AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Damn his con artist hide.
“He’s not coming,” Halsey repeated. “I played this all wrong.”
Zeke quit fussing with a Warhol, a Campbell’s Chicken ’n’ Dumplings soup can, and went to Halsey, putting his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Live cons aren’t an exact science.”
Halsey wasn’t reassured until the door buzzer rang, and then he couldn’t help but show his relief and pleasure with a lip curl. Lenny was there with him, tense from the waiting, excited by the coming showdown.
“Amateur,” said Zeke on the way to the door.
While he was gone, they watched each other through the glass. From the other side, it was disguised as a mirror. Halsey couldn’t see her, only himself. Still, it felt like he was standing in front of her with no barriers, drinking her body in.
He’d made her feel beautiful on the couch in a way no dress, miracle underwear, makeup, and perfectly arranged hair could. He’d made her want him wildly and not be the least embarrassed when his hand had battled with her scuba suit. He made her feel that now, which was a better trick than shapewear, buttons, and Dixie cups, or the kind of ego play that made him bet on Cookie Jar being ripe to con.
As soon as she could engineer it, she was seeing him naked. Mal needed to hurry up and apologize to Ginny and have another sleepover so they could have the apartment to themselves.
God, I miss living alone.
When Cookie Jar walked into the room, he ignored Halsey’s greeting, missed the way he tried to hide his amusement at that, and went straight to the Kandinsky. He’d been forced through a security check and left his security detail outside, and now Zeke attended to him with a bored tone to his voice.
“What you see are paintings held privately by a number of high-profile families. I show private collections such as this annually to a select audience of discerning buyers.” Zeke gesticulated over his shoulder toward Halsey. “Mr. Sherwood vouched for you.”
Cookie Jar bristled at that, as if he needed anyone to speak to his standing.
“Each canvas in the room is on offer. No owner needs to sell. The auction is silent. I can guide you as to an appropriate bid. You’re looking at a Kandinsky.”
It was a painting that looked to Lenny like pretty coffee cup rings.
“It’s called Composition of Circles. Oil on canvas painted in 1926. One of the most important early abstract works still in private hands,” Zeke said.
“What do they want for it?” Cookie Jar asked.
“A bid of above one hundred and fifty million would be considered. A steal when you consider Picasso’s Woman of Algiers fetched one hundred and seventy-nine million two years ago, and of course da Vinci’s Salvator Mundi sold for four-fifty million.”
Lenny’s hand flew to cover her mouth. Not that they could hear her exclamation of shock. Art was a rich person’s game, but she’d had no idea that when Halsey said he was going to bankrupt Cookie Jar sums of money this vast would be involved.
Cookie Jar showed no emotion at all. He turned to Halsey. “Have you bid already?”
Halsey gestured to the Caravaggio. “Prime Minister, I’m not one for old masters, and Warhol doesn’t do it for me.”
Cagey. That left the Picassos and the Kandinsky, which made a flicker of annoyance flitter across Cookie Jar’s face.
“The Kandinsky last sold for fifty million, twenty years ago. Imagine the value in another twenty,” said Zeke. “It’s a strong investment.” He went on to talk about the Picassos, while Halsey made a show of strolling slowly past them to the Kandinsky. He retraced his steps and then did something with his phone.
“I have emailed you a bid,” he said to Zeke, almost as an aside.
“On The Dream?” Zeke asked, naming one of the Picassos. A woman in a red armchair, her head tilted at an extreme angle, and her eyes closed. “A good choice.”
“I’d rather not say,” Halsey said. “At these prices, I don’t need the competition. The prime minister is a wealthy man.”
“I believe this is too wealthy for me,” Cookie Jar said, offering his hand to Zeke. “Thank you for your time.” He looked at Halsey. “I’m obliged to you for introducing me to these masters. I hope to see you again.”
With that, he was gone. It was all over and done with in less than fifteen minutes. Curiously, neither Zeke nor Halsey looked upset at the failure.
Mystified, Lenny joined them in the gallery. “You’re not concerned he didn’t take the bait?”
The set up for this was elaborate. The artwork and lighting, discreet signage, security on the door. The gallery was a space that had once been used by a research company for focus groups, and in an hour, it would be a vacant shell once again.
“He’s taken it.” Zeke held his phone out. “Wait, wait.” It pinged and he grinned and read the screen. “He just bid on the Kandinsky. One hundred fifty million.”
