Half Empty (First Wives #2)

“Present company excluded, of course.”

She glanced out the kitchen window, toward the back of the house. “Looks like some of the help have arrived, I should get to work.”

“Can I do anything?” Trina offered.

“Oh, no. I’ve got it, hon. You take care of you. Take all the time you need to change before the party.”

Oh, God . . . I’m not wearing the right outfit. “I didn’t bring . . .”

Vicki backpedaled. “You’re fine.”

“I came from New York.”

Vicki narrowed her eyes. “You live in New York?” She made the state sound like a disease.

“No. I live close to Houston . . . where I have the right outfit, but I didn’t have time to stop by—”

Wade squeezed her waist with his hand.

“Darlin’, you’re fine. Don’t think another thing about it. You’ll blend right in. Don’t worry.”

Sure.

Right.

Don’t worry.





Chapter Sixteen



There should be a special license one needed to drive on the streets of Manhattan. One Avery never wanted to obtain. She ditched the car at the first available parking garage and shouldered her oversize mom bag. New York was one of the safest cities in the world, in her opinion. It might not feel that safe if she announced the fact her purse was loaded with some pretty pricey stuff. But to the average person watching her walk by, she was just another smartly dressed woman on a mission.

Outside the garage, she checked her phone for the direction of the building she needed and started to walk. Fall was sneaking into the air but not strong enough for big coats or fur-lined hats. With a brisk pace, she traveled several blocks through a crush of New Yorkers and tourists alike.

She found the address and ducked inside the building through glass doors. Braum Auctions specialized in items many of the larger houses didn’t. Since Avery liked the idea of finding the perfect platform to sell the different mediums of collectables, she was willing to do the legwork.

Avery marched up to the reception area as she removed her designer sunglasses from her face. The perfectly polished woman behind the desk greeted her with a painted-on smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, I’m here to see Mr. Levin, I’m Avery Grant.”

“Miss Grant, welcome. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Avery decided to look at the art on the walls instead of sitting. Offices like this one reminded her of her father’s. Whenever she had been summoned to his office, he kept her waiting in the lobby for hours as a form of intimidation. By the age of thirteen, the time spent in high-rise lobbies no longer brought sweaty palms and itchy anxiety. No, she recognized her father’s tactics and didn’t show up for her monthly meetings until the very end of his day. Her antics frustrated him even more than whatever offense he was mad at her for to begin with. Her rebellion started at thirteen and didn’t end until after she married Bernie. Needless to say, her father was frustrated for a good many years.

“Miss Grant?”

Avery turned to find exactly what she expected, a balding, middle-aged, five-foot-seven man in a three-piece suit and a smile. She reached out her hand. “Mr. Levin?”

Men looked at her. It was something she’d grown used to the minute she put on a bra. Mr. Levin wasn’t any different. She pretended not to notice.

“Come on in.” He turned and walked them past the reception desk. “How was your drive into the city?”

“Excruciating, as always,” she teased.

“Traffic is a fact of life no matter where we live, eh?” His corner office had plenty of sunlight, but no real view since they were only on the fifth floor of the building. Still, the office was large enough to tell Avery that Braum Auctions wasn’t a basement operation where the merchandise she brought in was at risk of disappearing.

“Sit,” he offered. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, water?”

“I’m fine, thank you. I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.”

He took his seat behind his desk. “When you described the pen you found, I couldn’t wait to see it for myself.”

Avery lifted her purse, careful not to show him all the other trinkets she had inside.

Mr. Levin removed a black cloth from inside his desk and a jeweler’s eye loupe, along with a pair of white gloves.

“Here are the first few pens I found.” She handed him a small box with three designer examples of Fedor’s taste.

Mr. Levin picked each of them up, one at a time, and inspected them slowly and silently. “Very nice.”

“I wasn’t able to find these exact pens anywhere online.”

“That’s because they are limited editions . . . well, these two, in any event.” He lifted the third one with gold trim and some kind of black onyx strips adorning the length of it. “I’ll have to research this one,” he told her.

From her purse, she removed a jewelry box she’d found in Trina’s room to place the blinged out pen in. “Here is the one I told you about.”

Mr. Levin blew out a whistle.

Avery leaned back while he studied the pen for what felt like ten minutes. “This is spectacular.”

She actually thought it was gaudy. “Any idea how spectacular?”

He kept spinning it around in his gloved fingers. “High quality diamonds, and the rubies are exceptional . . .” For the next fifteen minutes he explained who the designer of the pen was and how few of this type of pen were in existence. No two were exactly the same. Blah, blah, blah . . . finally, the dollar amount trickled out of Mr. Levin’s lips, and Avery felt her fingers buzz. She knew the watches in her purse were worth some serious money, but a pen?

“That much?”

“At auction, it could go for even more. Collectors will line up.”

“For a pen?”

He smiled. “For a pen.”

Avery had considered taking the pens to more than one auction house to see if the appraisals would differ, but the thought of walking around Manhattan with those in her purse had perspiration welling on the back of her neck.

She glanced around his office. “I assume you have security for these kinds of items?”

“Of course. We have not lost any of our consignments, nor ever had any stolen.”

“I’d like to leave this with you, then, and when my friend is back in town, I’ll have her come in and determine if she really wants to sell.”

After an inch of paperwork and an hour of her day, Avery was back on the street and walking toward Park Avenue.

The desire to find a safe place for the watches sitting in the bottom of her mom bag burned in her head.



As Wade had predicted, guests started showing up before Trina finished her second cup of coffee. There were friends of Vicki’s who didn’t linger after Wade introduced her to them. Gus was part of Wade’s band and one of the first members that he toured with after he cut his first album. Then there was Jerry. The only man at the party not wearing denim or boots. Jerry had a couple of inches on Trina, was probably in his early forties, and still had all his dark brown hair. He was an attractive man, and from the way he looked around the room at other people, and especially her, he knew it.

“Who do we have here?” Jerry asked as he nudged Wade and peered at Trina.

Wade placed a possessive arm over Trina’s shoulders as he made his introductions. “Watch this one, Trina, he’ll try and turn you into one of my backup singers.”

She laughed. “Good luck with that, I only sing in the shower.”

Wade lifted a flirty eyebrow. “This, I wanna see.”

“Uhm, hello?”

“Sorry, Jerry.” Wade wasn’t sorry. “This is Trina. Jerry is my agent.”

Jerry shook Trina’s hand with a telling squeeze. Trina kept a smile on her face even though she wanted to pull her hand away as soon as she could and wipe it on her jeans.

“How come I’ve never heard of this beautiful creature?”

“You’re hearing about her now,” Wade explained.

“A pleasure,” she lied.

“Smooth and slightly exotic voice, are you sure you’re not a singer?”

Wade nudged her. “Told you.” His gaze went over the top of Trina’s head and his smile waned.