Part 1: Preparation
Friday Morning — West LA Contemporary Gallery
Charlotte arrived at 7 AM, an hour before anyone else. The gallery opening was tonight—her first major responsibility since starting the job—and she needed everything to be perfect.
The exhibition was called "Emerging Voices"—twelve artists under thirty-five, all relatively unknown, all with something to say. Charlotte had spent the week coordinating deliveries, confirming RSVPs, arranging catering, printing labels.
It was grunt work. Logistics. Nothing creative.
But it was hers.
She walked through the gallery, checking each piece. The lighting, the spacing, the wall text. Lisa had given her notes yesterday, and Charlotte had stayed until 9 PM implementing them.
"You're here early."
Charlotte turned. Emily stood in the doorway with two coffees.
"Couldn't sleep," Charlotte admitted.
"Nervous about tonight?"
"Terrified."
Emily handed her one of the coffees. "Don't be. You did good work this week. Everything's ready."
"Thanks." Charlotte took the coffee, surprised by the gesture. Since the Mrs. Pemberton incident on Wednesday, Emily had been... not exactly warm, but less hostile.
"So," Emily said, looking around the gallery. "Your boyfriend coming tonight?"
"Yeah. Mateo. He's an artist too."
"What kind of work does he do?"
"Figurative painting. Urban landscapes, portraits. He just came back from Paris."
Emily's eyebrows went up. "Paris?"
"He studied under a painter there. Henri Marchand. He passed away earlier this year."
"Shit. I'm sorry. That's rough." Emily studied one of the paintings on the wall. "So is this weird for him? His girlfriend working at a gallery but not showing his work?"
Charlotte hadn't thought about it that way. "I don't know. Maybe?"
"Just saying—art world relationships are complicated. Someone's always ahead, someone's always behind. Someone's showing, someone's not. It gets messy."
"Sounds like you're speaking from experience."
Emily smiled ruefully. "My ex was a sculptor. Got a big residency in Berlin. I didn't. That was the beginning of the end." She drained her coffee. "Anyway. Tonight's going to be good. Try to enjoy it."
After Emily left, Charlotte's phone buzzed. Text from Maria: So excited for tonight!! What should I wear? Is it fancy fancy or art fancy?
Charlotte smiled. Art fancy. Which means wear whatever makes you feel good. You'll fit in, I promise.
Maria: Ok but I'm bringing my mom. She insisted. Is that weird?
Charlotte: Not weird at all. I'd love to meet her.
Maria: She's super excited. She keeps telling everyone "mi hija's friend is having an art show at a fancy gallery" lol
Charlotte's smile widened. Maria's enthusiasm was exactly what she needed today.
Charlotte's Apartment — 5:47 PM
Charlotte stood in front of her closet, anxiety rising.
What do you wear to your first gallery opening as staff, not as a guest?
The black dress she used to wear to these things was too formal. Too "old Charlotte." But jeans felt too casual. And the voice in her head kept asking: Who are you trying to be?
She settled on simple black pants and a silk blouse—professional but not trying too hard.
Her phone buzzed. Mateo: On my way. Should I pick you up?
Charlotte: I need to be there early. Meet you there at 7?
Mateo: Works. You're going to be great tonight.
She wished she believed him.
Part 2: The Opening Begins
West LA Contemporary Gallery — 6:45 PM
The gallery was transformed. Soft lighting, champagne on trays, the catering Charlotte had coordinated laid out beautifully. Lisa had spared no expense—this was a statement opening, meant to establish the gallery's commitment to emerging artists.
Charlotte checked her reflection in the bathroom mirror one last time. Professional. Competent. Not the heiress playing at work.
She could do this.
By 7 PM, the gallery was filling up. Collectors, critics, other gallery owners, the artists themselves—nervous and excited. Charlotte moved through the space with a clipboard, checking off arrivals, directing people to their artists, making sure everything ran smoothly.
"Charlotte!"
She turned. Maria stood by the entrance with an older woman who had to be her mother—same dark hair, same warm eyes, wearing a simple dress and looking completely overwhelmed.
"Maria! You came!" Charlotte hurried over.
"Of course I came. You invited me, remember?" Maria gestured to the woman beside her. "This is my mom, Rosa Reyes. Mamá, this is Charlotte."
"Mrs. Reyes, it's so wonderful to meet you." Charlotte extended her hand.
Rosa took it with both of hers, warm and calloused. "Please, call me Rosa. Maria talks about you all the time. Thank you for what you've done for my daughter."
"I haven't done anything—"
"You bought her painting when nobody else would. You introduced her to a real artist who's teaching her. You believe in her." Rosa's eyes were wet. "That's everything."
Charlotte felt her own eyes stinging. "Your daughter is incredibly talented. I'm just glad I get to support her work."
Maria looked around the gallery, clearly intimidated. "This is... this is really fancy, Charlotte."
"It's just a gallery opening."
"'Just' a gallery opening." Maria laughed nervously. "Everyone here looks like they have money. Like, real money."
"Some of them do. But you belong here just as much as they do."
"Do I though?" Maria pulled at her dress. "I borrowed this from my cousin. And my mom's wearing her church dress. We probably look—"
"You look perfect," Charlotte said firmly. "Come on, let me show you around."
She walked them through the exhibition, relieved to have allies in the room. They stopped in front of a large abstract piece by an artist from South Central.
"This is incredible," Maria breathed, leaning closer. "Is that... house paint?"
"Yeah. She can't afford oils."
"I use house paint sometimes too." Maria looked at the label. "$4,000. Someone's going to pay four thousand dollars for this?"
"Probably. It's beautiful work."
Maria was quiet for a moment. "Do you think... do you think my work could be in a place like this someday?"
"I know it will be."
"You have to say that."
"I don't have to say anything. Maria, you're talented. You're working hard. You're learning. That's what matters."
Rosa touched Charlotte's arm. "You really believe in her."
"I do. Your daughter is going to be a significant artist. I'm sure of it."
Maria squeezed Charlotte's hand. "Thank you. For everything."
"Always." Charlotte checked her phone. "I should get back to work. But there's champagne and food—help yourselves. And Maria, don't be afraid to talk to people. You're an artist too."
After they walked away, Charlotte watched Rosa lean close to Maria, whispering something in Spanish. Maria laughed, looked back at Charlotte, and waved.
For a moment, Charlotte felt grounded. This—supporting Maria, believing in her work—this was real. This mattered.
Then she saw Mrs. Pemberton walk through the door, and the anxiety came flooding back.
7:15 PM
"Charlotte!" Lisa waved her over. "Come meet Jonathan Reeves. He's a major collector, considering purchasing the Nguyen piece."
Charlotte pasted on her professional smile and walked over, away from where Maria and Rosa were studying a painting.
Jonathan Reeves was exactly the type she'd grown up around—sixty-ish, expensive suit, that particular confidence that came from generational wealth.
"Charlotte Morgan," he said, recognition flickering in his eyes. "I believe we've met. The Sterling Foundation gala, three years ago?"
Her stomach dropped. "Possibly. I used to do a lot of fundraising work."
"'Used to'?" He looked around. "And now you're here. How... entrepreneurial."
There was something in his tone. Not quite condescending, but close.
"Gallery work suits me," Charlotte said evenly.
"I'm sure. Though I must say, when Elizabeth Sterling told me Edward Morgan's daughter was working as a gallery assistant, I thought she was joking."
Lisa's smile tightened slightly. "Charlotte's been invaluable to us. Tonight wouldn't have happened without her."
"I don't doubt it. Morgans are nothing if not competent." He turned back to Charlotte. "Does your mother know you're doing this?"
"My mother and I have an understanding."
"I'm sure." He sipped his champagne. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I want to look at that Nguyen piece more closely."
After he walked away, Lisa touched Charlotte's arm. "You okay?"
"Fine. I'm used to it."
"He's an asshole."
"Most collectors are." Charlotte managed a smile. "I need to check on the catering. Excuse me."
She escaped toward the back, but was intercepted by Maria.
"Hey, who was that guy?" Maria asked. "He seemed... intense."
"Just a collector. Old family friend."
"He didn't seem very friendly."
Charlotte forced a laugh. "That's just how they are in this world."
"Your world, you mean."
Charlotte looked at her. "What?"
"I mean, you know how to talk to people like that. It's like you speak their language." Maria wasn't being accusatory, just observant. "It's actually kind of cool. You can move between worlds."
"I guess."
"My mom asked me if you were the same Charlotte who used to be in the society pages. I said yes. She was impressed. Said not many people give up that life."
"I didn't have a choice."
"Everyone has a choice, Charlotte. You chose this." Maria smiled. "That's brave."
Before Charlotte could respond, Maria's attention was caught by something across the room. "Oh! Mateo's here. I'm going to say hi."