“Maybe you need to find the right girl,” Armani says.
“Maybe… but I doubt it,” Oliver says.
They all laugh. Nothing will get Oliver to settle down. He’s been around for a while with no one permanent. Just like me. The thought knots my stomach. I’m notlikehim. I’m not someone who can just move on without a care, without wondering if I’ll ever find someone who stays.
“How’s the search for the blue lotus artist going?” Declan asks.
I freeze for a second, holding my breath.
“No luck so far,” Oliver replies. Then, an outburst— “What? That’s a penalty? You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Their conversation veers into sports talk, and I quietly return to my pasta, chewing through the unease. The talk about the latest football game adds to my already tired state. With a full belly, drowsy, I put the bowl on the nightstand and lie back on my comfy mattress, letting their voices wash over me until I drift off into a restless sleep.
I wake in a cold sweat, haunted by the memory of that one time I tried to kiss Oliver, and he turned me down.
Chapter 5
Oliver
“What’sgoingontoday?”Declan asks, loud enough to be heard over the EDM music blaring through the gym speakers. He’s standing behind me, spotting and waiting his turn. I slowly press the dumbbell up and down beside my chest, focusing on my form. We’re both squeezing in our workout before work. I’ve got an hour to burn before heading to my office. I’m actually looking forward to work today, likely because I’m sourcing new art for our collection.
“I’m going to visit Dan Warne to discuss the Warne Gallery he’s selling.”
“Do you need another gallery to handle? Surely, you’re busy enough?” he asks, as I finish my eighth rep. I sit up on the bench, grab my towel, and wipe the sweat off my forehead.
“This one’s different. It’s on West 24th street.”
I stand and step aside. He takes my spot, lifting heavier weights. “What’s so special about it?”
“My mom has always loved it, but he never put it on the market. Until now.” I can’t keep the excitement from my voice. This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for… one I won’t let slip away.
“So you’re buying it for your mom?” he asks, straining as he pushes through his eighth rep.
“Not exactly. She’s happy teaching. She’s not interested in running galleries again.”
He drops the weights, puts his hands on his hips, and paces as he catches his breath, before I continue.
“I want to showcase her students’ work there. They mean a lot to her, and after helping me get a head start with my galleries, this feels like the best way to thank her.” I can’t help but smile as I share my plans, certain Declan will appreciate the mix of strategy and heart.
We switch positions, moving from chest presses to dumbbell flys, and I grab a lighter set of weights.
“So will it run like a normal gallery?” he asks.
“Yes, everything will be for sale, and I plan to hold auctions,” I say, lying back on the bench and press.
“She’ll love it.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” I reply, completing my eighth rep before dropping the weights to the black-padded flooring. Her approval means everything; it’s not just about business this time. If she doesn’t love it, I’ll have missed my chance to finally repay her for all those years of sacrifice. The gallery needs to be perfect. We switch again, and I ask, “What about you? Busy day?”
“Transfer meeting this morning. After that, just the usual grind.” He grunts, pushing through his first rep.
Declan’s in corporate finance, where he handles managing companies, buying and selling them, overseeing mergers, the whole lot.
Even though we were on different paths, we clicked after meeting our sophomore year of college. While I spent late nights working on business projects, he was grinding through internships at investment firms, already planning his future. He’s always thinking three steps ahead of everyone else, whether it’s in business, poker, or life, while I go with my gut. Over time, we settled into an easy friendship, him trying to convince me to save money, and me reminding him that not everything needs a spreadsheet. He plays it safe; I take risks. It shouldn’t work, but somehow, it does. Maybe it’s because, no matter how busy he was, he always made time for me. When I struggled with my business degree and felt like I was falling behind, he showed up with takeout and refused to let me spiral. He knew my dreams were to own art galleries, and he didn’t let me forget them. When my grams got sick, he sat with me at home, no questions asked. And when I nearly backed out of my first real art show, convinced I wasn’t good enough, he gave me a speech about how I was going to take over the art world one day.
“Is the transfer meeting with the New York team or the Florida team?”
“Florida,” he says, putting the weights away. “I’m trying to prepare, so I’ve been signing in to their important meetings to stay in the loop.”
