Page 2 of Hold My Heart

“Let’s move on, shall we?” Olympia swiveled around for a swift exit and rammed straight into Ashleigh. Knocked off balance, she stumbled back on her heels, dropping the clipboard, tripping over her own feet, stubbing her toe on the marble pedestal and then scrambling to keep the copper wire statue she’d bumped from falling to the floor.

She growled, trying not to give in to the stream of curses welling up in her throat. Her toe throbbed and at once her heels felt three sizes too small.One breath at a time, she told herself. It was a mantra she frequently repeated throughout the day. It probably added up to fifty percent or more of her mental chatter.

“I’m fine,” she said, more for her benefit than anyone else’s. Carl and Ashleigh were halfway across the room, chatting over a different sculpture, a different painting. Paying no attention to her. Thick as thieves.

It made her job harder, Olympia thought, straightening out her shirt and squaring her shoulders. Plastering a fake smile on her face. She retrieved the clipboard from the floor before walking over to join the duo.

“Ashleigh, I need the oils sorted for rotation this week.”

They stared at each other, neither looking away until Ashleigh forced an I-can’t-be-bothered-with-you smile. “Right now?”

The attitude made Olympia want to tear her hair out. She barely reacted but felt a muscle clench in her jaw. The girl was hardly twenty and had a serious authority complex. Olympia herself was pushing the tail end of her thirties and wasn’t used to children of any age. Hell, she hadn’t even been one. Her mother always insisted she’d burst from the womb with an agenda and a pen.

“Yes, right now. We have a lot planned for the day and I want to get it all in before we break for lunch.” She swallowed a sigh when the fire alarm went off again. “Maintenance!”

She was going out of her mind.Pull it together, she tried to tell herself when the breathing mantra didn’t work. She had another month and a little bit to get the details hammered out for the gallery show. A month and a little bit to prove she had what it took to not only run the gallery for Carl but bring in more revenue and eyes on local artists.

She was about to jog—in a very ladylike manner—out of the room and strangle the maintenance worker doing God knows what on the alarm system. Also in a very ladylike manner. She was interrupted mid-stride by her cell phone.

Carl swiveled in her direction with an eyebrow arched.

“It’s fine.” Olympia reached down and silenced the monster in her trouser pocket. “Probably just my mom again.”

Carl crooked a finger in her direction. “I want to talk to you more about the stencils in the hallway. I was thinking we could—”

Her phone rang again, and mortification didn’t begin to describe what she felt. Her insipid smile was the first step in covering up her embarrassment. She held out a finger. “One moment. It must be an emergency. She knows better than to call me at work.” Olympia fumbled for the phone, her clipboard determined to slip out of her hands again, and finally pressed the button to answer. “Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Trumbald?” inquired a masculine voice.

So it wasn’t Mrs. Nunez, unless the woman had been secretly gorging herself on testosterone. “It depends on the person on the other end. May I ask who is calling?” She blinked bleary eyes at the red numbers of the clock across the room. Stifled a growl when they blurred together. Her staff would be breaking for lunch in thirty minutes. She didn’t have time to waste on telemarketers.

“Mrs. Trumbald, my name is Marvin Bower, I’m an attorney, and I’ve been appointed as trustee for your cousin’s estate.”

Olympia, with her finger still held high for good measure, sent an apologetic look to Carl and tried to distance herself by walking across the room. “Sorry, you have me mistaken for someone else. I don’t have a cousin.”

“Your mother’s brother’s only child? Joshua Salant?”

“My mother is dead.”

“Then who is it you thought was on the other line?” Carl called out.

Damn. Still within listening range. She didn’t have the time to explain her odd relationship with her neighbor and the way the older Hispanic woman had appointed herself Olympia’s guardian. Mrs. Nunez liked to be calledMomand settled for nothing less.

Her mind was still too focused on her to-do list to understand what the man was saying.

“Oh, yes, I’m aware. Miss Marianne Salant, married to Gilbert Crane, both deceased.” Papers shuffled in the background. “I have their death certificates in front of me, along with those of your aunt and uncle. I’m speaking of your cousin, Joshua.”

“Joshua...oh. Oh! Oh God, that’s right. Josh.” Olympia drew in a breath. “I haven’t thought about him in years. When was the last time we saw each other? Must have been when we were about five. His father took a job in...where was it? France?” She was rambling again. Why couldn’t she turn off her mouth?

“Paris, yes,” Marvin Bower continued. “However, I’m afraid this is not a simple courtesy call.”

“Wait a minute. You said trustee.Estate. Did something happen?” Her stomach lurched in the familiar way it did when she received bad news. Which happened more often than not in her life. One would think she’d be used to it.

“I regret to tell you there was an accident last week. Your cousin and his wife lost their lives.”

Another accident. More senseless death. Her mind flashed back to her parents’ car wreck. Her husband’s. “I’m...wow. I’m sorry to hear that. Were they in the States at the time? No, that doesn’t matter.” She was slowly coming awake to the situation, the gears in her mind clicking into place.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, you are your cousin’s closest living relative. Therefore, the task of managing the bulk of his estate passes to you.”

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