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Shit!
My cell almost immediately vibrates with a follow-up.
FORD
Handled.
I pocket the cell while rolling my eyes. Ford is a man of few words, but Christ, he could have elaborated.
Thankfully, I don’t need to be concerned for long as a clearly alerted Jules appears beside me, his dark eyes focused intently on an oblivious Creswell.
Lucia stands and rounds the side of the stage, her low-cut emerald-green dress molded to her voluptuous curves, holding the attention of all present until she arrives at the auctioneer’s podium to the right of the catwalk.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome toRavish. As always, before the bidding may commence, we begin with the rules.”
She flourishes a list, entirely for the sole purpose of being a drama whore, before running through the straightforward regulations, the only real foothold of power I’ve managed to retain.
“No touching or taunting.” She peers in my direction, her laughing eyes landing on a rapt Oliver Creswell. “I’m looking atyou, Ollie.”
Most of the guests titter at her in-joke as Oliver howls before Lucia continues. “Only guests registered and in receipt of a paddle may bid on tonight’s lots. Payment is electronic and instantaneous. And please remember,allsales are final.”
There’s a pause as she allows that to sink in before she gestures to the first lot. “With that being said, our first beauty is Sapphire, and she is open to the list displayed on the monitor to your left.”
The blue-wigged girl emerges from behind the curtain, sashaying down the catwalk with a sway of her hips that sees more than a handful of men and women sit forward in readiness.
Lucia smiles devilishly, relishing her role as ringmaster when she spreads her arms wide in welcome. “We’ll start the bidding at seventy thousand.”
CHAPTER2
WREN
SOUTH BROOK, LONG ISLAND
“See you tomorrow, Mrs. Porter.”
My beautiful boss smiles before reaching out to grab my hand, squeezing gently. “I’msoproud of you, Wren. You absolutely smashed today out of the park.”
I can’t help grinning as a sense of accomplishment flows through me. “It was wonderful, wasn’t it!”
She nods enthusiastically. “I see big things in your future.”
A purposeful cough sees her glancing over my shoulder to her waiting son, Matt, who’s tapping his foot by the front door.
With a good-natured roll of her eyes, she chuckles. “I can take a hint, Matty boy. Have fun celebrating, you guys. You’ve earned it.”
Giving her a small nod, I walk toward the open front door and step out onto the warm sidewalk outside Zephyr, the gallery where I’ve been a curatorial intern for the last eleven months.
“Bye, Mom!”
Matt closes the door behind us without waiting for a response, falling into step beside me as we make our way toward Oracle, the trendiest bar in South Brook, where we’re meeting the rest of our friends for celebratory drinks.
Art has long been a passion of mine, and once I heard that Zephyr might be hiring, I’d blown off all thoughts of going to university with my friends, instead focusing on being ready to step into the position of a lifetime.
I’m positively glowing under the praise of Delilah Porter, knowing she’s a powerhouse in the field of fine arts, and under her tutelage, I might have a gallery of my own someday.
Considering I’m a hobby artist who refuses to share my amateur doodles with anyone aside from my mother—who isclearlyblowing smoke up my butt when she tells me it’s good—curating and managing true talent is the only tangible option available to me if I want to work in the industry.
Today was the culmination of months of work, seeing reclusive local artist, Frederick Hanson, unveil his collection. Media and art enthusiasts from all over the world had come to Zephyr following a six-month media blast spearheaded by yours truly.
