I looked at her, breathing hard now. “It is?”
She was nodding, eyes alight. I looked to where Nash stood on stage, a smirk on his face as he looked down at his hands, then at us off stage. He nodded withagreeable excitement.
Next bidder, a woman in thick-framed glasses. $1.5-million.
My free hand flew to my chest, breath reedy as my airflow stopped. Three times whatDoubthad sold for.
Bee squeezed my hand.
Next bidder, a man in a dark suit and sunglasses. $3.5-million.
Nash rocked back on his heels, glancing at me again.
Back to the first bidder, weird suit guy. $10-million.
$10-million?
It was then that I realized who it was. It was the man from my latest show, the buyer ofDoubt.I liked that guy. I was rooting for him now.
New bidder, a kind-looking blond woman on a cell phone. $15-million.
My hand was shaking, and I knew Bee could feel it.
Back to the second bidder, the thick-framed glasses woman. $30-million.
“Fuck,”Bee swore beside me.
Nash swiped his fingers across his chin. His gaze circulated around the room and then to me.
My head was ringing now. I reached for my glass of champagne, downing it in a single gulp.
The first man, my man ofDoubt, of whom I had no doubt, stood now. His hand shot into the air, exclaiming,“$50-million!”
I froze. Dropping the champagne glass to the ground where it shattered. Bee jumped and shrieked. My eyes watched the man on the screen as he challenged each opposing bidder witha glare that said,don’t dare me; I will go higher.
The room was silent.
The auctioneer pointed at each previous bidder, each declining to counter-bid against my new favorite collector. When the gavel hit the counter, it was like a hammer hitting away the last hardened piece of my heart. It shattered and fell to the ground, living with the remnants of the champagne glass.
Bee shot out of her chair, dragging me up with her as she jumped up and down, hugging me and shrieking some more.They’d make a huge commission, and the person who initially boughtRedwas probably pleased with their investment—wherever they were.
I was sure all her excitement was for her family, and for the sale, but a part of me wanted to believe her excitement was for me, too. I let myself believe that. I let myself be a part of this happy and energy-filled moment, smile plastered on my face and tears threatening to fall.
Bee stopped jumping. It was so sudden; it jostled me.
“Shit,”she cursed in my ear, dropping my hand and stumbling back.
“Stop,”she yelled, looking over my shoulder.
Her yell echoed, and the pitch stung. Confused, I turned, not seeing what was happening behind me.
“Nash!” Bee yelled.“Stop him!”She was pointing at the man holdingRed.Her face was frantic and full of fear.
The man froze on the top step of the stage, facing us.
“Don’t youdare,asshole!” Bee took a step toward him, a threatening glare in her eye.
To my horror, the man smirked at her in response, grippingmy painting as though to show he wasn’t putting it down, ever. Then he winked at her—fuckingwinkedat her—before jumping down the remaining stairs and taking off at a sprint past us.
