She shook herself. This was a professional party, for the business they co-owned. She needed to schmooze art patrons, not beg Noelle on her knees to take her back and then drag her into a corner to undo her bow tie with her teeth.

Miriam had a plan, and she needed to stick to it. She needed to get to the painting auction with everyone’s clothes still on. Still, when their eyes met, and Noelle pushed off the wall she was leaning on, Miriam was ready for the sensible voice in her head to shut up. Her whole body flushed.

Miriam held her breath, watching Noelle stalk toward her gracefully, purposefully, unstoppably. When Noelle stood at the bottom of the stairs, they were eye level, and she beckoned for Miriam to lean in.

“You look unbelievable,” Noelle whispered in her ear.

Miriam’s heart leaped in hope. Noelle wanted her, and she was willing to admit it. Maybe, maybe, she would accept Miriam’s apology, and they could start again. “You look like everything I’ve ever wanted,” Miriam said honestly.

Noelle chewed on her lip, and Miriam squeezed her fingernails into her palms to stop herself from reaching out.

“Miri, I need to tell you…” Noelle’s dark brown eyes were huge and full of some emotion Miriam couldn’t read. She leaned forward, her whole body waiting.

Somewhere in the crowd, Ziva cleared her throat into a microphone. “If I can have everyone’s attention, please.”

“To be continued?” Miriam pleaded, dying to know what Noelle had been about to say.

Noelle grimaced, leaning back and sticking her hands in her back pockets. “Absolutely to be continued,” she said gently. “Go sell your art. This is your big moment. You’ve got this. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

Miriam nodded and went to the stage to introduce the auction items.

The first round of bidding was for the bespoke Miriam Blum pieces, and it was intense. Guests who’d known Miriam all her life went toe to toe with fanatical Instagram fans who were drooling to have her custom design a piece for them. The Bloomers had showed up in force and were committed to doing anything in their power to help Miriam save Carrigan’s. Together, they raised more than Miriam had dared hope for—just short of $300,000.

But it wasn’t nearly enough to stop her father.

“We’ve concluded the bidding for the pieces of personalized Miriam Blum art,” Ziva announced, her iridescent black pantsuit shimmering under the lights. “It is now time to hold our live auction of one of the seven Mimi Roz paintings left in existence, only two of which were known to the public until a few days ago. I know this is the moment many of you came for, and I hope you have your checkbooks ready and your hearts open.”

“What’s a checkbook?” someone called from the crowd.