Teagan leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“Youdidmean that. You’re just sorry you said it out loud.Youshould go home. I’m staying.” She grabbed her purse, grabbed her shrimp, and grabbed the third drink the lawyer had left for her, clutching it all to her chest. Then she spun on her heel and stalked out of the room, leaving Teagan alone for the second time that night.
He ought to go after her. Both of them. He should have taken it all back both times, because there was no reason to put either woman in the position of making him feel better about how much he hated his life. He was torn between which direction he ought to run in, and he couldn’t move.
Nora looked up, saw that Sloane was gone, and took the opportunity to plop herself down in the seat his sister had vacated. Her perfume was aggressive, and her imposition into his personal space was like a feedback loop to his senses.
“Can you give me a minute,” he managed, holding up one hand, which Nora ignored.
“I just need a minute,” she said cheerily. “I just finished with edits.”
“I really don’t—”
“I’ve got three options here,” she said, putting the indexcards she’d taken from him down on the table. “Different dates, bundles, and pricing options. Can you pull up the cash flow forecast, and we’ll decide which works best?”
Teagan stared at the cards helplessly, knowing that he ought to have opinions. The foundation might not meet its commitments for the next summer if he didn’t come up with more money, and then it wouldn’t really matter how much the paintings were worth.
“I’d rather talk to some experts about this first,” he told Nora. “Can we talk about it on Monday? This isn’t a good night.”
Nora made a chiding noise. “That’s why you’re retaining Sotheby’s to sell the art and my gallery to consult on the transactions. You don’t need to be worried about it.”
“Why does it have to be tonight?” Teagan asked stubbornly.
“A lot of people here are starting to think about their year-end tax planning. And investing in art is a great diversification strategy. I have a few people in mind, and so does Guillaume.”
Teagan had to remind himself that he’d taken this job because he wanted to help kids.
He picked up a random index card containing a list of paintings and photographs. He had no idea what they were worth. He’d always been the wrong person for this job. He had no idea why Nora had asked him to do it.
“Ah, Margaret bought all of these pieces the summer she was with Sloane’s father,” Nora hummed, looking over her shoulder. “God love her, that woman had taste. In men, especially.”
Teagan grimaced. He put the index card down. “I don’tthink it’s appropriate for the two of us to be negotiating your commission. We should get someone more independent to look at it.”
Nora gave a polite laugh. “Rose already looked through all these contracts.”
“Still, let’s get one of the other independent directors to review these,” Teagan said. “I don’t know whether these commissions are standard.”
“Honestly, Teagan,” Nora said, feigning surprise, “your mother never worried about things like that. I’ve been doing the art sales for years. Just sign the contracts and you can go enjoy the party. That’s what Margaret always did.”
“I’m not my mother,” Teagan instinctively snapped. Then he closed his eyes. He wasn’t his mother. All he’d ever wanted to be was not like his mother. And he wasn’t doing any better than she had. He was letting everything slip through his fingers, holding onto nothing. No wonder Darcy thought he couldn’t come through with any of his promises. No wonder Sloane was putting her life on hold, trying to fix his.
No wonder Nora thought he’d do as terrible a job as his mother had.
“I quit,” Teagan said, standing up. He had no idea what he was doing here. He didn’t know what he’d accomplished in two years of trying, but it ended here tonight.
“What?” Nora said, taken aback.
“I quit,” he repeated himself. “You can promote Rose. See if she’ll signhername to this. I won’t. Excuse me. I need to go make sure my sister is okay, and then we’re going home.”
•••••
Two hours later, Darcy had committed a felony or two—she assumed that impersonating a game warden and grandtheft otter were felonies—but she still hadn’t located Teagan or Sloane.
She hadn’t tried to call them. She hadn’t seen many crime shows, but as she was in possession of three juvenile otters in a duffel bag which didn’t belong to her (neither the otters nor the bag), she thought she should turn her phone off and leave less of an electronic trail before she, the otters, and Nora’s runaway fiancé could make a clean escape.
Adrian was only barely on board at this point.
“I’ll ask people at the valet stand if they’re going past the train station. I can just take the first train tomorrow,” he said, pretty face deeply depressed.
