I walked over to her and held the color swatch up to her red hair. “I think this would be a great color for you, Reggie,” I said and clinked her glass in a toast. “Can’t wait for you to see the main event.” I sat on the sofa next to Reggie waiting for Elle to appear.

“Well?” Elle asked with uncharacteristic modesty. She looked breathtaking.

“Come here and turn around.” I waited. She walked like she was practicing the real thing. “Picture this. I know you want a bouquet of white peonies and orchids. What if we do your hair up and tuck in some flowers from the bouquets to add a little interest from the back?”

“Love it!” Elle exclaimed. “I say we’re done, girls!” We were all a little tipsy but a lot happy. My phone vibrated. It was Gabriel.

“Gabriel, did you like the picture of the lamps and the painting?”

He reminded me that price was no object before asking me if I was tipsy.

“Maybe.” I said hanging up. I would’ve never admitted this in my younger days.

“Oh my God, was that Gabriel Modare? He’s your client? You’re going to be famous. He’s in the paper all the time,” Elle said. I laughed.

“Gabriel attracts publicity about as easily as he attracts tall, leggy blonde models. I will work on getting an invite for you,” I said before we parted ways with plans to recap on Thursday night as usual.

I strolled into the restaurant, and almost immediately, Elliott imprisoned me in a big hug.

“I’m sorry, miss, we just stopped serving supper.” And then he kissed me. I was still a little shaken from this afternoon. His behavior had completely changed. I noticed the man he had been talking to. He was well dressed in a casual way.

“Bailey, you remember Collier Sloan. Collier this is Bailey, my muse.”

The man gave me a friendly grin, but I had no idea who he was. Blame it on the champagne. I thought maybe he was one of Elliott’s rich neighbors or a fellow restaurant owner. I was drunk enough to be chatty.

“How have you been, Collier?” I asked. Elliott still had not released me from his embrace.

“It is not often I am in the company of a muse. May I?” He took out his phone and took a picture of us. He was the famous editor of the society page—Page Six. Three days later, our picture would find its way into his column: “The Genius and His Muse—The Magic Returns.” That same day, I walked into the store on Madison next to the bridal shop and negotiated a good deal on the painting they were unwilling to sell to me before the article was written. Being a muse to a famous chef had its privileges.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six