Despite the ribbing I’m getting, whenever I think about the farmer my heart starts beating a little faster and my mind starts daydreaming about Christmas outings.
But nothing beyond Christmas.
A voice interrupts those daydreams. “I’m ready to be shown this New York Christmas you’ve talked about. I’m sure it’ll be nice, even if it won’t compare to a Southern Christmas.”
Chapter Four
“Those are bold words for someone from a town Santa can’t find with a map, Rudolph’s nose, and the smell of some freshly baked cookies to guide him.” I get up and tuck my hand behind his elbow, even though his arm is still straight.
Beau bends it obligingly and we start walking. He must do actual work on the farm beyond signing checks, because his arm is firm under my hand. A fact I can enjoy despite my even firmer stance against romantic entanglements. No harm in pawing at the Old MacDonald with all our clothes on.
Winter clothes, for even more safety.
“Our first stop is the homework part, and then we’ll have fun,” I say.
“I’m in your hands.”
Hmm. Yes, please.
I lead him down to the auction room in our offices and take some seats in the back. “You don’t have to bid on anything, but I do want you to comment on the pieces we see. I’m trying to get a sense of your taste and show you pieces that will work in your theme. And Priya is leading it, so be nice about the auctioneer.” Priya walks up to the rostrum and gets our attention.
I remind myself this is the business part of the night. If I have to lean in closer to hear him when the auction starts, that’s the nature of physics in a loud room. If his body is a distraction when I get closer, that’s less business.
Employees bring and take away art piece after art piece while Priya riles the crowd up so they bid higher and higher. She’s a natural at this, exuding charm and wit and genuine love of art. She shines.
And her stellar performance proves how much I won’t want her job, or anything like it. I don’t want to be in front of a crowd, pushing through a list of art. I want to focus on creating cohesive spaces. Another reason to focus on Beau so I can bring a giant commission check when I propose this new venture to Chacha and Priya.
“This piece is perfect for you,” I say when a painting comes up of people harvesting.
Beau whistles. “At that price? Are those kind gentlemen in the painting going to come to life and actually harvest my peaches for me?” He winks at me, probably only half kidding. He is trying to start a business, and I get he needs money for like employees and materials or whatever.
“Unlikely. But it doesn’t matter, because this is just to get a sense of your style.”
We watch pieces find their new homes.
“What about something like this? The lamp has Athena Nike on it and will project victory to potential clients.”
As the price rises, his eyes get wide. “Is the lamp going toguaranteeme victory? And is it even compatible with energy-efficient lightbulbs?”
“I don’t think anyone has ever asked that. So I don’t know.”
Surprisingly, he does bid on and win a Neoclassical painting depicting Mars getting ready for war. He said he liked the confidence it exuded. I think he just likes swords. Either way, I’ll take the baby steps on what is turning out to be a tough job.
After the auction, I lead us out of the Loot building. “Now this Christmas fun can be a celebration of our first piece acquired for your office! I’ve got a car coming for us.”
He puts the brakes on. “Whoa. I can’t let you do that.”
I raise my eyebrows and turn my head. “Excuse me? I got the car yesterday.”
“That was different. It was for work.”
Isn’t this too? The lines are getting blurred with this man. “Well, it’s already done, so I don’t think my ability is limited by your permission.” This is what happens when you let a man give you his coat—you get branded incapable of standing in the cold once and suddenly you’re incapable of every simple task.
Hmm. Maybe this is better off staying a purely business night. I subtly pet his arm regretfully.
“But I don’t feel right letting you call the car...”
“Is this a Southern thing?” I wave his concern away with my free hand. “Calm down, Old MacDonald. The genderless company is paying for the car, if that makes your delicate sensibilities feel better.”
