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She laughs. “How long are you here?”

“Not long,” I reply.

“I’m handling a private client matter.”

“Then I assume you’re buried in an archive somewhere during daylight hours?”

“More or less.”

Rebecca tells me about her move into private sales, and I ask about two people I remember from the London market. The conversation stays exactly where I want it.

Work.

Travel.

People we both know professionally.

Nothing personal enough to require care.

When Rebecca is pulled away by another guest, I take a glass of champagne from a passing tray and move toward the next gallery.

I had forgotten how much I liked this part of the work. Not the performance of it, but the fluency. Knowing who needs an introduction and who does not. Knowing when someone is genuinely interested in a piece and when they are interested in being seen beside it. Knowing how to move through a room without needing anyone to tell me where I belong. I belong here now in a way I had not fully learned the first time. The realization is quiet, but satisfying.

A representative from Harrington & Vale steps to the front of the central room shortly after eight to make brief remarks about the collection. Conversations soften around me while he speaks about several works being shown privately before their formal sale announcements.

I listen with half my attention while studying a large abstract canvas across the room.

When the remarks end, the volume rises again.

Someone stops beside me.

“Blaire?”

I turn and recognize Daniel Foster, a specialist I met years ago through a private collection project.

“Daniel,” I say. “Hello.”

“I heard you were in San Francisco now,” Daniel says.

“I am.”

“How is it?”

“Busy,” I reply. “In a good way.”

“You always liked busy.”

“That hasn’t changed.”

Daniel asks about the advisory firm, and I give him the shortened version. Partner. Private collections. Acquisitions, dispositions, collection strategy. Enough information to satisfy professional curiosity without opening any doors I do not intend to open.

We are halfway through a conversation about a collector in Pacific Heights when something shifts.

I feel it before I understand it.

The sensation is so immediate that I stop listening for half a second.

Someone is watching me.