“Well, I’m glad you’re getting your groove back so quickly,” I said with a smile.
A few pages farther in, the pictures began to change, getting more ambitious. They were full scenes that filled the paper all the way to the edges, some of them with figures. I found Wylder and Gideon poised around the chess table, and Kaige lounging in his hammock. Rowan had captured their personalities perfectly with a few strokes of his pencil.
But most of those more expansive drawings featured me.
The first one showed a familiar building—an abandoned auto shop—and a woman who was suspended mid-leap. Then I was facing a few men, jabbing my finger at them, my hair pulled back in a ponytail and my face fierce with determination. Another showed a forest draped in dark shadows, with the flashlight in my hand bringing only the shapes within its glow into sharper focus. Toward the end, I found one that was just my face, a wide smile curving my lips as I gazed into the distance.
A lump rose in my throat. There was no mistaking the fondness in every line Rowan had drawn to depict me. He’d made me beautiful in a way not even Anthea could have managed—he’d made meart. And not just when I was wearing a pretty dress but when I was out there getting things done the way I needed to.
For a few minutes, I couldn’t speak. Finally, I found my words. “Rowan, these are incredible. Really.”
His gaze darted to me as if checking to make sure my reaction was genuine. His expression relaxed with a grin. “Thanks. I’m glad you like them.”
I beamed back at him. “It’s great to see you reconnecting with this side of yourself again. The gang doesn’t have to be your entire life, you know?”
“I didn’t really know that until you came back, Mercy,” he said, his gaze fixed on the road again. “It’s like you’re my muse. There’s nothing I enjoy drawing more than you. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Are you kidding me?” I said. “This is the most flattering thing anybody has done for me.”
“Even more flattering than taking a three-hour train and getting you snow cones and cheesecake from Beach View?” he said, a teasing hint in his voice.
I punched him playfully on his arm. “Half of it had already melted by the time you came back.”
“Sure, but that was also the moment when I realized how special you were to me,” Rowan said, his face turning serious. I felt that familiar squeeze in my heart again and the words that I hadn’t said to him in years, ready to burst out of me.
Wasn’t it amazing that we’d been able to go back to our former selves, able to enjoy each other’s company without the shadows of our troubled past hanging over us? I’d missed this vibe so much. I’d missedhim.
I cleared my throat, pulling my mind back to the business at hand. “Should we go over our strategy? I want to make sure I’m totally clear on everything, since this isn’t really my wheelhouse.”
“Sure,” Rowan said. “But I know you’ll do fine. And I’ll be taking the lead.”
As we left Paradise Bend far behind, we went back and forth on our story, making sure we were in sync and polishing up our proposal. We weren’t going to lay out all our cards upfront, but we needed to show enough for it to sound like a lucrative and appealing offer.
By the time we reached the city where the gala was being held, I was still anxious, but my nerves were under control after all that prep. I gazed up at the skyscrapers catching the mid-afternoon sunlight, twice the height of any building around the Bend. This was where the big players did their work, people like the Devil’s Dozen and their associates.
In my earlier research to prepare for this event, guided by Gideon, I’d discovered that the building where the gala was being held was a hotel built in the late sixties that Evan Anderson had helped broker a deal around last year. The subsequent renovations had left it newly cleaned up and extravagant. The marble panels on the exterior were so polished they practically glowed.
Rowan gave the car to a valet, and we joined the current of attendees streaming into the building. Anthea had chosen well—we fit right in with our fancy clothes. I definitely wasn’t overdressed. I saw a woman wearing a feather boa and another with a hat with so many whorls of fabric protruding from it I had no idea how she kept it balanced on her head. All the men sported fancy suits or even tuxedos. The place was all glitz and glamor.
Uncertainty clenched my stomach as we approached the door, but the security didn’t give us a second glance as they checked us off the guest list and motioned us into the premises. The vast foyer inside was pristine white with gilded walls and marble floors.
We climbed a winding staircase to the ballroom already buzzing with the people inside. The air held a decadent mix of expensive alcohol and cloying perfume. Smooth jazz trickled from hidden speakers. The lights from the fancy chandeliers hanging throughout the massive room dazzled me.
“Quite the place,” Rowan said, letting out a quiet whistle as he glanced around.
My heart thumped as I scanned the room for Anderson. It took a minute before I spotted him deeper inside the room, surrounded by a crowd who appeared to be hanging off his every word.
He wasn’t afraid to make a style statement, that was for sure. The pattern on his suit resembled zebra stripes, but somehow it worked on him perfectly rather than looking out of place. His silver hair fell in sculpted waves to the tops of his ears, and a diamond stud glinted in one of his earlobes. He had to have tons of money, but he wasn’t flaunting that part of his persona as much as a lot of the other patrons.
We needed to get him alone, and when he was in a mood to be open to offers. I studied him surreptitiously from across the room. “Maybe we should wait until after a few of the auctions have happened? If they go well, he’ll be in good spirits.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Rowan said. “The program said the auctions would be scattered throughout the afternoon—in between refreshments and time to socialize, I guess.” He nodded to a painting mounted on the stage set up along the far wall. “I believe that one’s up first.”
As if on cue, Anderson walked to the center of the ballroom, clapping his hands to catch everybody’s attention. As soon as he had it, somebody handed a mic to him.
“Attention, everybody! We shall now begin the auction of our first item.” He walked to the painting and flourished his hands at it. “First up is a 2012 masterpiece by one of the most celebrated artists of the United States, Augustine Cavallaro.”
We wove through the crowd to get closer to him, and my thoughts whirled in my head. We weren’t here to buy any paintings, but Anderson would also be more open to talking to us if we showed a willingness to open our wallets right away, wouldn’t he?