Page 14 of Don't Tell

My stepbrother has a sixth sense for me being out of position. I’m not quite sure how he does it. Sometimes I appreciate it. Sometimes I don’t and wish to be left alone. This is one of those times.

“Hey…I wanted to call last night, but I knew you’d want your space,” he begins, and I instantly regret answering this call. I should just push the world away until the funeral has passed and people stop acting like I’m grieving when I’m not.

“I’m fine, Beau.”

He pauses. “Are you sure? No one has been able to reach you since last night. Mom blames herself for telling you over the phone. Dad thinks you’re in denial.”

I scoff. “Well, I’m not. I’m fine.”

Beau doesn’t speak for a moment. “Are you coming for Sunday dinner?”

“No. I’m in Napa for another week. Possibly two.”

“Why?”

I consider telling him the truth, but one person knowing the embarrassing details of what happened to me is more than enough. I don’t need my brother laughing at me. "The deal is running long,” I say instead. “The property down here is more interesting than I thought."

"Which property?"

I frown. "It’s the one you don't have to know about."

"Cade, is something going on? I can come down there if you need me. It’s not — ”

“I’m fine. Just tell Mom and Henry that I’m okay. I’m not sad or grieving. I’m okay. They don’t need to send you to check on me. I’ll be at dinner as soon as I can.”

“Alright, then. If you say so.”

I grit my teeth. “I didn’tsay so.That’s just what it is.”

“Okay, Cade.”

I end the call before I say something I’ll regret. I let out a deep breath.

I look around. Nothing. No Suzanne. Just an empty room. Meaning she’s taking her sweet time in coming up. She must be avoiding me, but she has no choice. She might dig her heels into the ground, delay, or grumble, but she’ll come.

The phone rings again immediately. It’s Tomas, my head of acquisitions.

He informs me about a sculptor in Marfa whose collectors are a generation older than her work, a painter in Mexico City who has long refused studio visits but has finally agreed to one, and a photographer in Seoul, who is scheduled for a fourth meeting in Brooklyn.

This is what my company and I have built, brick by brick, since I was twenty-one. We identify people blind to their own potential and surround them with visionaries who redefine what's possible in their lives. I'm known for it. The industry is small. The shorthand for what I do is my name.

Tomas tells me the Brooklyn meeting is shaping up well.

I consider mentioning Suzanne to him. Maybe if he meets with her, she'll be more inclined to work with us. I’ve been told I’m quite intimidating. Not that I try to be. It does give me an advantage during negotiations. I always have the upper hand.

There’s a knock on the door.

"I have to go."

"Mr. Nightingale — "

"I will call you back."

I end the call. I cross the suite. I open the door.

Suzanne is standing right there. The color in her skin is back, now brown and shiny. Her eyes, though, are averted carefully. The fire in them looks dulled now, but I know I can reignite it eventually.

Her lips don’t look happy to see me. I intend to change that.