Trish Wylie - One Summer In New York

Holly wasn’t exactly sure why a sharp tear stung her cheek.

* * *

The left side needed more of the muddy purple she had mixed. Holly dipped thin bristles into the unusual color and applied them to her canvas. When they’d been at the art supply store Ethan had insisted on buying her a full range of brushes—a luxury she wasn’t used to. She flicked tiny lines with a brush that was ideal for the task of depicting the rain outside.

Music blared from her phone—a pop singer belting on about how it was time to move on from a man who had done her wrong.

A wild sprawl of buildings and weather... Holly couldn’t decide whether or not she liked this painting. It didn’t matter, though. The important thing was the doing.

Painting had always been Holly’s best friend. It had kept her alive during a tumultuous childhood with an unstable mother and a man she’d called her father whom she had seen so few times she could count them on her fingers. Painting had got her through a disaster of a marriage to a selfish man-child. And then through an ugly divorce.

Painting was her escape. Her entertainment. Her coping mechanism. Her voice. Her salvation.

Early on, her brother, Vince, had found sports. And she’d discovered canvas and color. It was unimaginable where they’d be without those outlets.

In the past few years she had been fortunate enough to have been able to make some money creating artwork for paying clients. But in times of trouble she still picked up her brush purely for emotional release. For safety. For comfort.

Which was what was required now. Because she was disturbed and confused. Art gave her a little bit of a sanctuary in an unpredictable world.

So she had re-created her little studio area after packing it up for Louise and Fernando’s visit last night. And she’d got back to work.

As often happened when she was painting, her problems became evident.

She had developed strong feelings for Ethan. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she sensed the same might be happening for him.

How he managed to be so volatile while remaining so formal she’d never understand. He was in control of himself, yet there was a barely masked vulnerability there. Manners and restraint mixed with something brutal and pounding.

Those kisses atop the Empire State Building had come from somewhere organic inside him. Beyond rational intent. That kind of intensity couldn’t have been plotted.

In spite of that he would never care for her as anything more than an employee. Plain and simple. Even if he did, he would clamp his emotions down and lock them away as soon as he acknowledged them. He was too strong and too true ever to be swayed once he’d made a decision.

A means to an end. That was all she was to him.

And he to her.

Her phone buzzed.

“Ethan, here.”

“Hi.”

“I wanted to apologize for making light of your concerns about what physical interaction between us would be appropriate.”

“I just don’t want to mess up at the gala. I’m worried I’m going to get flustered, like I did at dinner last night. I want everything to go right for you and your plan for Aunt Louise.”

“I agree that we could use more training sessions where we are surrounded by other people. I have a charity event to attend tonight. You and I will go together. As colleagues.”

That was a terrific idea. She wanted to fulfill her end of the contract and make this arrangement work with Ethan. He was offering her the door into a New York that she could never open on her own. How hard could it be? He’d contracted her for a job that she was capable of doing. She just needed to keep the right mindset, purpose and goals.

An evening as colleagues. Perfect.

A couple of hours later the building’s doorman knocked and handed Holly a delivery. She thanked him and carried the large white box to the table. Untying the gold ribbon that gave the box the appearance of a gift, she lifted the lid. A notecard was tucked on top of the gold tissue paper concealing the contents.

Tiny dress. Warm coat.

See you at the dock.

Ethan.

She unfolded the tissue to discover a black sequined party dress. It was sinfully short, with thin straps and a scooped back. Holly sucked in an audible whoosh of air. She couldn’t believe that Ethan had sent her this sexy slip of a dress. Was this what his colleagues wore?

Tingles exploded all over her body.

For all the clothes he had already purchased for her, he must have thought none of them were just right for the charity event he was taking her to tonight.

Anticipation rocketed through her.

The warm coat—cream-colored, in a heavy wool—he had already bought her. The reference to a dock must mean they were going to be on or near a boat. The mystery of it felt hopelessly romantic, even though with Ethan she knew it wasn’t. Nonetheless, she could hardly wait until nightfall.

Leonard picked her up at the scheduled time and transported her to the Battery Park dock where Ethan was waiting to open the car door. He extended his hand to help her out of the car. It was chilly, but there was no rain, and she wore her coat open over the new dress. Admittedly to show it off.

“Thank you, Leonard,” Ethan called to his driver and closed the passenger door. To Holly he said, after a leisurely once-over, “I knew you would look stunning in that.”

Their eyes met. She smiled. The left side of his mouth curved up.

“Shall we?” He offered his bent arm and she slipped hers through. But then he glanced down and stopped with caution. “Oh. Right.” He lightly touched her engagement ring. “I generally do not bring a date to events like this. Because our arrangement—rather, our engagement—will not be announced until the gala, would you mind terribly...?” His voice trailed out.

“No, of course not,” she responded, hoping he didn’t see the rush of disappointment sweep across her.

She slithered the diamond off her finger. She also hoped that, in the moonlight, he hadn’t noticed that she’d been unable to remove every fleck of paint from her cuticles. She’d scrubbed her hands raw, but this was the best she could do. With any luck the stylists he’d hired to spruce her up for the gala would have some magic tricks up their sleeves.

“Shall I keep it?” he asked, and he took the ring from her and secured it in his pocket before she’d had a chance to answer. “I will introduce you as a coworker. We can have the evening to practice being comfortable with each other’s company in public and nothing more.”

“Exactly.”

He presented his bent arm to her again. “All aboard.”

As they ascended the gangway, Ethan waved politely to a few people, this way and that.

“Who was that?” Holly asked. “Where are we going?”

“Tonight is a fund-raiser for a private organization I belong to that supports maintenance of the Statue of Liberty as state funding is not sufficient. We will cruise to Liberty Island. The vantage point is spectacular. I think you will enjoy it.”

The yacht set off into the New York Harbor, away from lower Manhattan. Champagne was passed on trays. Ethan and Holly mingled with a few guests onboard, sharing mainly superficial banter.

He introduced her as part of his interior design team and she shook a few hands. When they were out of anyone’s earshot he instructed, “You can discuss the Chelsea Plaza project. Tell people you are currently analyzing the requirements. That you are handling the art, and much will depend on what materials the furnishings are made of.”

During their next chat, around a standing cocktail table, the project came up. Holly interjected with, “We are assessing how people will move through the public spaces.”

Ethan subtly nodded his approval. Holly was grateful for the positive reinforcement. She had never interacted with these mega-rich type of people before. Many of them were older than her—men in dark suits and women in their finest jewels. Wall Street leaders, heads of corporations, prominent doctors and lawyers. All of whom, apparently, with their charity dollars, were helping to keep the Statue of Liberty standing proud.