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Giving myself a final once over, I grab my bag and make my way out of the apartment. I take out my phone and make a call as I descend the stairs.
“Jonathan? I’m on my way out. Can we meet by the bakery at the end of the street?”
Jonathan’s booming laughter startles me. “Running late today, miss?”
I sigh. “Unfortunately. I have a slight hangover, and I’m meeting a client in an hour.”
“Got it, miss. It’s already rush hour anyway.”
“Thank you! I’ll treat you to a croissant,” I gratefully reply, stepping out of the complex and into the bustling area of Saint-Germain-des-Pres.
“I’ll hold you to that, miss.”
With a click, Jonathan drops the call. I stuff my phone into my bag and head to the bakery, silently praying that today would be a good day despite the rocky start.
* * *
I spoke too soonabout smooth transactions, I think to myself, hardening my gaze at the old lady before me.
“I simply can’t sell this for a lower price, Miss Allair. The fairest price I can give for the piece is €506,120,” Mrs. Dupont argues, placing a gloved hand over my desk.
“Mrs. Dupont. If I may retaliate, our museum curates and buyshigh-qualitypieces.” I take a look at the painting on display before us, a work of Mrs. Dupont’s husband, who is surprisingly regarded as a rising artist in the art world, despite his old age.
“And? What is your point, Miss Allair?”
“My point is Mr. Dupont is still a rising artist despite his amazing works. It would be too much for our museum to acquire it at such a price,” I reason, trying to keep my cool about the bargain.
Usually, clients would be easier to deal with. They'd approach me with their best interests, yet with limited knowledge about how art and money work. Mrs. Dupont is the same, except that she’s persistent about her husband deserving more than what he can offer.
Obviously, I beg to differ. But I’m not about to bring my personal thoughts into the matter. Work is work, and personal relations aren’t needed here.
Despite my advice, however, Mrs. Dupont is relentless.
“This is one of my husband’s life works. Can’t you be kind enough to buy the piece?”
I hum. “Lower the price to €340,900 and we have a deal.”
“No! I will not settle for that low of a price.”
I sigh, already anticipating where this is going. “Do you want my honest opinion, Mrs. Dupont?”
“Yes. I would like to know why you refuse to buy the piece for the price it obviously deserves.”
I push myself out of my revolving chair and walk over to the painting.
“Despite the intricate details of the piece, Mrs. Dupont, the quality of the materials seems, for lack of a better word, cheap.”
“How dare—”
“I’m not done, ma’am,” I warn, smiling sweetly despite my irritation. “While oil paintsareindeed expensive, I can tell they were not recently bought. In fact, most of the materials used were accumulated from Mr. Dupont’s years of being an artist. Even the canvas.
“Not only that, but this frame is something I’ve seen countless times before.Someartists unreasonably double their artwork’s price by choosing this.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean my head to the side. “Now, if I were to be asked, the price I’m offering is still much more generous than its actual marketable value.”
With a shaky voice, Mrs. Dupont asks, “And what price might that be?”
“Only €206,080. And that’s something for a piece from a…lesser-known artist.”
Mrs. Dupont’s eyes grow wide. “T-That can’t be right!”
