“Thank you.” I give him a polite smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “My knowledge is how I earned the internship.”
“Beautiful and smart.” His eyes drag over me, slowly. Too slow. “You know, someone like you could do very well in this world. If you knew the right people.”
Revulsion coils through me, but I don’t respond.
“I could introduce you to collectors. Gallery owners.” He leans in slightly. “Open doors you didn’t even know existed.”
“I’m not interested,” I tell him again.
“No?” He smiles, but it’s not friendly anymore. “You’re young. Pretty. You probably think that working hard is enough. But it’s not. This world runs on connections. And the right kind of... attention.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “Excuse me?”
“I’m offering to help you. Mentor you.” His gaze drops to my chest. Lingers. “You’d be surprised what opportunities open up when you’re willing to be... flexible.”
I go still. Not scared. Furious.
This man—this pillar of the museum world—is propositioning me. At my workplace. At an event he’s supposed to be supporting.
“Tania.” Sila’s voice stops me cold.
I turn. He’s three feet away. Everything about him is still. His hands. His shoulders. His face.
He takes a step toward me, doesn’t touch me, but positions himself between Donald and me. His presence fills the space.
“You’re done talking to my wife.”
“Mr. Locke.” Donald’s face drains of color. All of it. “Did you say yourwife?”
“You heard me perfectly well.” Silas takes a step forward, not aggressively. The tone in his voice conveys everything he’s feeling. “You’re done.”
Donald’s stammering now. “I was having a conversation with her about the new exhibition.”
“You were propositioning her.” Silas’s voice drops lower. “Do you want to explain that to Frederick Ashford? To the board?”
“No. I apologize.” Donald’s eyes dart to me, then back to Silas. “I didn’t mean any offense.”
“Then what did you mean?” Silas tilts his head slightly. “When you told my wife she’d do well if she were willing to be flexible?”
Donald’s mouth works, but nothing comes out.
“She’s standing right here. Why don’t you elaborate about what you want from her?” Silas waits patiently for a response, as if he’s actually expecting one.
Donald’s eyes dart between us. “Mr. Locke, I apologize.”
“I’m not the one you owe an apology to.”
Donald swallows and turns to me. “Mrs. Locke, I apologize for any misunderstanding. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
I blink.
Silas takes his eyes off Donald and looks at me. Donald shifts his weight, ready to walk away.
“No.” Silas’s hand comes up and stops him, while he continues to hold my gaze. “She’s not finished.”
I realize what he’s doing. He’s not going to speak for me. He’s giving me the opportunity to stand up for myself.
“What you said was predatory.” My hands are steady at my sides. “You used your position here to make me uncomfortable because you assumed I had no power. You dismissed my education, my work, and reduced me to something you thought you could buy or pressure or manipulate.”
