Legacy of Love. Donna Hill

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “There’s a reporter here from one of the local papers. He wants to speak with you.”

      “This early? The museum isn’t even open.”

      “Guess he wanted to get a scoop. What do you want me to tell him?”

      “I’ll come out and talk to him. Thanks.”

      They exited Zoe’s office and walked down the corridor together.

      “You feeling a little better?” Zoe asked.

      Linda’s cheeks flushed. “I’m good.” She gave a tight-lipped smiled.

      Zoe stopped and gently clasped Linda’s arm. “Listen, whatever it is that is going on or not going on between you and Mike has got to stop. It’s interfering with work, with scheduling, other staff members and I can’t have that. We’re all adults here and this can’t be the place for drama. I don’t want some other staffers to complain to human resources. Then we will really have a problem and it’ll be out of my hands.”

      Linda started to protest. Zoe held up her hand.

      “I’m not saying it’s all you. I’ve told Mike pretty much the same thing, too. Both of you are important members of this team. But I’m going to have to think of some other alternative if we can’t find a compromise.”

      Linda’s lips pinched and her eyes filled with water. “You know what it’s like to love someone and they don’t even see you?” she blurted out then turned her head away. “I’m sorry.” Linda pulled away and walked off.

      Zoe stood there for several moments. This whole love thing was totally overrated, she thought. Is this what was in store for her? If so, she didn’t want any parts of it—legacy or not. She turned down the corridor toward the entrance to meet the reporter.

      Her heels clicked with precision against the marble floors. The young reporter was seated on a bench under a piece of art from Ghana, Zoe’s ancestor’s homeland. It was one of her favorites, with its vibrant colorful beading depicting a small village at night set against the backdrop of towering mountains and greenery. She extended her hand as she approached.

      “I’m Zoe Beaumont. How can I help you?”

      The young man stood. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, Zoe surmised. He shook her hand.

      “Gabe Weston from The Eagle. Thank you for seeing me.”

      “You do know that the exhibit doesn’t open until tonight.”

      “Yes, but I was hoping to get a jump on the competition,” he said, flashing a killer smile.

      Zoe’s right brow arched. She held back a grin. “Really? Well, other than the catalogues that everyone else is getting, I’m not sure what I can offer you.”

      “I was hoping you would allow me to ask a few questions.”

      “You want to interview me?”

      “Yes. It will only take five minutes. I promise.”

      Zoe looked around then focused back on him. “Sure. Five minutes.” She sat down on the bench and he pulled out a tape recorder and sat beside her.

      “I have what I need about the statues. What I want to know from you is why was it important to bring them here?”

      “As a curator you are always searching for pieces that will bring in visitors and provide them with the opportunity to experience treasures from around the world. I spend a great deal of my time looking for pieces of art and sculptures. Of course it brings a great deal of prestige and exposure to the museum to house one-of-a-kind pieces and artifacts.”

      “And how do you make your decisions?”

      She smiled. “My passion, and the budget.”

      He laughed.

      “Speaking of budgets, the arts are always hit hardest during any economic downturns. How has the economy affected the museum?”

      Zoe blew out a breath. “It’s certainly been difficult. Part of what I do is write grants, try to get corporate sponsors and museum patrons to help, and tonight’s event is also a fundraiser. Those things help to offset some of the costs, but not all of them.”

      “What do you want readers to know?”

      She was thoughtful for a moment. “Museums are home to countless treasures. They are not only a source of entertainment and knowledge, but also enlightenment about culture and art. They tell so many stories that would be otherwise lost. They are places where the average person can travel to any corner of the world and learn its history.”

      “How long did it take you to get the statues here?”

      “It was a long process. Almost two years.”

      “Do you believe the stories about the statues?”

      “It’s not for me to believe or disbelieve, just to present and let the visitors decide for themselves. Everyone who comes here or to any museum takes away something.”

      “Well, if there is a mini baby-boom in the next year, I guess Atlanta might have you to thank. If you believe in that kind of stuff.”

      Zoe stood. “I really have to get back to work. I have a full day.”

      He turned off the tape recorder and stood. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Beaumont.”

      “Will you be here tonight?”

      “Absolutely.”

      “I’ll make sure you get some good photos.”

      “Thanks. I’d really appreciate that.”

      “Security will see you out.”

      “Thanks again.”

      Zoe nodded, turned away and headed back toward her office. About halfway there, she took a detour and took the elevator downstairs to where the statues were still under wraps.

      Several members of the maintenance team were unloading crates when she came in. She walked through the cavernous space among the paintings and sculptures, boxes and crates until she reached the room where the statues were being held. She punched in the security code on the panel and the door buzzed open.

      The instant she walked in the room, her skin began to tingle and the scent—his scent wrapped around her. She drew in a long, deep breath and her heart began to race. She gripped the head of the female statue to keep from falling and what seemed like a spark of electricity shot through her arm. She jerked her hand away and backed out of the room, practically running all the way to her office.

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