Page 12 of Trust Me
“Huh?” I almost forgot that Charlotte is still here. “No. I’ll do that part. I have a friend who DJs at corporate events. She can get me in. Just get me any info you can find on those events or past Art Basel shows they’ve sponsored.”
It looks like I’m headed to Miami for a few days.
CHAPTER4
Kyle
“What’s the name of the guy hosting this event?” I ask Diego as I button the final button of my double-breasted, tailored suit.
“Mike Deitz. Only one of the most successful art dealers in the world.” Impatience and sarcasm drip from every word.
Deitz isn’t my concern. Sam Waterson is, and he’ll be in attendance at this event. Along with his VP of sales.
“Successful or not, does this event have to be four hours?” I grumble.
“It should be longer,” Diego huffs. “This is one of the only events this weekend strictly showcasing art by women of color.”
I already know this. I’d committed it to memory over the past few days.
“It’s a hell of a showcase. Many artists who wouldn’t otherwise have the opportunity to show their work will be featured.”
“I’m well aware. Which is also why Townsend Industries is a proud sponsor of this event.” However, Townsend’s name isn’t all over the billboard for this particular event. We were more of a silent partner.
“Sam Waterson is supposed to be there tonight. As long as I make contact with him, my attendance will be well worth it.”
Diego doesn’t say anything. His expression tells me his mind is a million miles away when I look over.
“Let’s go.”
As we exit the hotel suite, I nod to the security with us. They know to keep their distance but stay on their toes as we take the short walk from the boutique hotel to the convention center.
When we enter the section where Deitz’ event is hosted, I scan the area for Waterson. Naturally, people from business associates to socialites introduce themselves to Diego and me.
“Mr. Townsend,” an executive from one of Townsend’s direct competitors greets us as if we’re old friends.
I grit my teeth before tossing him a smile as we shake hands.
“Looking for Waterson?” he asks.
“I’m here to enjoy the art like everybody else,” I say, looking over his shoulder.
He chuckles as he releases my hand. “A chip off the old block.”
I snort. He doesn’t know the half of it. My father can’t stand these types of things, and as soon as I had a year under my belt as a full-time employee at Townsend, I became the face of the company so that he wouldn’t have to do as many of these appearances.
“You look fucking constipated,” Diego quips. He hands me a drink he manages to snag from a passing waiter. “Club soda.”
I take the drink and down it. “Next time, get something with alcohol in it.”
“Noted.”
“There are some nice pieces in here,” Diego says, glancing around. “I’ll probably pick up one or two.”
“And put them where? Your walls are covered already,” I remind him.
“I’ll build a new place.”
“You’re not leaving the condo.” He lives two floors above me in a condo in the middle of Williamsport. I live two floors above my twin sister, Kennedy. And yes, Townsend Industries owns the building.