“And did he look delicious as always?” Sonia asks.
Yes.“He’s not a cheesecake,” I mumble, bad tempered at having to spend more of my day thinking about Gavin.
“That’s not an answer.”
Because I don’t want to give one. Because despite all the healthy competition and less-healthy anger, I’mreallyattracted to Gavin Carlyle. He’s got the strong jaw and broad shoulders of Adam in Michelangelo’sBirth of Adamand somehow also has the confidence and power of God in that same scene.
And those facts make me really angry that the bottom half of me (strongly in favor of his face and body) can’t get on track with the top half of me (strongly opposed to the rest of him, all smarmy charm and arrogance).
“Priya’s not going to admit to something as pedestrian as lust. Even with someone as solid as Gavin,” Ajay says.
I curl my lips in distaste. Ajay and Sonia were in the same classes with Gavin and me in school, but they never felt the same competition with him that I did. Probably because they aren’t as consumed with the company as I am. Sonia is more supportive of my tiny war with the man, but I once saw a social media post of Gavin and Ajay getting drinks together.
I didn’t talk to Ajay for two entire weeks after that.
Five more emails down while I try to ignore the ruckus in my workspace. “You two both have work to do.” Out of spite, I forward them more emails to handle so I can focus on this mock catalog.
Sonia takes out her phone when it beeps, looking at the screen. She just got all the emails I’m sending. “Damn it, boss lady.”
“Get to it, peon!”
She reluctantly heaves herself off the couch and sighs deeply, puppy-eyes pleading at me to help. I’d feel worse for her if I didn’t sign her checks every two weeks and know how well she’s getting paid.
Sonia leaves my office, and I get the email from Harrison, outlining the pieces he’s considering selling. I open the list on my tablet and walk to my bookshelves, picking relevant books for research.
Ajay clears his throat behind me.
“You’re still here?” I ask, the pile of books in my arms getting larger.
“Here, let me help you.” He reaches for the books.
I pull them out of his reach. “I can get it.”
Undeterred, he takes them from me. “Stop being so stubborn and accept help.”
“Fine. What’s going on?” I let go of the books and keep loading him up with more, getting use out of him if he’s going to stay. I don’t feel bad because every time Ajay wants to linger and chat, it’s because he needs something.
“Dad wants me to work on this upcoming nineteenth-century furniture show, but with all my other work and with painting, I’m not going to have time to do it all...”
There it is. I shouldn’t be surprised. Ajay is a great artist, and he doesn’t want any part of the plans Dad has for him. He comes to work, sometimes does the bare minimum (and sometimes gives the bare minimum to me) and leaves as soon as he can make an excuse to paint more. He’s good at the job itself, he just doesn’t like putting in the time and effort to do the actual work.
And I let him dump the work on me because I’m supposed to protect him. I’m the older twin, the one who was always better at school, and then better at auctioneering. I’m the one who actuallywantsthis auction house.
This is hard work, but it makes me happy. I want my baby brother to feel the same contentment I do. And if there’s something I can do to help him with that, I want to do it.
But I just can’t take his work on right now.
“I can’t keep doing your work, especially not with part of the Richmond Collection up for grabs. I have a week to think about a theme, get this catalog written up for over a hundred pieces, and design an exhibit. This sale will be huge for us, if we get it. And then I have to do all my regular work for my ongoing shows.” My heart starts racing when I verbalize all the tasks I have to complete.
“But a gallery is interested in showing my work. If I can put together an impressive catalog, this could be my break into painting.”
“I get it.” If he feels as strongly for painting as I do for selling paintings, then I can understand the need he feels to follow his passion. “But I can’t keep doing both of our jobs. There aren’t enough hours in the day.”
“He should just give the title to you.”
Ajay is an executive vice president, but he’s also the managing director of North American sales. A position I would have loved on my way to president and CEO, Dad’s position.
“Yeah.” We work in silence as I resume putting books in his arms and then direct him over to my desk where I want them.
