“You’re stealing my girlfriend?” he growls at me.
Chapter Four
Gavin tosses a mini sketchbook and a set of travel paint on my desk. The side where I attached a note to the paint tin saying “For the next time an emergency comes up” faces me. It was the first thing I did this morning.
“It’s fine, Sonia,” I say. She looks like she wants to stay and watch the drama, but my eyes cut to the door meaningfully and she leaves.
“Did you snoop through her mail?” I begin. “I think that’s a federal offense.”
“I was with her when she got it.”
Ewwww. I scrunch up my nose. He means coitusing her. I don’t like the image of those two attractive people making the beast with two backs.
I decline to examine why I don’t like that.
Maybe it’s because now I can’t stop imagining how Gavin has sex. It starts out as a parody, him announcing to his partner he’s going to come using his fast-talking auctioneer voice: “I’m gonna come.”
“Can I get five more seconds?”
“Yes, I have five more seconds.”
“Can I get ten more seconds?”
“Excellent. Can I get another five?”
But then it gets a lot more intimate, fast, and I genuinely start imagining what he would look like naked, sweaty, and slowly kissing his way up my body while I mentally auctioneer with myself to hold out a little longer.
Ugh, I’m angry at how much I want him. How much I always want him.
“As lovely as Stella is, I’m not trying to steal your girlfriend.” I lean back in my seat. He opens his mouth to contradict me, and I cut him off. “I amgoingto steal yourartistthough.”
“It’s the same thing,” he says, anger still in his voice.
“I don’t know how you do business over there at your establishment, but I can promise you, you don’t have to sleep with all of your sellers.”
“You’ve gone too far this time, Gupta.” He paces in front of me.
“You’ve stolen enough sellersandbuyers from me in the past. The Annunciation painting, then the Rembrandt, then the Striker Collection. It’s the nature of the business.” I shrug. Never mind that I reacted the same every time he stole one of my clients. Even worse really. Hence the voodoo doll.
He doesn’t answer, pacing himself into quite the state.
I can’t help twisting the knife a little more. “But, you know, if you were treating her right, she wouldn’t be open to other auctioneers.”
Gavin barks out an incredulous laugh before he can stop it. “Seriously, Riya?”
God I hate it when he calls me that. A nickname makes our relationship feel intimate, even though it’s really about hoping the other person fails, spectacularly and publicly and often irrevocably, ruining their reputation so the other one can win bigger.
“Yup. I can make her happier than you can.”
“Apparently, Mr. Steal Your Girl.”
“It’s Ms. Steal Your Girl, please.”
He inclines his head. He looks calmer than when he walked in, and even takes a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of my desk.
It’s kind of anticlimactic, really.
“Okay. I can acknowledge that was well played,” he concedes.
