her gifts, but what he wouldn’t give to see her in a formfitting dress that showed off all her assets.
Red was not his usual type. She seemed studious, serene, and circumspect.
While Vic was serious about his career, he was casual about everything else. And that’s the type of woman he normally went for—busy with her career, but up for fun whenever the workday was done.
Red had a soft-focused, rose-tinted glow about her. The romantic who’d spin happily-ever-after fantasies about love. Then again, maybe he’d pegged her all wrong. He shouldn’t be judging books by their covers.
She’d made eye contact, oh, yeah, in the lobby of that apartment building, and this time, she hadn’t shyly glanced away.
Everything inside Vic pushed him toward her.
But then the elderly couple getting off the elevator captured her attention. He’d been wildly relieved while at the same time deeply disappointed.
Unnerved by so many conflicting emotions, he’d sprinted out of there, avoiding the revolving door to get outside more quickly through the side exit, bursting into the hustling crowd, eager to end the workweek.
Red had been so close, almost within touching distance, and he’d run away.
Retreat wasn’t like him.
Not at all.
What was it about her that caused him to flee?
Maybe that was the wrong question. Maybe he should be asking why was he taking off, especially when staying would have been more satisfying?
He didn’t have the time to dwell on those questions. He’d stopped by what he now presumed was her apartment building to check out one of the units in which a client was considering investing.
But now, he needed to get home, change into his tuxedo, and grab a car to the black-tie event at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. His boss, Mort Lewis, was dangling a promotion in front of Vic.
Tonight, Mort planned to introduce him to Jake and Lilah Stevenson, the billionaire couple Mort had been courting. He hoped to convince them to let his company manage their wealth.
The Stevensons had been at their villa in the French countryside for the spring so Vic hadn’t met them in person yet, but they’d already put him through his paces, with tasks and assignments to prove his worthiness, and he’d aced them all.
Finally, they’d issued one last chore before committing to Vic’s company.
They’d decided they wanted to add some fine art to their portfolio. His assignment? Find the perfect painting for them to invest in at the Met party, so they could buy it at the subsequent art auction on Monday. With the budget his potential clients had given him, placing the winning bid should be a no-brainer.
The problem was, Vic knew little about art and had no idea which investments were likely to appreciate in value. That’s what the Stevensons’ challenge was all about. His task? Find a fairly obscure artist on the cusp of discovery.
Yeah, piece of cake.
Mort had told him to learn fast. Vic had watched some videos, taken an online art-appreciation class, and read a few books, but what he knew about the topic he could fit into a tablespoon. He wasn’t the best person for the job, but Vic didn’t back away from a challenge.
Winning the Stevensons’ business would be a feather in his cap and could earn him the promotion he’d been striving for his entire life.
While Vic wasn’t wild about attending the museum fundraiser, he did want that executive position. A few of his regular clients would be there and so would Mort. Besides, who knew? With the museum’s impressive VIP guest list, Vic might be able to pick up a few extra clients along the way as well.
Yes, it was Friday afternoon. Yes, he was officially off the clock, but working in finance in New York City took hustle and grit, and sometimes it felt as if half the people in Manhattan were money managers.
By staying sharp and on his toes and always going the extra mile for his clients, Vic had carved out a nice living, but he couldn’t ever afford to let up. He’d grown up dirt-poor from a farming community outside Philadelphia. He’d clawed and fought his way out of poverty, and he wasn’t ever going back.
With that mission and motivation in mind, he put thoughts of the stunning redhead aside. Tempting as she might be, he needed his head in the game 100 percent.
Tonight’s fundraiser had the all earmarks of a pivotal career turning point, and he wasn’t about to blow it.
Not for Red.
Not for any woman.
Stepping out of her Uber in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Ria marveled at her surroundings. Instead of heading into the museum through the employee entrance as she did every workday, she got to arrive like a guest.
She paused on the street, watching the flow of well-heeled guests scale the steps of the museum, talking and laughing. Excitement crackled in the air.
In the crowd, Ria spotted celebrities, dignitaries, and VIPs who’d paid a pretty penny to attend. Normally, she wasn’t overly impressed by star power. Rich people put on their pants like everyone else. But tonight was the unveiling of the painting she’d spent months restoring, and she was thrilled to show it off to such a large crowd.
Mentally, she’d rehearsed her presentation on the ride over. She knew it by heart. Double- and triple-checking quelled her anxiety. She didn’t much like public speaking, but she loved talking about art. As long as she was well prepared, it would all work out.
To keep the details of art restoration from being too dry for the general public, as part of her presentation she’d give a guided tour on nineteenth-century artist Laurice Renault.
Her phone dinged a text. She slipped it from her purse, took a peek at the screen. It was from Vanessa: Good luck 2 nite.
Her friend Vanessa had an impressive night ahead of her as well, and Ria couldn’t wait to hear all about it when she and Alison arrived at the beach house tomorrow morning.
U 2, she texted back.
Vanessa sent a heart emoji.
Smiling, Ria was about to slide the phone back into her clutch when it dinged again.
Alison this time: Take the Met by storm!!
Ria texted, TY. Rock your evening 2.
Alison: Can’t wait to see U.
Ria: Ditto.
Alison sent her favorite emoji: the zany face.
Aww, Ria had the best friends in the world. She was so lucky.
More cars arrived, doors slammed, people pooled on the sidewalk beside her. Time to get a move on. She needed a few minutes of solitude to collect herself before the festivities.
Taking a deep breath, Ria tucked her clutch under her arm and moved to join the stream of people headed into the museum. The hot, humid air sent a trickle of perspiration rolling down Ria’s cleavage. She needed to get inside the air-conditioning while her deodorant was still effective.
“Ria! Hold up a minute.” It was her boss, Latoya Taylor, the head conservator of her department.
Ria halted.
Latoya caught up with her. “You look amazing.”
Ria flushed. She’d dressed carefully tonight, in a simple little black cocktail dress with red high heels, hoping to project a polished professional image, but nothing flashy to overshadow Serendipity, the star of the night.
“Thank you, so do you.”
Latoya twirled for effect and laughed. She did look impressive in an emerald ball gown and designer shoes. She was a beautiful tall Black woman who carried herself with grace and dignity. As a boss, she was exacting but fair, and if she trusted you, she gave a lot of latitude in how you did your job. The director trusted Ria, for which she was eternally grateful. Ria worked best in situations with few interpersonal demands.
She’d gotten the job based on the strength of her NYU art professor’s personal recommendation, but she’d kept it based on her talent and attention to detail. She was good at what she did, and she knew it, but Ria took nothing for granted. Her paternal grandmother, from whom she’d inherited her Chelsea apartment, had taught her to appreciate everything that came her way in life, both good and bad. In Grammy’s book, everything that happened was a valuable life lesson.
“Listen,” Latoya said, taking Ria by the arm and pulling her aside. “I wanted to be the first one to break the news.”
Uh-oh. That sounds worrisome. Ria’s smile drooped, but she thought of Grammy and lifted it back up again. “Oh?”
“You did such a fabulous job restoring Serendipity. I can’t praise you highly enough. You should be so proud of yourself.”
“Thank you,” Ria said, waiting for the but . . .
“But . . .” Her boss met her gaze, and Latoya’s eyes softened the way they did when she was breaking unpleasant news.
Ria blinked, holding on to her smile for dear life now. Whatever Latoya was about to tell her, she would handle it. Appreciate everything that comes your way, Ri-ri, for what it can teach you, her grandmother’s voice reminded her. It’s all a gift.
“You did such an exemplary job with the restoration, and your research on Laurice Renault for our blog has generated a huge spark of interest in Renault’s work. We’re getting hundreds of inquires a day about Laurice and Soul Mate Seasons in the City on our social media accounts.”
“That’s good news, right?” Relief loosened her spine.
All was well.
The painting was a stunning portrait of a young couple holding hands and darting lovesick glances at each other as they sat on a park bench beneath the vibrant blooms of Central Park cherry blossoms.
Laurice Renault had perfectly captured the spirit of a young couple in the throes of new love, and to Ria, the painting depicted serendipitous good luck in finding one’s own true love.
Her viewpoint might be fanciful, but she believed in fated love. Her grandparents had had it, and so did her parents. She was spoiled, she supposed, having two examples of such radiantly successful marriages.
Alison said Ria’s beliefs about love were old-fashioned. Vanessa said maybe Ria’s views clouded her vision of reality and that no guy could ever live up to a fairy tale. Maybe her friends were right. Maybe she was too hopeful about romance.
All Ria knew was that the past four months she’d spent restoring that sweet, optimistic painting, her mood had been upbeat and hopeful. Starting work on the painting had coincided with the first time she’d seen Mr. Gorgeous. In her mind, the two things had become intertwined.
Grammy would have said it was a sign. Ria didn’t know about that, but the timing was what it was.
“Yes, yes,” Latoya said. “It’s very good news for the museum, but . . .”
Here they were back to that word.
“But?” Ria echoed.
“The museum believes that at this time, rather than keep the painting, they’d like to include it in Monday night’s auction.”
Ria kept right on smiling. She was a trouper, but she couldn’t deny her disappointment. She’d thought she’d get to see the painting in the museum for a little while at least.
“I know how invested you are in this painting and how much you wanted it to hang in the Met, but I also know you’re a professional who can roll with the punches.”
“They added it to the auction catalog last minute?”
Latoya shrugged and looked a little guilty. “Not really. They decided last month. I jus. . .
Fine-art restorer and lover of beauty, Ria Preston ogled the sexy guy as her heart skipped a beat.
Okay, full disclosure, it skipped a lot of beats.
The mysterious man she’d been crushing on for the past four months was right here, right now, gliding smooth as cream through the lobby of her Chelsea apartment building.
She pushed her glasses up on her nose for a better look and wished she had her contact lenses in.
Today, he wore what she’d come to think of as his Wall Street persona—black suit, crisp white shirt, and snazzy silk tie. This time the tie was an azure paisley print. Last time it had been maroon plaid. The time before that, a dove-gray chevron pattern.
Yes, she’d noticed and remembered.
But while he rocked a tailored suit like a hurricane, she preferred him on the High Line in exercise attire. Tan muscular legs on full display in nylon shorts, Boston Marathon T-shirt, feet shod in trendy running sneakers, and wearing an iPhone strapped to his biceps with a Velcro armband. In his height and handsomeness, he stood out in the sea of joggers, owning the park like a boss.
Her stomach fluttered.
Whether he was in a business suit or athletic attire, whenever she spotted him in the city, she found it hard to catch her breath.
He was, in a word, magnificent.
It was her second sighting this week. She’d seen him on Wednesday at the Chelsea Market. She’d been at the bookstore. He’d been in the coffee shop across the way. She glanced up from browsing the latest bestselling romances and bam!
He was watching her back.
Just like now.
Their eyes met, and a slow, sexy grin lit up his gorgeous face. She felt the impact hit her throat first and then slide down her body to lodge in a hot tingle right between her thighs, and she thought illogically, Serendipity.
Although maybe not so illogically after all. He did resemble the handsome male half of the romantic couple in the painting she’d spent four months restoring.
Serendipity was one of four works in the artist’s Soul Mate Seasons in the City. The series focused on a pair of lovers in New York City during the shifting seasons of their lives in the late 1800s. Serendipity featured spring when the couple were young and first falling in love. And tonight, Ria was giving a presentation about her labor of love during a fundraising event at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Right after the party, she was leaving the city for her parents’ summerhouse in Sag Harbor to get ready before her best friends, Vanessa and Alison, arrived for their all-girls weekend. It had been too long since they’d spent time together. They were so busy with their careers that every time they set up a get-together, something managed to derail it at the last minute.
But not this time!
Ria had the keys to the summerhouse, and she was bubbling over with excitement. She’d planned everything in minute detail. Nothing would go wrong this time. She was sure of it.
An active evening lay ahead of her, and the last thing she should be doing was standing spellbound in her lobby grinning at Mr. Gorgeous.
He sauntered straight toward her, and she thought, At last, he’s going to speak to me, and her heart was off again on that hop-skip-gallop pattern.
To her right, she heard the elevator ding as it settled to the ground floor, but her entire attention was locked and loaded on him.
This masculine walking work of art.
Her breath was shallow, and she felt her eyes growing wider with each step he took in her direction and . . . and . . .
She moistened her lips, this time determined to say something to him if he didn’t initiate a conversation with her, but before she could get out a breathless “Hi,” an elderly couple burst from the elevator and barreled into the lobby.
“Ria!” called Mrs. Markowitz. “Yoo-hoo, honey, over here.”
Reluctantly, Ria let go of his gaze and turned to her neighbor, opening her arms for a hug. “Second Grama! There you are.”
Maxine Markowitz hustled over, her husband, Harry, following her like an imprinted duckling.
Purple-haired Maxine was a pixie-size, four-foot-eleven powerhouse with a personality that more than made up for her lack of height. Harry was her polar opposite, towering well over six feet with a solid beer belly and an easygoing nature. He was mostly bald, save for a few tufts of flyaway white hair that ringed the back of his head, and Ria thought he looked a bit like former NYC mayor Ed Koch.
“We dropped by your apartment.” Maxine enveloped Ria in a hug. “But you weren’t there. We came to tell you to break a leg tonight, didn’t we, Harry?”
“Break a leg,” Harry echoed. “But don’t break a kneecap.”
Ria laughed. “Harry, you’re priceless.”
“That’s what she said.” He cocked a lazy grin at Maxine.
Ria gazed over Maxine’s head in search of him, but in the hubbub, Mr. Gorgeous had disappeared.
Well, fiddlesticks. Another missed opportunity.
She’d almost spoken to him two weeks ago when she’d seen him in the park, stretching before his run. She’d worked up a whole conversation in her head and had even strolled close enough to notice that he wasn’t wearing a wedding band. She’d primed her mouth to speak, and just as she’d been about to say hello . . .
A drop-dead beautiful woman pushing a baby stroller walked up to him.
The child leaped from the stroller and into his arms. Laughing, he’d swung the boy up on his shoulders for a piggyback ride.
Giggling, the toddler clung to his hair, and shouted, “Giddy-up, horsey,” while the woman had slipped her arm through his, leaned in, and whispered something intimate to him.
Feeling like a fool for thinking the silent flirtation they’d had for the past four months had meant something, Ria kicked herself for believing in things like soul mates in the city—working on that darn painting had scrambled her brain—and she’d slunk off.
He had a girlfriend / wife / significant other and a child, and here she’d been dreaming impossible fantasies. She blamed her heart-surgeon parents. Their romantic, thirty-five-year marriage that engendered false hope in their impressionable daughter.
Then she’d heard Mr. Gorgeous exclaim, “That’s wonderful, Cuz! Best news I’ve had this year. Congratulations! Another baby!”
The woman was his cousin. Whew! And whoosh, Ria’s faith was at it again, believing there was such a thing as serendipity.
But alas! Today was not destined to be the day they finally spoke their first words to each other. He was long gone.
“Snap out of it, Ria,” she mumbled under her breath.
“You’ll have to speak up, dear.” Maxine cupped a hand around her ear. “My hearing is the worst.”
“Because she’s too vain to wear hearing aids,” Harry supplied.
A bit absentmindedly, Ria drifted over to where Mr. Gorgeous had been standing and caught the faint hint of manly cologne: sandalwood, basil, oak, and a sophisticated something she couldn’t quite identify.
Mmm. He even left a delicious aroma in his wake.
Talking nonstop, Maxine trailed after her. Ria had been so busy inhaling she hadn’t heard what the woman said.
“Have you seen that man before?” Ria asked her.
“Pardon?” Maxine blinked, and feathers from the purple boa she wore floated up around her chin.
“The guy who was standing here when you and Harry got out of the elevator?”
Maxine was plugged into everything that went on inside their building. “Aww, the looker. He was here checking out the vacant third-floor apartment.”
Really? Mr. Gorgeous was apartment shopping? Now that was fated.
“Quite the cutie patootie, no?” Maxine winked and nudged Ria with her elbow. “Maybe he’ll move in. It’s been far too long since you’ve had a boyfriend.”
“Maxine,” she protested. “I’m too busy for a love life.”
“Your pink cheeks tell me you’re lying.” The elderly woman reached up to pat Ria’s cheeks. “No shame in having your eye on someone.”
“No shame at all,” Harry said, slipping his arm around Maxine’s waist and drawing her gently to his side. “Come along and let’s leave Miss Ria alone. She’s got a big night to prepare for.”
Maxine wriggled her fingers goodbye, said, “Break a leg,” again, and let Harry lead her out the door.
Smiling at the elderly couple, Ria said goodbye. Would she ever have a solid, lasting relationship like Maxine and Harry’s? Like her own parents’ and grandparents’.
He might be moving into your building, hope whispered in her ear. How about that?
If he did, that was a sign, right?
It seemed as if time and time again, the universe kept pushing heaven and earth to put them in the same place at the same time.
The scientific side of her that loved research and logic said that was utter nonsense. The universe was not interested in what was happening in her measly human life.
But the romantic part of her that loved art and beauty and the breathless idea of one day finding the kind of deep and lasting love her parents had found told her seeing him today, in her building, was nothing short of serendipitous.
Sweet bull market! It was her.
Money manager and lover of the bottom line, financial adviser Victor Albright couldn’t stop smiling. He’d been within seconds of finally striking up a conversation with the ravishing redhead who looked so studious and brainy with her dark-framed rectangular glasses and serious blue eyes.
Vic liked intelligent women. He found them challenging in the best kind of way. You had to stay on your toes with the smart ones, and he enjoyed keeping his reflexes sharp.
Although a part of him was reluctant to ruin the exciting eye-flirting they’d been doing all around the High Line for the last four months, he did ache to talk to her. From the first time he’d seen her sitting in a café sipping hot tea and drawing in a sketchbook, he’d been smitten.
He’d felt an instant pull of longing, and it surprised him. Vic was not the type who spent much mental real estate on feelings. Feelings came and went. They weren’t something to invest in.
Yet, every time he saw her, he felt bowled over by her beauty, refinement, and self-containment. She looked like an oasis.
He feared that once they actually spoke to each other, the fantasy would crumble, ruining this fun diversion. He liked the allure of mystery and the thrill of the chase. In his experience, actual relationships didn’t hold up to the promise.
Cards on the table?
Her calmness, empathy, and intelligence weren’t the only things he admired. She also had a rocking hot bod, although too often she kept it camouflaged in loose-fitting clothes. She wasn’t one to flaunt her gifts, but what he wouldn’t give to see her in a formfitting dress that showed off all her assets.
Red was not his usual type. She seemed studious, serene, and circumspect.
While Vic was serious about his career, he was casual about everything else. And that’s the type of woman he normally went for—busy with her career, but up for fun whenever the workday was done.
Red had a soft-focused, rose-tinted glow about her. The romantic who’d spin happily-ever-after fantasies about love. Then again, maybe he’d pegged her all wrong. He shouldn’t be judging books by their covers.
She’d made eye contact, oh, yeah, in the lobby of that apartment building, and this time, she hadn’t shyly glanced away.
Everything inside Vic pushed him toward her.
But then the elderly couple getting off the elevator captured her attention. He’d been wildly relieved while at the same time deeply disappointed.
Unnerved by so many conflicting emotions, he’d sprinted out of there, avoiding the revolving door to get outside more quickly through the side exit, bursting into the hustling crowd, eager to end the workweek.
Red had been so close, almost within touching distance, and he’d run away.
Retreat wasn’t like him.
Not at all.
What was it about her that caused him to flee?
Maybe that was the wrong question. Maybe he should be asking why was he taking off, especially when staying would have been more satisfying?
He didn’t have the time to dwell on those questions. He’d stopped by what he now presumed was her apartment building to check out one of the units in which a client was considering investing.
But now, he needed to get home, change into his tuxedo, and grab a car to the black-tie event at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. His boss, Mort Lewis, was dangling a promotion in front of Vic.
Tonight, Mort planned to introduce him to Jake and Lilah Stevenson, the billionaire couple Mort had been courting. He hoped to convince them to let his company manage their wealth.
The Stevensons had been at their villa in the French countryside for the spring so Vic hadn’t met them in person yet, but they’d already put him through his paces, with tasks and assignments to prove his worthiness, and he’d aced them all.
Finally, they’d issued one last chore before committing to Vic’s company.
They’d decided they wanted to add some fine art to their portfolio. His assignment? Find the perfect painting for them to invest in at the Met party, so they could buy it at the subsequent art auction on Monday. With the budget his potential clients had given him, placing the winning bid should be a no-brainer.
The problem was, Vic knew little about art and had no idea which investments were likely to appreciate in value. That’s what the Stevensons’ challenge was all about. His task? Find a fairly obscure artist on the cusp of discovery.
Yeah, piece of cake.
Mort had told him to learn fast. Vic had watched some videos, taken an online art-appreciation class, and read a few books, but what he knew about the topic he could fit into a tablespoon. He wasn’t the best person for the job, but Vic didn’t back away from a challenge.
Winning the Stevensons’ business would be a feather in his cap and could earn him the promotion he’d been striving for his entire life.
While Vic wasn’t wild about attending the museum fundraiser, he did want that executive position. A few of his regular clients would be there and so would Mort. Besides, who knew? With the museum’s impressive VIP guest list, Vic might be able to pick up a few extra clients along the way as well.
Yes, it was Friday afternoon. Yes, he was officially off the clock, but working in finance in New York City took hustle and grit, and sometimes it felt as if half the people in Manhattan were money managers.
By staying sharp and on his toes and always going the extra mile for his clients, Vic had carved out a nice living, but he couldn’t ever afford to let up. He’d grown up dirt-poor from a farming community outside Philadelphia. He’d clawed and fought his way out of poverty, and he wasn’t ever going back.
With that mission and motivation in mind, he put thoughts of the stunning redhead aside. Tempting as she might be, he needed his head in the game 100 percent.
Tonight’s fundraiser had the all earmarks of a pivotal career turning point, and he wasn’t about to blow it.
Not for Red.
Not for any woman.
Stepping out of her Uber in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Ria marveled at her surroundings. Instead of heading into the museum through the employee entrance as she did every workday, she got to arrive like a guest.
She paused on the street, watching the flow of well-heeled guests scale the steps of the museum, talking and laughing. Excitement crackled in the air.
In the crowd, Ria spotted celebrities, dignitaries, and VIPs who’d paid a pretty penny to attend. Normally, she wasn’t overly impressed by star power. Rich people put on their pants like everyone else. But tonight was the unveiling of the painting she’d spent months restoring, and she was thrilled to show it off to such a large crowd.
Mentally, she’d rehearsed her presentation on the ride over. She knew it by heart. Double- and triple-checking quelled her anxiety. She didn’t much like public speaking, but she loved talking about art. As long as she was well prepared, it would all work out.
To keep the details of art restoration from being too dry for the general public, as part of her presentation she’d give a guided tour on nineteenth-century artist Laurice Renault.
Her phone dinged a text. She slipped it from her purse, took a peek at the screen. It was from Vanessa: Good luck 2 nite.
Her friend Vanessa had an impressive night ahead of her as well, and Ria couldn’t wait to hear all about it when she and Alison arrived at the beach house tomorrow morning.
U 2, she texted back.
Vanessa sent a heart emoji.
Smiling, Ria was about to slide the phone back into her clutch when it dinged again.
Alison this time: Take the Met by storm!!
Ria texted, TY. Rock your evening 2.
Alison: Can’t wait to see U.
Ria: Ditto.
Alison sent her favorite emoji: the zany face.
Aww, Ria had the best friends in the world. She was so lucky.
More cars arrived, doors slammed, people pooled on the sidewalk beside her. Time to get a move on. She needed a few minutes of solitude to collect herself before the festivities.
Taking a deep breath, Ria tucked her clutch under her arm and moved to join the stream of people headed into the museum. The hot, humid air sent a trickle of perspiration rolling down Ria’s cleavage. She needed to get inside the air-conditioning while her deodorant was still effective.
“Ria! Hold up a minute.” It was her boss, Latoya Taylor, the head conservator of her department.
Ria halted.
Latoya caught up with her. “You look amazing.”
Ria flushed. She’d dressed carefully tonight, in a simple little black cocktail dress with red high heels, hoping to project a polished professional image, but nothing flashy to overshadow Serendipity, the star of the night.
“Thank you, so do you.”
Latoya twirled for effect and laughed. She did look impressive in an emerald ball gown and designer shoes. She was a beautiful tall Black woman who carried herself with grace and dignity. As a boss, she was exacting but fair, and if she trusted you, she gave a lot of latitude in how you did your job. The director trusted Ria, for which she was eternally grateful. Ria worked best in situations with few interpersonal demands.
She’d gotten the job based on the strength of her NYU art professor’s personal recommendation, but she’d kept it based on her talent and attention to detail. She was good at what she did, and she knew it, but Ria took nothing for granted. Her paternal grandmother, from whom she’d inherited her Chelsea apartment, had taught her to appreciate everything that came her way in life, both good and bad. In Grammy’s book, everything that happened was a valuable life lesson.
“Listen,” Latoya said, taking Ria by the arm and pulling her aside. “I wanted to be the first one to break the news.”
Uh-oh. That sounds worrisome. Ria’s smile drooped, but she thought of Grammy and lifted it back up again. “Oh?”
“You did such a fabulous job restoring Serendipity. I can’t praise you highly enough. You should be so proud of yourself.”
“Thank you,” Ria said, waiting for the but . . .
“But . . .” Her boss met her gaze, and Latoya’s eyes softened the way they did when she was breaking unpleasant news.
Ria blinked, holding on to her smile for dear life now. Whatever Latoya was about to tell her, she would handle it. Appreciate everything that comes your way, Ri-ri, for what it can teach you, her grandmother’s voice reminded her. It’s all a gift.
“You did such an exemplary job with the restoration, and your research on Laurice Renault for our blog has generated a huge spark of interest in Renault’s work. We’re getting hundreds of inquires a day about Laurice and Soul Mate Seasons in the City on our social media accounts.”
“That’s good news, right?” Relief loosened her spine.
All was well.
The painting was a stunning portrait of a young couple holding hands and darting lovesick glances at each other as they sat on a park bench beneath the vibrant blooms of Central Park cherry blossoms.
Laurice Renault had perfectly captured the spirit of a young couple in the throes of new love, and to Ria, the painting depicted serendipitous good luck in finding one’s own true love.
Her viewpoint might be fanciful, but she believed in fated love. Her grandparents had had it, and so did her parents. She was spoiled, she supposed, having two examples of such radiantly successful marriages.
Alison said Ria’s beliefs about love were old-fashioned. Vanessa said maybe Ria’s views clouded her vision of reality and that no guy could ever live up to a fairy tale. Maybe her friends were right. Maybe she was too hopeful about romance.
All Ria knew was that the past four months she’d spent restoring that sweet, optimistic painting, her mood had been upbeat and hopeful. Starting work on the painting had coincided with the first time she’d seen Mr. Gorgeous. In her mind, the two things had become intertwined.
Grammy would have said it was a sign. Ria didn’t know about that, but the timing was what it was.
“Yes, yes,” Latoya said. “It’s very good news for the museum, but . . .”
Here they were back to that word.
“But?” Ria echoed.
“The museum believes that at this time, rather than keep the painting, they’d like to include it in Monday night’s auction.”
Ria kept right on smiling. She was a trouper, but she couldn’t deny her disappointment. She’d thought she’d get to see the painting in the museum for a little while at least.
“I know how invested you are in this painting and how much you wanted it to hang in the Met, but I also know you’re a professional who can roll with the punches.”
“They added it to the auction catalog last minute?”
Latoya shrugged and looked a little guilty. “Not really. They decided last month. I jus. . .
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