When the Wind Chimes - Mary Ting Page 0,19

out the new paintings. Don’t you know who Leonardo Medici is?”

“No. Should I?” I kicked my feet up on the coffee table and leaned back with my hands away from the white sofa.

Stella folded her arms on the desk. “He’s twenty-eight, but he’s a billionaire. He’s the Medici Real Estate Holdings heir. I think he buys paintings from Abby to display at their properties. Also, he’s been on the cover of a few business magazines. And before you ask, no idea if he’s single or not. He keeps his private life private.”

I stared at the painting of a waterfall and groaned, releasing my frustration. “I don’t care if he’s single, but you should have warned me.” I wanted to start today over again for screwing up a possible deal for my sister. Then I realized Stella had tried—the reason why she had sounded nervous.

She turned back to the computer screen and clicked away on the keyboard. “I’d thought you knew. I figured your sister would have told you.”

“Nope.” I stared up at the high ceiling, wishing for the hundredth time I could start over today. “Do you have any suggestions on how I could fix this?”

Stella twisted off the cap from her water bottle and took a sip. “Pray?” Then she snorted. “But seriously, I think it’ll be fine. I’m just glad you’ll be the one telling Abby you finger-painted on Mr. Medici and not me.”

I blew out a long breath. “Do I have to tell her?”

She shrugged. “Your sister, not mine. Good luck.”

Time to be a grown-up and clean up the mess I made. But first, I went back to my painting and tried to finish up my amateur work. I thought I might name it Mr. Medici’s Shirt.

Chapter Nine — Confession

Once the gallery closed, I picked up Tyler and went home. Since not a sound came from Abby behind her closed door, I told Tyler to play in his room while I took a long hot shower. I needed to wash paint out of my hair.

Distracted by today’s events, I decided to call for delivery. Pizza for Tyler and me, but leftover chicken soup for Abby.

When I peeped in Abby’s room, she was lying on her bed awake. So I told her how I got paint on Leonardo’s shirt.

She slapped her forehead and closed her eyes. “You did what?” My sister’s voice came out barely a whisper, but I heard the frustration.

“I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I feel horrible.” I plopped on the edge of the mattress and shoved my face into my hands.

My sister scrubbed a hand down her cheek and sighed. “What did he say to you before he left?”

I raised my chin and pushed back my shoulders, imitating his deep voice. “I think you did enough.” My playfulness all gone, my pitch rose with concern. “Oh, Abby, did I ruin your deal? I feel horrible. I’m supposed to be helping, not making a mess.”

She fluffed the pillows supporting her back and frowned. “I honestly don’t know. He might never come around again.”

“Just because I accidentally painted on him? Are you serious?” I clenched my jaw and glanced at the photo of Steve on the bedside table. “Can’t you tell him I’m your idiot sister who took over for a day because you were sick? Besides, it was his fault. He came into the room unannounced. He shouldn’t have been in there.”

“You know how snobby rich businessmen are.”

“Yes. I do. That’s exactly why I don’t associate with”—I curved my index and middle fingers in air quotes—“‘snobby, rich businessmen.’ They’re so full of themselves. So what? He can afford another shirt. He probably has hundreds.”

I didn’t mean that all rich men were snobby, but Jayden’s friends were, and none of them were even close to billionaire status. I had dated a hedge fund manager before Jayden and dumped him for that very reason. They weren’t pleasant to be around. All they talked about was themselves and how they flaunted their money.

Abby smacked her comforter. “I can’t do this anymore.” She began to laugh hysterically, her voice fading to a squeak.

“Do what?”

“I’m just playing you. It’s all good. He called to let me know he wanted to purchase one that was hanging near the front door.”

My nostrils flared as I marched to the opposite side where she lay. Abby and I were the best of friends and sometimes we acted more like teenagers than adults. My high school friends used to envy our close friendship. Abby