The Wrong Man - Kate White Page 0,34

friend. We’re supposed to be somewhere for dinner.”

“Of course. By the way, I’ve just bought a new place and I’m in dire need of a decorator myself. Are you taking on new clients these days?”

Of course she was taking on new clients, but the last thing in the world she wanted was further involvement with this woman or anyone else at Ithaka, even if it would help pay the bills.

“I’m sorry, I’m not,” Kit said. “I’ve got a few big projects that are eating up most of my time.”

“That’s a shame,” Sasha said. Reaching into her woven black leather handbag without even looking down, she pulled out a silver business card case. “Why don’t you at least take my card? If your schedule opens up, give me a call.”

Again not wanting to be rude, Kit accepted the card.

“Of course. Have a nice evening.”

Kit headed toward the rear exhibition room, eager to find Chuck. The encounter had creeped her out. It was clear that the woman must have tried to ferret out information from Wainwright about why Kit had gone in to speak to him that Friday. And tonight she’d been trolling for even more info.

Two rooms later, there was still no sign of Chuck. Kit texted him: “Where r u?”

“Sry, mens rm,” came the reply. “C u up front.”

She weaved through the crowd back to the front of the gallery and Chuck was already standing there. Sasha was nowhere in sight.

“Want to try to grab a seat at the bar at Cookshop?” he said. “I’ve got a ferocious craving for that fried kale they serve as a snack.”

“That works for me.”

They double-checked for the cross street of the restaurant on her iPhone and set off by foot in that direction.

“Was that a client I saw you talking to at the gallery?” Chuck asked after they’d reached the restaurant and seated themselves at the bar.

“No, just some woman I met briefly the other day.” For a split second she thought of coming clean about what had happened to her recently. She’d trusted Chuck with more than a few secrets over the years, including her growing qualms about her relationship with Jeremy, and his advice was always wise. But she sensed that sharing the story would cast a pall over the evening. Besides, discussing the drama was not going to help put it behind her.

“And not someone I’d ever want as a client,” she added.

“I wouldn’t want to have a nonfat latte with that chick, let alone decorate her apartment. She looks way too high maintenance. But speaking of work, how’s it going?”

Kit tapped the bar a couple of times with her knuckles.

“Knock on wood, business has been strong. I’ve begun to get some nice word-of-mouth referrals—there was one just this week. By the way, I brought my iPad to show you that one project you’d asked me about.”

“Great. I’m so freaking envious of you.”

Chuck, four years younger than Kit, had just begun plotting how to go out on his own one day.

“Are you doing plenty of networking? You want to use this time to develop as many leads as possible so they’ll be there when you start your own firm.”

“I’m trying, but you know how it is at McCaverty-Swain. I’m working twenty-four–seven. They think nothing of calling you at eleven o’clock at night and asking, “What do you think of a pop of canary yellow in the kitchen?”

“How’s Mavis, by the way?” she asked. Mavis Swain was one of the firm’s senior partners, a grande dame in the old-school style. “Is she under control these days?”

“Absolutely not. You should have heard her last week. We’ve signed these new clients, a fiftyish couple wanting to upgrade the look of their apartment. They’ve got dough, needless to say, but they’re hardly major league. Mavis is having me shop the project so I’ve been in tow at the sessions so far. Last Thursday we met the husband for the first time. When he heard that the window treatments were going to cost thirty grand, he got all red in the face and started blustering about how outrageous that sounded. Mavis leaned back in her chair, said nothing for a second, and then finally asked him, ‘Mr. Hartley, do you remember what you paid for your current window treatments?’ He shrugged and said he couldn’t recall the exact amount but he was sure it wasn’t more than five grand. You know what Mavis said in response? ‘It shows.’”

“Omigod,” Kit exclaimed, laughing. “I’ve seen Baby come

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