“But I meant cheese. Everyone means cheese.” This is my after-auction dinner and, as god as my witness, I shall never eat dry fries again.
“I spent a lot of money tonight.”
My eyebrows draw down. “No one asked you to.”
Gavin looks around and must realize that we’re making a scene. Not that anyone’s paying attention. It’s New York. And the few people who are paying attention are tourists on vacation, so I’m not going to see them again.
But Gavin might care, because he lets go of the fries.
Victory! I take a nice big bite immediately and contemplate licking a few of the others so he doesn’t have second thoughts about giving them up.
“Why did you buy the painting anyway?” I ask, mouth full of cheese and potato.
“It’s an amazing piece...”
“Duh. Loot doesn’t sell crap.”
“And it’s going to be a great investment piece. Shaw’s prices are just going to go up.”
“You helped with that. You paid about $400,000 more than we thought it was going to get.” I smile at him smugly, having done my job tonight to get the best price for the painting.
Gavin quirks an eyebrow. “I wasn’t bidding against myself. The market wants more Shaw, and they’re going to pay very well for it.”
“Yeah, that surprised me too.” But for every piece that exceeds our wildest dreams, there’s one that we want to slap people for not bidding higher on, knowing it’s worth more than it got.
“You did a really good job with the auction tonight. I helped, of course.” Gavin preens.
I smile and throw a cheese fry at him, which he easily catches and eats. Arrogant man.
Arrogance aside, I kind of like talking to Gavin about work.
“Where are you going to put it?” If he says it’s going to art storage, I’m going to revive my master burglar career and steal it from the ungrateful bastard.
“My bedroom. It’ll be inspiration when I wake up. You’re welcome to come by and see it any time you want.”
He makes me slow down my eating, despite the fact that I’m starving, picturing what his bedroom looks like. Is it a kinky sex dungeon with red silk sheets? Or a tastefully decorated room his interior designer picked out? Maybe it’s college frat chic, with empty beer cans and IKEA furniture.
Except now I’m putting myselfinthe bedroom. In lingerie. And I don’t even own sexy lingerie.
However it looks, I should stop thinking about it because I’m not going to find out. Not even a little. Unless he has an unfortunate autoerotic asphyxiation accident and the scene gets plastered on the news, I won’t be seeing Gavin Carlyle’s bedroom.
I think the rest of the night is going to be full of awkward silence, but after our Great Fry Standoff, we fall into easy conversation about the industry. Gossiping about other dealers, the latest sales, and the trends of the market.
He might not know how to change his own tire, but he knows the art market. Okay, I don’t even know how to change a tire. Not without calling AAA.
But it’s nice to be able to talk to someone about my passion. Dad doesn’t take me seriously, Ajay is always focused on his painting, and Mom’s uninterested in it all. Sonia and I talk about art about 25 percent of the time, but then we talk about reality TV, food and shirtless Chris Hemsworth the rest of the time.
But Gavin, he listens to my opinions and debates me where he disagrees. Bringing up good points I didn’t consider, even if I don’t admit that to him.
By the end of the night, I just had my second civil—no, not just civil, an outright enjoyable—dinner with Gavin Carlyle.
Who knew I would find that with a rival?
Chapter Twelve
Sonia barges into my office the next morning. “Emergency.”
“Do I have time to finish this bagel sandwich?” I love Sonia, but everything is an emergency in her opinion. Sometimes it is in fact an emergency. And sometimes she’s mad that her favorite show got canceled and she’ll never know if Ginny’s going to pitch in the MLB again.
