I sigh, mentally shifting tasks around to add the work to my schedule. “Fine. Tell your team I’ll be giving out their assignments for the show, and they need to send their work to me for review.”
Ajay puts my books on my desk and gives me a tight hug. “On it. I love you, didi.” Ajay busts out the Hindi to call me sister, a sure sign he’s still buttering me up even though I’ve already agreed.
“I love you too. But you didn’t let me finish.” Ajay looks nervous. Good. He deserves it for how busy I’ll be in the next week. “I’ll only do it if you talk to Dad about stepping back if you get in the gallery. Step back and spend more time painting and getting where you need to be as an artist. Then Dad can hire someone else, and Sonia and I won’t have to take on a double load of work. And whatever happens with Dad, you know I’ll support you.”
Ajay rocks back on his heels, thinking out the deal for a solid minute. I’m about to tell him he can think this over in his own office and email me his decision, because I need to work, when he speaks. “Okay. Yeah. It’s probably time.”
Ajay looks more subdued than I’ve ever seen my twin, but he looks hopeful too, with a ghost of a smile on his face.
“Jao.” I tell him to go, giving him a push toward my door. “I just sent you emails to handle, but you can send them back to me.” This will all be mine one day anyway, better not let it fail before I get to the top.
Ajay waves at me as he leaves my office.
I look out of my window from the Fifty-Seventh Street skyscraper our offices are in. The view is as stunning as it was fifteen minutes ago, and this time I look down at the bustling city at my feet. So many people, with their own lives, their own problems, and their own dreams. All living together in one of the most vibrant cities in the world.
Refueled with energy from my home, I turn back to my computer, getting back to doing my job, as well as Ajay’s.
“I don’t have time for this,” I tell Sonia, putting my cellphone, wallet and tinted lip balm in a clutch.
“Chacha wants you there.” Sonia puts her own clutch together in my condo bathroom.
“But I have so much work to do.” I’m not dignified about the change in my plans. I had gotten home with my books, ready to spend the night with wine, my laptop, and Netflix, making a mock-up catalog for Harrison.
Then Sonia barged in, telling me Dad wanted us to go to a Sotheby’s auction of Old Master paintings to check out the competition.
It’s hard to argue with a man who’s not even there, so I give in, telling myself it is important to see what the competition is doing. And then I’ll get some more work done when I get back.
I squeeze myself into a simple black sheath and shove my feet back in black stilettos, my uniform of choice.
We call a car and it takes us to the Sotheby’s office. Sotheby’s was one of the first auction houses to make their sales into the extravagant events they are now, and they’re continuing the tradition tonight. Employees in suits and white gloves seamlessly manage the event while guests arrive and find their seats.
We settle in and I idly flip through the guide for the sale. They’re going to make some serious money tonight. I squelch the flare of jealously that rises up. Loot’s been doing very well but there’s still a long way to go until we’re a household name and can have blockbuster show after blockbuster show.
Getting the Harrison Richmond collection will be a large step in that direction.
“Twice in one day. Are you stalking me?” The voice next to me jerks me from relaxed to whole body tense and prepared for battle in point two seconds flat.
Like it always does.
Shit, not again.
Chapter Three
Gavin drops his suit-clad form into the empty seat next to me. Like a giant male lion, powerful and graceful and lazy, all at the same time.
I still resent when he stole the first client I was wooing away from me. I had just graduated college and moved back to the States from England, when Dad gave me that meaningless title.
So I decided to put together my own show. Dad was focused on Indian art of all periods, and I wanted to expand that. I decided to put on a show that would sell Indian pieces, Western pieces inspired by Indian art, and some that mixed the two traditions. It was Loot’s first time selling non-Indian pieces.
I just needed a painting of Queen Victoria at the Indian Pavilion of the Great Exhibition. The collector who owned it wanted to sell, and we had four meetings to discuss the show and me selling the piece.
Then Gavin showed up and persuaded the collector to sell with Carlyle’s. He offered them a higher guarantee for selling the piece, and a smaller seller’s commission. The piece wasn’t even that valuable, so I know the little prat just did it to screw me and my show over.
I got him back the next time by putting a modest dose of ex-lax in his food at an industry dinner. He was rushing to the bathroom so often that I took over talking to the collector he was sitting next to. By the end of the dinner, Gavin looked unstable because of all the tummy troubles, and the collector went with Loot.
That was on him for having such a weak stomach.
Back in the present, I try to avert my eyes to avoid how good he looks in his tailored suit. The slim lines emphasize his broad chest and slim waist, making me get what all those models in the south of France found so appealing about him.
