The eyebrow quirks higher.
“Right. Would you believe I’m drunk and also high on all the drugs, and I’m looking for a children’s bounce house?”
The eyebrows draw together for that one. “Do you even know how to doanyof the drugs?”
“I think people can smoke them? And maybe snort them? Oh, don’t some come in like rock candy form and you can eat it?”
“You’ve never done any drugs before,” he says with certainty.
“Well, thank you. I guess.”
“So what are you doing here?” he asks for the fourth time.
I sigh, knowing the jig is up but not wanting to go down with grace. “I heard you guys were doing a sale with women artists and I wanted to see how it would compare to the one I’m doing.”
“Now that does seem plausible.”
“Are you going to call the police on me?”
“No.”
But if he’s not going to call the police on me, whatishe going to do? He hasn’t moved from his relaxed position on the chair, like he’s watching TV and not watching the law be broken.
“Then I should get going...” I walk to the door backward and slowly, keeping my eyes on him like he’s a feral cat I’m afraid to turn my back on.
“You can go if you want. Or you can stay and look at some art with me.”
I stop, certain this is a trap but not able to figure out how.
“Without your phone.” He sends a meaningful look at my spy equipment.
“That’s excessively fair.” I put the phone in the pocket of my coveralls and look at him warily.
“So, why this show?” he asks, getting up off the damask chair.
“Why this show what?”
“You’ve never tried to break into our offices and see the art before. What’s special about this show?”
“I heard you guys were ripping me off on an upcoming show, and I wanted to see if the rumors were true.”
He turns away from the art and back to me. “You think we’re copying you? Doing a show on women artists? You know there’re only so many options. More than two, but still, it’s limiting.”
“Obviously I know it’s not the most original topic, but the timing is suspicious, and it’s meant to steal my thunder.” Although when he puts it like that, it does sound ridiculous.
“Right, Riya, I’m going to vote for this being a coincidence,” he says gently.
Well, I probably would too. Now. It felt much different this morning, still fresh from an argument with Gavin and a meeting with Dad.
“You do have nice pieces.” I concede the point to change the subject. If the words are pushed out through my clenched teeth, it’s because I’m still used to seeing him as an adversary.
“That’s because we’re a top-rate auction house.” After a pause he continues, in a tone as begrudging as mine. “I’m sure you’ve got nice pieces too, since you guys are almost as good as we are.”
Huh. That’s two compliments to each other in a row. Are we becoming tolerant of each other?
“I mean, you guys don’t usually have as many pieces, but I’m sure the few pieces you get will be very nice.”
And there we go, back to sniping at each other, any camaraderie ruined. This I can handle; this I prefer. “We would rather hold out for quality pieces, so our clients know they’re getting the best stuff.”
