Critics can shove it. It’s a lot harder than they realize to grow up in the limelight, with paparazzi shadowing your every move because of who your mother is, and then still have the courage left to take risks. Nearly everything I do, whether business or personal, is watched, judged, and often criticized. But my detractors don’t get it. My only other option is to do nothing—which means notliving, and that is something I refuse to do.
My purpose isn’t to give everyone a picture-perfect life, but to give people the tools to showcase their life in whatever way makes them happy, which I think is pretty damn cool.
And luckily, so does a lot of Manhattan and the rest of the country.
Business is going ridiculously well, and demand is always outpacing supply. We actually had to change three of our open days, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, to be by-appointment-only because of the crush of people in the store. On Fridays, when we’re open to the public, a line extends from the front door all the way down the sidewalk, and we have to cut off allowing people to join it at five o’clock.
I personally stay until every single client has what they need, which usually means staying open until nine or later. On Saturdays, we start the cycle over again—restocking with one-of-a-kind pieces, moving inventory from the exclusive third floor down to the first two floors, and I occasionally still get to go on the buying trips, meet vendors, and go treasure hunting in their warehouses. Although most of the time, I have to delegate to Amy or one of the other members of the team because I get wrapped up with other things. It’s a ton of hard work, and I absolutely adore it. Because it’s totally and completely mine.
And right now, it’s silent and utterly peaceful, exactly as it should be.
I walk through the living room, touching china and books and knickknacks as I make my way to the wide wooden staircase, with a gorgeous carved newel post and bannister, that leads upstairs. The second floor has three uniquely themed bedrooms that change weekly as we redecorate and turn over the store, along with a library, three bathrooms, a study, and a tea room. The third floor contains an entire house layout, but it’s for our clients who prefer to shop without an audience and prize exclusivity. All the newest and most exciting pieces are staged on the third floor first. Anything not purchased that week is moved downstairs to the other rooms for our Friday shoppers.
I keep climbing until I hit the fourth floor.My domain.
Half of the square footage is taken up by office space for my team, and the other half is my sanctuary—the space that was my mother’s design studio, which I now call home after I sold her penthouse overlooking Central Park. This suits me better anyway.
I miss you, Mom. I think you’d really love what I’ve done with the place.
After unlocking my private front door, I step inside, finally feeling the remaining tension drain out of me.No one can get me here. This is where I’m safe.
I don’t just mean kidnappers can’t get me either.No onealso includes the press and photographers and everyone who wants something from me. It’s an amazing life that I’m truly grateful for, but my privacy is more valuable to me than gold, diamonds, or vintage Chanel.
“And I think a drink is in order after this afternoon,” I say out loud to the empty space.
But before I reach the antique sideboard and cut-crystal decanters, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my leggings. I yank it out, wondering if it’s Jordy finally texting to find out what the hell happened to me. Or Patricia, whose shop I was running by to plug on social media.
It’s neither of them. No. It’s my boyfriend.
Chadwick: Come over tonight. I’ll be home by 10:30. Want to see you.
It doesn’t take a genius to realize the message is a booty call. Which ... I should be excited about, but after the day I’ve had, I think it’s fair to say that sex is the last thing on my mind.
My first instinct is to tap the screen to call him and tell him everything that happened, but something stops me. Probably the threats that Bumpmade ... but also, a pair of ridiculously blue eyes, set in a dangerously arresting face, appear in my mind.
Gabriel Legend.
I tap out a text to Chadwick, who would never deign to go by something so pedestrian asChad, letting him know I’m tired. We don’t even live together, but we already have our code forsorry, you’re not getting laid tonight.I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but I have my theories.
Scarlett: Sorry, working late on numbers tonight, just like every Tuesday.
Sure, it’s a little passive-aggressive, but he should know that Monday and Tuesday nights are when I do the majority of the number crunching and catch up on administrative stuff that I couldn’t get to over the weekend.
As I wait for his undoubtedly annoyed response, I can’t help but feel resentment build in me. Somehow, it’s okay for Chadwick to work late multiple nights a week, and people think he’s a stud. But when he talks about how much I work, people give him looks of pity, like I’m less of a woman because of it.
Yes, I miss birthdays, holidays, and sporting events. No, I don’t have many hobbies that aren’t related to my business. Or much free time. And I rarely go out with my friends to any event that I’m not attending specifically for the purpose of being seen for business reasons or to help someone else.
But those sacrifices are worth it, because without them, I wouldn’t have Curated.
Chadwick doesn’t get it, though. Maybe because he works for my father and not for himself. Or because he’s just there to climb the corporate ladder and collect the fat checks that pay for the life he lives.
Regardless of all that, I’m just not a booty-call girl. I’m anin bed by ten and wearing my blue-light-blocking glasses and watchingCharlie’s Angelsrerunskind of girl. Sometimes I even mix it up withBewitched. And if I’m feeling really salty,Daria. I love that cranky girl.
Not that Chadwick knows or cares, as is evidenced by the next text I get.
Chadwick: It’s been a week since I’ve seen you.
He means, it’s been a week since he’s gotten laid.