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“Ruby Bertrand.”
I repeat the name, nodding and committing it to memory.
I gesture toward the other large painting on her wall. “And what about this one?”
“I found it at a random sidewalk art sale in the park. I carried it from Madison Square to here and placed it right there. It hasn’t moved in four years.”
“Fuck,” I say, imagining her on the subway with this. The frame alone must weigh nearly forty pounds.
I tilt my head, admiring it. The forefront is full of trees with vibrant leaves in yellow, red, and burnt-orange shades. In the distance, there’s a sunrise with a subtle hint of dew and fog. Anyone paying attention would know it’s a sunrise, but for those who don’t see the details, it’s not.
“What do you think it represents?” she asks.
“Change,” I say thoughtfully. “Growth. The trees are losing their leaves, starting over, becoming bare for the winter. The scattered leaves and their colors tell a story of renewal. And in the distance, above the hill, are greener pastures and blue skies. Above the hurdle is change. It represents finding comfort in new beginnings, leaving the old behind.”
Carlee laughs. “Did you pull that from my thoughts?”
“Who painted it?” I ask.
She smiles widely. “I don’t know. The woman at the park didn’t either. I believe a name is scribbled on the back, but I could never decipher it and haven’t moved it since I hung it on that nail. It’s namedNew Beginnings.”
“Why did you choose a gold frame?” I ask.
“I didn’t. Whoever had it before me chose it. However, the frame is what initially drew my attention. It glinted in the sunlight, and I stopped to admire this absolute masterpiece. I nearly went broke, buying it, but it was worth it.”
“How much did you pay?”
“Five hundred dollars,” she says, zipping up her duffel. “I used the money I was saving for a plane ticket home. No regrets though. I ended up going a few months later. And this painting has given me years of happiness.” Carlee stands beside me and smiles as she studies it. “It captures you, doesn’t it?”
A chill runs up my spine.
“It does,” I respond, but I think she knows I’m not referring to the painting.
16
CARLEE
On the ride to The Park, my palms grow sweaty, and fear takes over. My blood pumps faster, and my breathing increases.
It’s plausible someone found out I was behind LuxLeaks, though I don’t leave crumbs. I’m extremely careful about keeping my identity concealed, butmaybeI didn’t cover my tracks.
People have tried to find out who I am a handful of times over the past decade, especially when I published controversial things. Every person has failed, but after Lexi and Easton, more people are reading LuxLeaks than before.
The thought of anyone accessing my laptop makes me sick, and turmoil twists in my stomach. I’m lost in my thoughts, and Weston wraps his arm around me. It’s an instant comfort.
“You’re safe,” he mutters, giving me a small smile. “Steady breaths.”
I close my eyes, mentally sorting through everything on my laptop. “I just wish I knew why someone would do this.”
“Me too. You know, when I decided to divorce Lena, I stressed about things I couldn’t control, and it made me physically ill. I know it’s difficult, but try not to worry until a need arises.”
“Okay,” I say, giving him a small smile.
The car stops at the curb before the high-rise on Billionaires’ Row, and my door swings open. Weston tosses my leather duffel over his shoulder and follows behind me. I move toward the door, wearing a sweater and jeans. My hair is tucked up into a hat.
“You think paps saw us?” I ask when we enter, not sure if I can take anything else right now.
“Yes, but don’t worry about it. They already took plenty of pictures tonight,” he says, guiding me toward the reception desk. “I’m adding you to my visitor list so you can come and go as you please.”