“No. Hell no. That’s sexual harassment.”
“Okay, then.” I reach for the phone with all the care of a hazardous materials worker in full protective gear approaching an unknown but definitely dangerous specimen.
I back out of the open email through squinted eyes, with one hand spread out in front of the screen to limit my view, getting the offending picture off my screen.
Mom’s original email comes back on the screen. “It looks like Mom followed through on her threat to try to set me up with her friends’ sons, and she had one of them send me an email introduction. But she didn’t screen it before forwarding it.” There is some introduction information under the picture, but it’s a bit lost in the disgust of the photo.
I get all the facts and then delete the shit out of that email. “I think it was robber baron peen. Or great-grandson of a robber baron peen.”
“Then at least there’s deep pockets to pay for your therapy and lawyer’s fees.” Sonia rubs my back in comfort.
“Why are men like this?” I put my phone down again, happy to take a break from it for a little while. Like maybe forever.
“I don’t know. But I’m not going to be able to get that image out of my mind any time soon.” Sonia shudders.
Unfortunately, this is not my first dick pic. My first was when I was in charge of the Loot Twitter handle. They slid that shit right into my DMs. And if people can send a dick pic to an auction house, the rest of us have no chance.
I’m not saying anything about consensual dick pics, but this is very muchnotwanted.
“Can I file a workers’ compensation claim for stress?” I ask.
“Since that’s kind of a work phone, maybe? But you’d have to tell everyone your mom sent you a dick pic.”
“How am I supposed to do a seller pitch in this state of mind?”
“Work through it. Or we’ll never get to do anything but Indian art for the rest of our careers.” Take-no-prisoners Sonia packs my purse for me. “The car is coming in twenty minutes, and you have to stop by printing.”
Twenty minutes later on the dot, I’m getting into the company car, catalog box in hand and dick pic ruthlessly pushed to the back of my mind. Harrison’s offices are in the financial district, and traffic means it would have been quicker to take public transportation. But I don’t want to risk dropping the catalog and I don’t want to show up for the meeting all sweaty.
The privacy of the car also gives me a chance to practice the pitch a few more times before the meeting. I need it, because I’m more comfortable in front of a large crowd than working one on one with a prospective client. Maybe because auction crowds are too polite to sass me back on the rostrum, but individuals don’t feel as compelled to be nice.
I get to the offices a little early and go to the reception desk to check in.
“Hi, I’m here for a meeting with Harrison at four. I’m Priya Gupta with Loot.”
The receptionist scrolls through his computer. “I’ve got you checked in. Please take a seat in our waiting area and I’ll call you when Mr. Richmond is ready.”
“Perfect, thanks.” I turn to find the area he indicated, and stop, the genuine smile on my face freezing when I see who’s already there.
Again?
“Okay, this time I was here first, so can I accuse you of stalking now?” Gavin asks from his seat in the waiting room, his fingers poised over his phone. He’s dressed in another sharp suit that costs more than most people’s monthly salaries, and he’s lounging on the chestnut leather couch.
He has a substantial box next to him as well, and I inch closer to try some corporate espionage. “You wish.”
“I very much do, Riya.” His voice gets lower, in that sexy, annoying way he has. Annoying because I don’t want to find anything he does sexy. But the lust I’m feeling strongly disagrees with my assessment, and my thighs clench together to stop the spread of the sensations I can feel starting down there.
“So, he’s seeing us on the same day?” I ignore the battle happening down south, focusing on the meeting at hand.
Gavin nods. “Power move. Having the competition see each other before the meeting.”
“He’s good at business.”
A commotion draws our attention to the front desk, and I see two nicely dressed men with their own hardcover books. They’re arguing with each other and the poor receptionist is trying to get them to calm down.
“More competition,” I whisper to Gavin, not taking my eyes off the scene.
“The boys from the Big Two. But they aren’t leaving a good first impression on the company.”
