Chapter 4
"What did the artist say?!" Isabella cut her assistant off, practically vibrating with impatience.
The entire room held its breath. This was E.V., the most mysterious genius in the art world. None of them had a clue that the artist herself was sitting right there, being ridiculed by all of them.
"Ms. Ricci, it's all set. The artist has accepted your invitation."
"We've scheduled a meeting at the gallery tomorrow morning to discuss the details."
"Tomorrow morning? Why not tonight?" Isabella frowned.
"The artist has a private engagement tonight and declined our dinner invitation," the assistant explained quickly.
Isabella’s annoyance vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated pride. She turned and strutted back to Lucius, linking her arm through his.
"Lucius, did you hear that?" Isabella’s voice was sickeningly sweet, but her eyes were triumphant as she scanned the room. "Tomorrow, I'm closing the biggest deal of the year. In all of New York, only I could get E.V.!"
The room erupted in another round of fawning praise.
"Simply incredible, Ms. Ricci! Your connections are second to none!"
"The Don has a good eye! With a partner like Ms. Ricci, the Falcone family will be more successful than ever!"
But Lucius said nothing. He just stared into his drink, lost in thought.
Isabella shot me a look, and a new idea sparked in her eyes.
"Oh, by the way," she said, turning to her assistant and dragging out her words. "Could you check if we have any openings for, say, a cleaning position in our galleries or properties?"
The assistant blinked, confused.
Isabella pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me. "This is Miss Eleanor. She used to be… loyal to Lucius. Now that she's fallen on hard times, as his future wife, I feel it's my duty to 'help' her out."
That woman, Mia, immediately let out a shrill laugh. "Ms. Ricci, you're too kind! But you really shouldn't get involved with her!"
"You probably don't know," Mia sneered, "but her father is a degenerate gambler. He owed millions in loanshark debt and had collectors after him day and night!"
Someone else chimed in, "Yeah! People like that are nothing but trouble! You hire her, and the debt collectors will be smashing up your gallery by tomorrow!"
They all piled on, painting me as a walking disaster.
Isabella clutched her chest in a dramatic gasp. "Oh my heavens, is that true?"
She looked at me, her face a mask of fake sympathy and fear. "Eleanor, that's such a shame. I really wanted to offer you a lifeline, but it seems my hands are tied. I can't have my hard work ruined by your... family troubles."
I didn't even bother to look up at her pathetic performance.
I set down my champagne glass and met her eyes, my own gaze flat.
"I told you, no thank you," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the noise of the party with perfect clarity.
"I have a job."
Isabella laughed. "A job? Waiting tables? Or pouring drinks in some dive bar?" She sighed theatrically. "Eleanor, take my advice. Quit whatever shady job you have before you get into real trouble."
The gazes around me shifted from mockery to disdain, as if they could already picture me doing something dirty for money.
At that moment, the assistant, who was still standing by the door with her files, finally got a clear look at my face.
Her eyes went wide. Her jaw dropped.
The thick stack of research on the artist "E.V." slipped from her arms and scattered across the floor. But the assistant didn't even notice. She pointed a trembling finger at me, her voice a horrified squeak.
"Miss Vance?! What… What are you doing here?!"
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