“I think our clients, like Harrison Richardson, think our pieces are pretty good.”
“He’s not your client yet.” A piece catches my eye. “What do you guys have over here?” I walk to it, brushing past Gavin on my way to the treasure. He moves out of the way, but not before I feel his arm against mine. Even through the layers of clothing separating us, I can feel the strength in his arm, like brushing against a mountain of stone.
It feels intriguing. But I’m glad the touch is only momentary, because even the quickest touch scrambles my brain a little.
I clear my throat. “Is this a Vigée Le Brun?”
“Great eye.”
“It’s Lady Hamilton,” I say, impressed and jealous. “The woman who worked her way out of poverty and into the arms of Admiral Nelson. Resourceful lady, making opportunities for herself in a place there weren’t many. And then painted by a woman when not many could become artists.”
I try to leech as much of Vigée Le Brun and Lady Hamilton’s combined lady badassery as I can, hoping it’ll help dealing with Dad and the business.
“Who’s doing this show anyway?” I ask without looking at Gavin.
“I am.”
“You’redoing a women artists show?” I scoff. “Figures.”
“It’s a good financial decision. I can draw people to the show.”
I give him a blank look. He’s not wrong; he’s a big name. But a woman not doing it—kind of the point I’m trying to make. Too many men in all parts of this industry; not enough women to do their own damn shows.
I keep walking slowly around the room and move on to the next few pieces. They’ve got paintings from the Baroque period and the nineteenth century. I need to step up my game.
“How does your dad feel about the Richmond Collection?” Gavin asks.
A sad smile flits across my face. My father’s reputation is pretty well known in the art world: he’s reluctant to change, even though he was the one who wanted to expand the auction house to the Western market. I think he was hoping he could just start a copy of Loot in New York and that would be the end of it, but we can be so much bigger if we expand.
Gavin is surprisingly gentle when he asks. Like we’re friends and he cares about what’s going on in my life. It’s weird and I’m shocked, which might be why I respond with uncharacteristic honesty.
“He doesn’t understand.” I shrug. “If I had my way, we would have done a show like this years ago. But I’ve only recently been able to convince him.”
Maybe it’s the ambiance of the room that lowered my defenses. Gavin left the door open when he walked in, so the room is bathed in soft light from the hall. We’re surrounded by beautiful paintings, sculpture and furniture. This is a general storeroom, not just for the women artists show, and there’s art everywhere: on the walls, piled up, and crammed in next to each other. It’s seductive.
For an auctioneer, at any rate.
“I get it. My dad’s been open about letting me pursue what I want, but if a sale doesn’t meet his inflated standards, he doesn’t hold back in telling me how much I fall short. With no sugarcoating.”
“What happens when he criticizes your show?” I’m genuinely interested in this newly uncovered facet of Gavin.
“I give in, usually.” Gavin looks unusually serious when he gives me the answer. “He’s the one who’s been in the industry forever and has the best advice that everyone should listen to...just ask him.”
I’m startled enough at the similarities of our dads to distract me from the beautiful art in front of me. Gavin is always so charming and effortless in person; I would have never thought that he was getting shit from his father too.
I’m not entirely sure I know how to react to that, so I make a sound of agreement and hope that’ll be enough.
We finish a big circle around the room and then we’re back to the door.
“Thanks for being cool about the alleged trespassing,” I mumble, not liking having to thank the scourge of my professional and personal life but acknowledging that he could have made this a lot worse for me.
“Oh, Priya.” At the pitying note in his voice, my head snaps up. “Did you think I was going to let you off that easy?”
Chapter Seven
“What do you want?” Not that I expected the kind sharing to last. Not that Iwantedthe kind sharing to last. “And before you say anything, I will not do anything illegal or immoral.”
“That does strike a few options off of my list,” he says, eyes twinkling now that he has the upper hand.
