I ruthlessly squelch the surge of pride that rises at the praise. I don’t need praise from him. “Does she want to be in my sale then?”
“She told me this morning she wants to break the exclusivity clause in her sale contract, so yeah. She’ll probably be calling you soon to let you know.”
I try not to gloat, satisfying myself with a nod at the admission. And make a mental note I need to resend the sketchbook and paints. Have to keep my clients happy.
“How did you even...Whendid you even...”
“Bathroom,” I answer simply. That should be all the answer he needs.
“What?”
Guess that’s not all the answer he needs. Trust a man to not understand the level of camaraderie that occurs in a women’s public restroom.
“It’s all right, anyway,” he says. “This way I won’t feel bad when I get the Richmond Collection.”
“Ha! Did you hit your head when you barged through my door?” I glance down at my computer quickly, minimizing the windows with work for Harrison. So everything.
“We’ll see who’s out of their mind when I’m on the rostrum, selling all of his pretty art.”
I swallow. I’ve seen him lead auctions from the raised platform of the auction room, and his command of the room is impressive. All eyes are on him, and not just because he’s in the front of the room, but because he’s in turn charming, funny, and aggressive in leading the sale and driving the prices up.
I love the rush of the rostrum myself. All the work of setting up a sale, putting together the exhibition and the catalog, for that one moment. That one moment where the energy of the crowd depends on how excited I can get them. There’s nothing better than hearing bid after bid, surpassing the reserve, a minimum price required before a piece can be sold. And if it surpasses our internal estimate, it’s a very good day. The frenzy (and hopefully it’s a frenzy and not just me talking to myself) culminates in a sale, the point of my job. Months of work for a few minutes of action per item.
“I’ll make sure to save you a front row seat, whenI’mon the rostrum, so you can see how it’s done,” I say sweetly.
“We’ll see.”
“We will.” I expect him to leave after that. But he doesn’t. “Did you want something else?” I ask, tone making it clear he better not want anything else.
“Do you want to know if I’m still with Stella?”
Yes.“No.” Please let me sound convincing.
Gavin answers anyway. “I’m not. My fragile male ego couldn’t handle the business rejection.”
“Surprising no one,” I mumble under my breath, ruthlessly squeezing down the quick burst of happiness the news brings.
Gavin ignores that but does get up. “Do you want to make this interesting?
“Will it make you go away faster?”
“Probably.”
“Then what do you want to make interesting? Nineteenth-century American cabinet trends? Hah.” I laugh at my own joke. “Like you could. They’re already a hoot.”
Gavin ignores me, putting both hands on my desk and leaning over it. “If I get Harrison, you have to go out with me.”
That makes me snap to attention. Possibly the only thing that fully got my attention since Harrison said he would consider Loot for his sale.
“Like a date?” I ask for clarification.
“With food. And adult beverages, if you want.”
“I’m not fucking you over a bet.”
Gavin stares at me, one perfect brow raised but his expression otherwise neutral. I shift in my chair, suppressing even more thoughts of an amorous Gavin, and disliking how easily he can get me to think about us and sex. Us having sex.
Then he saves me from the silence with a smile. “I wasn’t asking you to, despite how quickly you went there. But it’s telling you don’t think you’ll win.”
