Someday, the city would pall; all the places she had lived in had eventually bored her. She had never done any tropical landscapes and figured one day she’d feel the urge to go to Bora Bora, though on her budget she’d probably settle for Florida. After all, a palm tree was a palm tree. But for now she was still fascinated with faces, and right here was the best place to be.
The gallery was discreetly ensconced behind two double sets of glass doors, the outside set the bulletproof variety, at Richard’s insistence. The lettering on the door was small and plain, announcing “Worth Gallery” and leaving it at that. There wasn’t a curlicue in sight, which Sweeney appreciated. Ornate gilt lettering would have turned her stomach.
As usual, the first sight to greet anyone entering the gallery was Kai, which in Sweeney’s opinion was a sight indeed. He was beautiful; that was the only word for him. She supposed he filled the function of a receptionist, but she wasn’t quite certain what his official title was, or if he even had one. Judging from the way some of the female customers stared at him, it was enough for him just to be there; no other function was required. He had glossy, shoulder-length black hair and narrow dark eyes set above chiseled cheekbones, with lush lips that made her think he must have a Polynesian heritage, and strengthened her urge to paint palm trees. He did some modeling on the side and took art classes at night, which made Kai a very busy boy.
She suspected Kai and Candra had had, if not a full-fledged affair, at least a fling. Sweeney could be amazingly oblivious to everything around her when she was working, but painting portraits had made her acutely observant of faces and expressions, and a few times there had been a hint of intimacy between him and Candra. Nothing overt, just a flicker of expression, a brief meeting of gazes, a momentary possessiveness in Kai’s manner. Candra would never wear her heart on her sleeve, but Kai wasn’t as sophisticated. Sweeney hoped he wasn’t emotionally involved, because Candra would certainly never allow herself to reciprocate those feelings. Richard’s bucks far outweighed Kai’s beauty.
Kai left his seat behind the elegant Queen Anne desk from which he oversaw all entrées, coming toward her with a white smile and raised dark eyebrows. “Sweeney. Wow.” His gaze slid down her. “You’re looking hot.” He had a faint accent, a melodious singsong quality that had to be Hawaiian. His expression was openly admiring.
A bit concerned, Sweeney glanced down at herself. This made two men who had, within the space of ten minutes, told her she looked “hot.” The simple scarlet sweater must pack more punch than she had realized. From now on, she would be more careful about wearing it. On the other hand, she adored the color.
“The McMillans aren’t here yet,” Kai said, touching her elbow, his fingertips lingering on the inside of her arm. “Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?”
This was the treatment he gave customers. Her concern edged toward alarm. Whatever mysterious power the color scarlet had, she didn’t like all this male attention. Men were trouble, capital T, italicized, underlined. She didn’t have time for men, especially not a smooth, twenty-four-year-old high-maintenance boy toy like Kai. She hadn’t lived seven years longer than he had without learning a few things about herself, namely that she was one of those people who function better alone.
The tea sounded good, though.
“Earl Grey, one lump of brown.” Candra used the European custom of offering both brown and white lumps of sugar with the tea she kept brewed for her customers. Sweeney considered it an immensely civilized thing for her to do.
“Coming right up.” Kai flashed his brilliant smile at her again and disappeared into the small alcove where the tea service was kept. Sweeney looked around, wondering where Candra was. If the McMillans were due, then Candra should already be here; she was extremely punctual, always there to greet the customers with whom she had appointments.
Standing where she was, Sweeney could see most of the gallery. It was two stories high, with regal, curving stairs arching like ribbons up both sides of the room, but the space was mostly open and wonderfully lit, which gave her an excellent overall view, and Candra wasn’t in sight.
Kai returned, bearing tea fragrantly steaming in a translucent china cup. “Is Candra here?” Sweeney asked, taking the cup from him and inhaling the steam with unconscious delight.
“She’s in her office, with Richard.” He glanced over his shoulder at the closed door. “I gather the amicable proceedings aren’t proceeding very amicably.”
Sweeney frowned into her cup, pondering that opaque statement. “What proceedings?”
Kai blinked at her. “The divorce, of course.”
“Divorce?” Sweeney was startled, and disappointed. She had suspected Candra’s marriage wasn’t perfect, but still, she hated to see people she knew break up. It always distressed her, reminding her of how many divorces she had lived through as a child.
“My God, don’t tell me you didn’t know. It’s been in the works for almost a year, since right after you moved to the city. I can’t believe you haven’t heard anything about it.”
Despite her shock, Sweeney almost snorted. She had lost track of national elections when she was working; why would a divorce blip on her radar? She didn’t move in Candra’s circles, and though they were friendly acquaintances and had a mutually profitable arrangement—usually profitable, that is—they weren’t exactly bosom buddies. Or maybe Candra didn’t think the divorce was important; it was so common in the art world Sweeney wondered why people bothered going through the motions of getting married.