Page 54 of Remember Me

Yeah, right, I muse, climbing up a ramp to the million-dollar boy toy and thinking about how he can easily afford my paintings. Fifty thousand dollars is a mere drop in the hat. At least for him.

A few minutes later we’re on board. A white-uniformed steward wearing an admiral’s cap with an “M” emblazed in gold greets us.

“Ah, Ms. Phillips, so good to see you again.” He smiles mechanically, his stance stiff and formal. His eyes drift to me. “And you must be Mr. Jackson.”

“Yes.” Though I’ve never gotten used to my new name, we share a firm handshake as Kayla introduces us. His name is Hans.

“Phineas is my fiancé,” adds Kayla, pecking my cheek. “Where is Sheldon?”

“I believe he’s just finishing up a game of Baccarat.”

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” chimes in my companion. “Sheldon installed a full Vegas-style casino, with slot machines and game tables. His game night parties are to die for. Complete with fireworks!”

What doesn’t this mega yacht have? Sheldon is definitely a man who says: I see it, I want it, it’s mine. His wealth and power are formidable, though unrivaled by his ruthless don’t-waste-my-time reputation. I still remember how intimidated I felt when I met him for the first time with Kayla... that fateful day.

The steward stops me from venturing to that dark place. “Would you like to join Mr. Greenberg in the casino?”

“I don’t gamble,” I reply, wondering whom he’s playing against. Having once been a dirt-poor struggling artist, it’s always been hard for me to foolishly risk my hard-earned money. Plus, I’m only carrying a hundred dollars in my billfold, definitely not enough to plunk down in a high stakes game.

“Very well,” says Hans. “I’ll let Mr. Greenberg know you’re both here and have him meet you in the executive dining room.” He plucks out a phone from his pristine, perfectly pressed white pants and relays the information.

A few minutes later, we descend a swirling grand staircase that looks like it’s straight out of an old movie star mansion with its gilded ebony banister. Along the way we pass several opulently decorated rooms, including the cinema with its burgundy velvet seats and matching gold-fringed curtains. The dining room is on the third deck, two levels down.

Just like the other quarters I’ve glimpsed, it’s lavishly decorated in 1920’s art deco, a style I studied while at art school. A stately dining room suite dominates the paneled room—a veneered table that can sit twelve plus a mirrored bar stocked with fine crystal and every expensive bottle of liquor possible. Sheldon is at the bar, his back to me, pouring himself a drink. When Hans announces us, he flips around, holding an amber-filled tumbler. Dismissing the steward, he lumbers toward us.

“Kayla, baby. Great to see you!”

Kayla meets him halfway and gives him one of those pretentious double cheek kisses. “Sheldon, thank you for having us. You look wonderful! Have you lost weight?”

I soak him in. He doesn’t look any slimmer since the last time I saw him. Nautically clad in shorts that bag over his thick, hairy calves and a striped T-shirt that hugs his fat rolls, he gulps his drink and chortles.

“Yeah, thanks. My personal trainer put me on a low carb macrobiotic diet. I’ve lost three pounds. I hate this shit. I want a goddamn steak.”

Kayla throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, darling, it’ll be so worth it. You already look so amazing.”

Give me a break. He looks exactly the same. She’s such an in-your-face kiss up. Knowing exactly what to say at the right time. It’s all part of her skill set. The ultimate promoter.

“Don’t tell anyone I’m having a couple of bourbons. And I may cheat today.”

Kayla winks. “Don’t worry, darling. It’ll be our little secret. Girl Scout’s honor.” She gives him the three-finger salute.

Sheldon’s expression grows salacious. His beady eyes travel down her endowed body. “Sweetheart, you wore one of those cute little green dresses?”

Unfazed by his roving eyes, she laughs. “Yes, darling. And I was also a Brownie leader with fifty badges. It all helped me get into Yale.”

Maybe that’s how she got her brown-noser skills. I can’t imagine sexy, long-legged Kayla in one of those goody two-shoes uniforms.

Cutting into my thoughts, Sheldon asks if we want anything to drink. Kayla goes for her usual—a Bellini, which he expertly prepares—and I settle on a beer. A Heineken, which he retrieves from a built-in icebox. Our host then refills his tumbler with an expensive bourbon.

He proposes a toast. “To your marriage. May it last longer than any of mine.”

Kayla laughs on cue. “Oh, Sheldon, you’re way too cute. There’s no doubt in my mind I’ve found my Prince Charming.” She turns to me, a cloying smile plastered on her face. “Let’s toast again. To us! The power couple of the art world.”

Reluctantly, I clink my bottle against their glasses. The crystal-clear pings sing in my ears.

Taking a sip of her drink, Kayla sets her eyes on me. “Darling, Sheldon has offered us both his house and yacht for our wedding. What do you think?”

Before I can respond, footsteps sound in the room. I spin around to find a tall, handsome, silver-haired man striding toward us. He’s dressed casually but elegantly in a gray cashmere turtleneck that complements his shimmering hair and tailored charcoal slacks. I recognize him instantly.

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