Blossom in Winter (Blossom in Winter #1)(43)

It’s my last day in the office before leaving for Rome. Classes at Columbia will start right after my European trip. I feel strangely sad. To my surprise, I’m actually enjoying working here at Gatt-Dieren Capital, managing my fund, leasing my artworks to galleries, and collecting steady revenues. In fact, the monthly income has far surpassed my forecasts. Based on my new estimates, some of my paintings will be paid off within a year. It feels amazing! I can picture myself growing the fund, reinvesting the capital, and acquiring many new pieces. But how would I combine this with Columbia? I might have to hire someone to negotiate the future leases…

“I heard you’re also coming to Rome?” I look up at the person speaking. “I’m Jessica Clarkson, by the way, but everyone calls me Jess.” We shake hands. “We should all celebrate after work and go to a bar. Tomorrow we’re finally off to Italy.”

“I've heard good things about Ward III,” adds Rach, stepping up. “It’s like two blocks away. Andrew went there with Rob and John once.”

Jess smiles, seeing her bestie. “Hi, Rach. Glad to see you.” I notice how the two women look way older than me, maybe ten years more, sporting fancy suits with heels. “I heard about that one too. Let’s go, all three of us.”

“What do you think, Williams?”

I want to decline. I’m not dressed to party. “I’m okay, but please enjoy for me.”

“No way, girl. You’ve got to join us. It’s not far away. Just have one drink to celebrate,” insists Rach.

I consider her suggestion for a moment. After all, it’s my last day as an intern. I glance at my watch. Seven p.m. Not a time Dad can censure anyway. “Alright, but no alcohol for me.”





I check my fake ID discreetly to be sure what age I have on it. I smile. Twenty-one. Perfect!

The bar is mellow, cozy, and casual. I don’t feel underdressed. Actually, maybe Rach and Jess are slightly too dressed up for the establishment.

We are enjoying our cocktails while discussing our future plans. The women are finishing their MBAs in finance, specializing in asset and fund management.

Suddenly, Jess’s phone beeps with a text. She reads it, and Rach is curious enough to peer over and read it too.

“Williams, what about heading to Et Al? My friends are there. There’s a private party until ten p.m. Atmosphere is dope, with a selective, older crowd, mostly finance and banking folks. Should be great for networking.”

I have no idea what they are talking about. “You girls can go without me. It’s already eight o’clock. I’m gonna head home.”

“Williams, are you crazy? You are over twenty-one, right?”

“Right.” At least my fake ID says so.

“Then why not come along with us? It’s alright—our friends will handle the guest list. You can come dressed as you are.”





If the first bar was chill and perfect for me, Et Al is something else—a selective, high-class lounge, rented out for a private party. The crowd is older, more sophisticated and distinguished, but with a pretentious air and stylish supermodels in attendance. A show of red-and-blue dark lighting creates a nightclub environment. But the lounge music, although quite sensual, is not too loud. I feel utterly underdressed as I make my way in.

“Oh yeah! Much better,” shouts Jess, taking in our surroundings.

The lounge is not too big, but has semi-open curtains to give a more intimate atmosphere to the corner tables spread around the room. Jess and Rach are probably feeling in their element. Jess leads the way through the crowd, heading toward a table with two gorgeous women wearing short but elegant black dresses and heels who are sitting on a sofa, cocktails in hand—ready to take Manhattan by storm.

“Hey, Jess!” screams one of them. She seems to be in her mid-thirties, older than Jess and Rach, for sure. They greet each other cheerfully. “So, are these your friends from Gatt-Dieren?”

“Yep. Rach and Williams. Or shall we call you Petra?”

“Williams is fine.”

“I’m Sylvia.” She shakes our hands. “I work at GS. Private equity. What do you think of the party? Nice crowd, huh?”

Jess looks around. “Oh yeah. Much older, exactly what I needed.” Sylvia whispers something in Jess’s ear that causes her to stare across the room and gasp in surprise, quite excited. “You are right. It’s really him. Fuck, first round on me, then,” she says to Sylvia.

I don’t get what’s going on between the two of them, but I take a seat beside them anyway.

“Do you know any of the women he’s with?” continues Jess, intrigued. “Why am I not there? I should be at that table.”

“Not sure, but you need a plan,” replies Sylvia.

I have no idea what table they are talking about. “What’s going on, Jess?” I finally dare to ask. “So much mystery.” Jess leans closer to me and discreetly points her index finger toward a corner table in a two-step elevated private room—separated from our area by a semi-open velvet curtain.

I gasp at the sight of him.

“Van Dieren,” I breathe.

“Yep, the one and only.” I stare at him for a few more seconds and exhale louder than I should. “Such a heartbreaker, right?” teases Jess. “Can you imagine being in there?”