“A point to both of your houses. Gavin, you can take the day after. I’m sure what you’ll plan is better than what I had scheduled.”
I throw a toothy smile over my shoulder at Gavin. Thank god for Harrison reminding me that I’m here to compete with the man, not tell him how to run a show or kiss him.
Chapter Seventeen
After Harrison leaves, Gavin and I go back to our rooms to change for the ride. Despite how much I tried to plan for everything, horseback riding is not something I anticipated. I think I have a blazer somewhere in here, maybe.
I throw on some boots and the blazer over my jeans and a T-shirt, the closest I can get to a horse-appropriate outfit. Or what I think horse-appropriate attire is.
I only take two wrong turns before I get back to the main entrance hall where Harrison said we would meet. Naomi is already waiting on a chaise, looking at her phone.
“Hey. I hope your horses are old and docile,” I say.
Naomi shoots me a genuine smile. “We’ve got an ancient horse that’ll treat you right.”
“Perfect,” I say, gratitude filling my voice. I’m about to ask about where she’s living in England when I feel vibration from my butt pocket. I pull out my phone and see Dad flashing on the screen, with a gavel emoji. “Excuse me,” I say to Naomi and walk down the hall to take it in privacy.
I take a deep breath, wondering if I’ll ever get over the anxiety that comes every time I have to interact with my own father. I love him and I know he loves me too, but I’m constantly on edge about what he’ll say or do to hurt me without realizing it.
I answer the call the second before it gets sent to voicemail. “Hi, Dad. What’s up?”
“What’s up?” he asks with his slight accent. “Is that any way to talk to your father?”
“I’m in the middle of getting this sale,” I say, hoping it’ll rush him along. It probably won’t, but dreaming is free.
“When are you coming back? Ajay can’t run a sale tomorrow and I need you to take the rostrum.”
“I’m working on something, I can’t just drop it because Ajay can’t get his shit together.” It would be one thing if Ajay had an actual emergency and needed my help, but I’m willing to put money on the fact that the emergency is that he wants more time to paint.
The seller in me is happy that he’s productive, because Loot will get to sell his amazing work...hopefully soon. But the coworker in me would like him to pull his own weight.
Ajay probably shouldn’t even be doing sales with his position title, but Dad likes it when the family gets on the rostrum. Feels like it gives Loot the small, family business appeal. I have no problem because I love it and would do sales no matter what position I have. Or try to at least.
“Language, Priya.”
“Fine. Irespectfullydecline your last-minute request to rearrange my entire schedule to accommodate a coworker who is not fulfilling their duties.”
Dad starts lecturing me about helping family when they need it and something about being grateful and I tune him out. I am glad that he’s reaching out to me, but I don’t have time to take on additional work now because his first choice is busy.
My mind goes into damage control mode. “Okay,” I interrupt him, our pending agreement making me on edge, which makes me shorter with Dad than I usually would be. “You do it. The collectors will love seeing you on the rostrum again, and no one else is quicker on their feet.” Dad hasn’t run a sale in a while, but there’s a reason Loot survived opening in the already crowded market of New York. A reason they thrived at it.
It’s because my dad is the best auctioneer I know.
Dad pauses, either preparing to yell at me for interrupting him or thinking about the suggestion. “That could work.” His words are measured, but there’s an undertone of excitement in his voice.
That problem is sorted. And Mom will probably give me a box of chocolates for putting Dad in such a good mood.
“Sonia can help you learn the pieces last minute. Or Diego. He’s been working with Ajay’s team so he should have some knowledge of the art and he’s quick on his feet too.”
“Well, it won’t be as good as your last-minute charity auction, but I’ll manage.”
Ah, that’s right. Dad hasn’t gotten a chance to yell at me for that.
“It’s great exposure.” I defend myself.
“But did you have to do it with a Carlyle?” Dad snarls.
There it is. Like a modern Romeo and Juliet, or a tanner Hatfield and just as pale McCoy. “He’s a talented auctioneer in his own right. And it was for charity.”
