Chapter Thirty-Two

She had a lot to do at the gallery after her week-long absence. Alex had done a good job holding down the fort, but there was business only she could handle, and she found that it had piled up while she’d been gone.

She was knee-deep in Excel spreadsheets when Katya called on her cell phone.

“Oh, geez. Katya,” Gen said when she answered the phone. “I was meaning to call you.”

“Antonio needs an answer about the gallery space,” Katya said. “He said, and I quote, ‘Do not let her off the phone until she says yes.’ ”

“Ah. Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint him. I’m not taking the space.”

“You’re not?” She could hear the surprise in Katya’s voice.

“No.”

“Well. All right. I’ll tell him, but he won’t be happy.”

Gen shifted in her chair and moved the cell phone to her other ear. “I’m not sure why it matters to him. I’m sure he can lease the space to someone else. And at a higher price than he was offering me.”

“Of course he can.” Katya sounded impatient with her.

“Then why … ?”

“You’re terribly naïve,” Katya said.

Bellini had said the same thing. Gen was beginning to wonder whether it was true.

“What do you mean, Katya?”

Katya was silent.

“Tell me,” Gen insisted.

“Antonio wants you in the gallery space so he can have leverage with the Delaneys. Obviously. You can’t possibly think the one purchase was going to be the only one.”

Gen started to feel cold. “What purchase?”

“You don’t know,” Katya said with wonder.

“What purchase, Katya?”

“Your boyfriend made a very large purchase at the show last week. Antonio suggested that it was the only way he’d be in a position to offer you the gallery space at that price. Honestly, Genevieve. Did you think that’s what space in SoHo really costs?”

Gen felt sick. She pressed a hand to her belly, as though that might stop the nausea rising there.

“Genevieve?”

“I just … Let me make sure I have all of this straight. Bellini told Ryan that he would give me the gallery space at a rock-bottom price if he made a big purchase. And Ryan did it.”

“That about covers it, yes.”

“How big a purchase are we talking about?”

With amusement in her voice, Katya said, “I saw the check, Genevieve. There haven’t been that many zeroes in one place since the size tags at Fashion Week.”

“I … God.”

“I’ll tell Bellini his cash cow has left the pasture.”

“You do that.”

Gen ended the call, then placed the phone on the desk in front of her and stared at it.

Alex walked past her and did a double-take.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Gen kept staring at the phone.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She stood up, stared at the desk a while longer, then snatched the stapler off the desk and hurled it into the wall, where it left a small dent in the drywall.

“Uh oh,” Alex said, and quickly found something to do in the back room.

 

She tracked him down at the ranch. She went to the house first, but of course he wasn’t there in the middle of the day. Sandra said he was probably out in the northwest pasture. She put on her athletic shoes and tromped out there, only to find a bunch of lumbering black cows and no Ryan.

She finally found him in the new barn, where he was making cooing sounds to a cow. The cow was shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another, occasionally letting out a mournful moo, as Ryan crouched down and did something to her that undoubtedly would be hard for Gen to get out of her head if she knew what it was.

With a head full of steam, Gen stomped down the rows of clean metal pens, her sneakers crunching on a layer of dirt and hay, until she reached him.

“What the hell is this I hear about you writing a giant check to Bellini?” she demanded. She was breathing hard, only partly due to the long walk out here. Her heart was pounding, and her voice sounded slightly hysterical.

“Gen.” Ryan stood up, patted the cow, and came out of the pen to stand in the aisle with her.

“You wrote Bellini a big goddamned check, and we both know it wasn’t because you wanted a goddamned Gordon Kendrick.” She wrapped her arms around herself because that way, it was easier not to throttle him.

“Well.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Who told you about that?”

“Katya.” She spit out the name as though it tasted bad. Which it did.

“Look. Gen.” He made a patting gesture in the air in front of him, which she supposed was intended to be calming. It wasn’t. “Let’s just … Can we just sit down someplace and talk about this?”

“Talk about what?” she demanded. “About how you thought you could buy off Bellini to get him to offer me cheap gallery space? So you could make poor, inept Gen think she was achieving something on her own? God. It makes me sick to think of you and Bellini scheming behind my back. Do you understand how humiliating this is? How demeaning?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t …”

“Then how did you mean it, Ryan? How else could you possibly have intended it?”

He turned and walked a few steps away. He hung his head and put his hands on his hips, then turned back to face her again.

“He—Bellini—said he ‘wouldn’t be in a position’ to offer you the space without a big purchase from me. And I … You had already gone with Katya to look at it. You were so excited about it. Told me how it was perfect for you. I didn’t want to be that guy who was too tight with his checkbook to get you what you wanted.”

“What I wanted was to prove myself. To make something of myself in that world, on my own, without anyone’s help. And now …” She shook her head, her lips pursed tight.

“I thought you didn’t want that anymore,” he said. “I thought you’d decided it wasn’t for you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point? What’s the point, Gen?” His voice was raised to a level that was upsetting to the cow, who tossed her head and made a grunting noise.

“The point is that you didn’t trust me to stand on my own. You didn’t think I could do it without you. And if you’re here, standing behind me with your … your Delaney money and your giant almighty checkbook, then I’ll never have the chance to try.” Tears were spilling down her cheeks, and she swiped at them with her fingertips.

“Ah, Gen …”

“I think I need to go.” She turned and walked out of the barn.

“Gen, wait.” He started to follow her, and she turned on him, her eyes bright with anger.

“Don’t. Just … don’t.”

She walked out, and he let her go.

 

Sandra was waiting for Ryan when he got back to the house all dirty and dispirited. He’d barely gotten in the door when she confronted him, her arms crossed over her chest, that Sandra Delaney scowl on her face.

“What had Gen so upset earlier today?” she demanded.

Ryan sighed deeply and rubbed at his eyes. “Not now, Mom.”

“Don’t you tell me ‘not now.’ I’m still your mother, and I still expect an answer when I ask you a damned question.” Her graying ponytail bobbed with vehemence.

“Mom … Please.” He couldn’t look at her, and he felt like shit. It wasn’t enough, apparently, to have one woman he loved yell at him. Now another one appeared ready to tear his head off and throw it at him.

“Ry.” Her voice was softer now, and the softness ate at him even more than the anger had. “What happened? Come on. Sit down and tell me.”

They went into the kitchen, and he sat at the kitchen table, staring miserably at the tabletop. He told her what he’d done, and what Gen had said. His voice sounded pathetic, and he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to change it. When he was done, Sandra sat across from him and shook her head.

“God, men can be idiots sometimes,” she said. Despite the harshness of her words, her voice was gentle. “You misread that situation, boy.”

“Yeah. I’m starting to get that.”

“A girl like Genevieve doesn’t give two shits from a rat’s ass about your money. She wants your emotional support, not your financial support. I’d have thought you’d have figured that out about her by now.”

“Well, I guess I should have, but I didn’t. I can’t undo what’s done. So how do I fix this?”

She leaned back in her chair and gave him a hard look. “If I were you, I’d give her a little time. Then I’d go find her and grovel.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“But I wouldn’t be surprised if it doesn’t work.”

The idea that it might not, the thought that he might not be able to set this right, made his chest hurt. “Why not?”

“You didn’t just lie to her. You didn’t just scheme behind her back. You hurt her feelings. And a woman’s feelings can be slow to heal.”

“Ah … shit.”

“Wait. And then grovel.” Sandra went to the refrigerator, got out a bottle of beer, and set it in front of Ryan. “I figure you need this right about now.” She patted his shoulder—a quick and businesslike pat-pat—let out a grunt, and walked out of the room, leaving him alone with his beer and his regret.