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Looking up, I take note that the auction is in full swing. Someone is about to pay six figures for a watercolor painting by Brighton Beck. I’d toss my hat in the ring, but I’ve only ever bought one painting. It’s the one piece of art I own that I didn’t create.
I approach the bar and check the email Mitzi sent yesterday with the order of items that are available tonight. If things stay on track, my sculpture will be on the block within the next thirty minutes. I’ll be out of here and on my way back to my studio before I know it. I might as well settle in and enjoy the festivities.***An hour later, I’m cursing the person who got into a bidding war with Augustine. For some reason, only known to the man himself, Augustine desperately wanted to get his hands on an abstract painting of Santa Claus.
I stood in the shadows watching the bidding war heat up. It took more than twenty minutes as Augustine inched his way past the other Santa lover by upping each of her bids by a dollar.
The fact that the painting sold for less than a hundred dollars should have been a sign to both Augustine and the gray-haired woman in the leopard print scarf that it wasn’t worth the effort.
Augustine let out a shriek and jumped to his feet when the auctioneer lowered his gavel and declared Mitzi’s husband the winner. The woman in the scarf stormed out of the gallery leaving Augustine to enjoy the painting.
I take one last glance around the room as my sculpture is placed on the auction block. The murmured whispers around me are a sure sign that it’s going to eclipse the Santa Claus panting in price.
Thank Christ since I wouldn’t be able to show my face in public again if it didn’t.
The auctioneer calls out a starting bid of five hundred dollars.
At least a dozen hands fly in the air.
Bauer catches my eye from across the room. He’s standing near the stage, facing the crowd. He gauges their reaction while I stand behind them. Rows upon rows of people dressed in their holiday best are seated shoulder-to-shoulder as they try to one-up each other to get the prize of the night.
Tonight it’s the small metal sculpture I crafted over the course of a few days.
I smile inwardly as the auctioneer sails easily north of the five thousand dollar mark. If I were selling this piece myself, I’d price it at five times that.
More hands drop as the price inches closer to ten thousand.
When it passes the fifteen thousand dollar mark, two hands remain in the game.
One belongs to a dark-haired guy in a black suit. The other bidder is a woman. All I can make out is blonde hair with pink streaks running through it. My gaze wanders to the person sitting next to her.
I stare because her neck and upper back are a sculptor’s dream.
It’s exactly what I wanted to emulate years ago when I experimented with clay.
Bidding heats up with the amount passing the eighteen thousand mark.
Twenty thousand.
When it jumps to twenty-two thousand, the man’s hand wavers. He lowers it before it shoots back up.
The woman battling him for ownership of the sculpture bolts to her feet. “Thirty thousand dollars.”
Hell, yes.
I won’t see a dime of that, but the kids benefitting from this auction will. I’m about to applaud her when her bidding opponent shakes his head in defeat.
The auctioneer slams his gavel down. “Sold to Dexie Jones for thirty thousand dollars.”
I watch the blonde woman with the exquisite neck and back dart to her feet. She gathers Dexie Jones into her arms just as her gaze travels over the back of the room.
I take a step forward and then another for good measure because fuck me.
It can’t be. There’s no way in hell that the beauty dressed in red is the same woman I ran into yesterday.
I straighten the lapels of my jacket because for the first time, I’m about to introduce myself to someone who bought one of my sculptures at a charity auction.Chapter 7Raelyn“Look what’s headed our way.” Dexie elbows me harder than I think she intended.
I stumble but gain my footing when she grabs hold of my forearm.
“Just look.” Her voice is more insistent now, so I follow her gaze until it lands on two men.
Both are ridiculously good-looking. The slightly taller one is wearing a black suit and shirt. The shirt is unbuttoned at the collar giving way to the sight of a sliver of his smooth chest, and a peek of what looks like a tattoo. His brown eyes match the color of his hair.
The other man makes my knees go weak. With his brown hair pushed back from his forehead, I get a direct view of his striking blue eyes.
