Chapter One
Gavin Carlyle is here. Because of course he is.
Tension snaps my back ramrod straight and my fists clench at the sight of him, my body getting ready for a fight.
I’ve got too much to do today, and I can’t deal with my mortal enemy since preschool. It takes a lot of energy to hate the same person for so long, but my natural pettiness really helps.
Character faults aside, I don’t need him here now, when I’m trying to devote all my energy to wooing this client at a Four Seasons power lunch. Gavin looks busy (and annoyingly sexy in his suit) at his own table, so hopefully he’ll stay away.
Or maybe a very specific, very small sinkhole will open up under his chair and swallow him into the earth, quickly closing before anyone else’s day can be disturbed.
I subtly shift my chair and hunch down so I can’t see Gavin, and force myself to relax. I turn my attention back to Harrison Richmond. The white man in front of me exudes power and money from his expensive suit to his flashy watch to the shoes on his feet. Shiny, well-made accessories and not a hair out of place to let us all know we couldn’t measure up.
“How’s your daughter doing?” I ask. We’ve been at lunch for about forty-five minutes now, and even though I just want to ask him about his art pieces, I’ve got at least another fifteen minutes of small talk to go. I’m timing it.
But subtly.
So far, I’ve gushed over his company’s new ad campaign and his wife’s latest charity ball. Which legitimately was fun. And for a good cause.
“She’s doing great. She’s doing a study abroad in England right now, and I don’t know if she’s going to come back home when it’s over.”
I laugh. “I did four years of college in England, and I threatened the same thing. I did come back though.”
Harrison toasts me. “Good news then.”
“The hardest part was definitely leaving the art and architecture behind. But I’m lucky that I get to work with some amazing pieces here.” At last! A transition to the business we’re here for.
Harrison has family money from some robber baron ancestor who was big in railroads, and he took that money and made even more investing in renewable energy. After he set his company up, he turned his attention to increasing his family’s art collection, buying and selling some of the most beautiful pieces I’ve ever seen. Gossip says he’s looking to sell a large chunk of his collection, so he can make room for pieces more to his current tastes.
I want to be the auctioneer who sells that collection.
“Loot is a fantastic house, but Kabir hasn’t had much experience outside Indian art and antiquities.” He brings up Loot’s biggest weakness.
But I know it is too, and I’m ready. “Dad doesn’t have that experience,” I say, throwing Dad under the bus. He’s as cutthroat as I am; he’ll understand. “But I studied Art History at Cambridge, and I’ve been working on more and more diverse sales since I started at Loot six years ago. I hope you consider us if you want to auction any of your pieces. I’ve been coveting your collection since I was a kid, and I’ve imagined a hundred different ways I could present your works.”
And with a collection on this level, we can show the market that Loot is a serious contender in all types of art, not just Indian art.
My shoulders relax a little as business is finally introduced. It’s a delicate balance between not wanting to scare the millionaires by discussing crass commercial concerns and needing to get that sale. But it’s where I’m comfortable.
“Since you were a kid? You’re making me feel old.”
“Never. You get younger every year, Dorian Gray. But I have been around this business for a while.”
Harrison smiles. “All right, how would you sell my work? On the off chance I want to sell.”
The familiar electricity rushes through my veins, all my preparation focused on this moment.
“In this particular case, I would try to keep as much of the collection as possible together. I want to sell the Richmond experience. You come from an old family, and there are plenty of buyers who want to capture that connection. If possible, we could do the sale at your home in Long Island. And it would be minimum fuss for you; we’d rent a tent for the sale and make sure no one wandered around your estate.”
I get out my iPad, bringing up a picture of some past house sales I’ve done to show him how much grandeur we can put in a tent, pointing out specific pieces he owns that could be the highlights.
“You’ve done your research on my art.” He sounds impressed, and I mentally pat myself on the back. First step complete.
“It’s never work to look at your pieces—”
“Priya Gupta,” says a voice behind me, causing every muscle in my body to clench in anticipation for a hit. Not a physical one, but we can’t be near each other without throwing verbal punches back and forth.
“Gavin Carlyle, what apleasantsurprise,” I say through clenched teeth, turning to look at him so Harrison can’t see the smile that’s more of a snarl. I really want to add that it’s a surprise that he was able to drag himself out of bed before noon, but I can’t do that in front of the client. Because thenI’mthe unprofessional one.
