“Interesting,” Carlyle muttered, “Very interesting. Who was the man? Is he here now?”
“Oh, of course not,” Christine replied.
Charles turned to look at her, red-faced, and asked with shock, “Was there a preview even before this one to which I was not invited?”
“Not at all! This is the only preview,” she assured him hastily, “The man was an employee. He merely helped me transport the painting and place it on its display.”
Charles eyed her for a moment and then nodded before asking, “You even helped place this up then? Sounds like your parents have tasked you with some laborious work there, lass.”
Christine, who couldn’t believe Carlyle had just called her a ‘lass,' was embarrassed. Even he knew her parents were going too far. She could only hope he truly bought that it was because she was being groomed for the family business and not that it was a form of her parents combatting some sort of criminal record for their daughter. She cleared her throat and looked around, hoping someone would come to her rescue.
“They want me to understand and appreciate every aspect of the business they’ve built up over the years,” Christine recited her own father’s words to this immensely important buyer.
He gave a nod of approval just before Milena Rossi, a well-known international art dealer, approached them. She looked at the painting for a brief moment before turning to look at Charles.
“Will you be bidding on this piece tonight?”
“I’ve not yet decided,” Charles replied.
Christine was unsure what to do. She no longer wished to be around Carlyle, but she was unsure if it would be perceived as rude for her to walk away without a word. She stood rooted to the spot, eyes trained on the face in the painting. The man from the elevator came to mind, and she felt her knees weaken for a fraction of a second. She let out a little gasp, which caught the attention of Carlyle and Rossi.
“My apologies,” Christine said hastily, “I must check on something.”
She rushed to the back and leaned against a wall with her eyes closed. It made no sense for her to have thought of the man, let alone react to him. He was a nobody, and she would likely never see him again. Even if she did, he was a mere menial laborer, and she was the daughter the owners of a particularly well known and successful auction house. It did not matter that the man was handsome with an intoxicating scent, he was too far below her.
“Miss Sunderby, is everything all right?”
Christine opened her eyes, and George came into view. She gave a small nod before heading to the kitchen for a drink of water. It was only then that she realized the preview would end in a mere ten minutes. She absolutely had to be out with the potential buyers for the remainder of the time. As she made her way back to the gallery space, she hoped against all hope that her mother was not there.
Luckily, her wish came true. Her mother was nowhere in sight. What was more, it appeared that Charles Carlyle had also left. Christine approached two of the people nearest her with a smile.
“I hope you’ve found at least a couple pieces to your liking in this year’s collection,” Christine said pleasantly.
“Well, I personally like almost every piece. It’ll be tough to narrow down what I’ll actually bid on tonight,” a woman with a pixie cut said.
“I found them all to be quite worthy,” a man with an upturned nose opined, “However, I’ve already settled on three pieces. If I take home at least one of those, I shall be pleased.”
“We are delighted to know the pieces are to your liking,” Christine told them, “I wish you both the best of luck acquiring your chosen pieces at tonight’s auction.”
Chapter Three
Later that evening, Christine had been primped and preened. Her hair was perfectly curled, and her mother had chosen a long, red velvet gown for her to wear. Once Christine’s makeup was done professionally, and she was finally ready to go, she stepped in front of the full-length mirror to admire her reflection. She looked stunning. The gown had a turtleneck and was sleeveless, contouring perfectly to her womanly curves.
Christine was responsible for displaying featured items at the auction. She would be partly responsible for making the buyers want to bid higher and higher as she showcased each piece. For the first time since the entire ordeal had begun, she was actually looking forward to putting in the work. Something was invigorating about standing on the platform in her beautiful gown, showing off the pieces her parents had worked hard to acquire. Truth be told, she was also curious to see what the winning bids were on each piece. If there was any part of her parents’ business she was genuinely curious about, it was this one.
About twenty minutes later, Christine stepped out of her chauffeured town car and walked in through the gallery. Where the paintings hung earlier were framed prints with auction numbers. There was a small crowd already gather holding auction paddles. Christine smiled pleasantly as she walked past them, acutely aware of some men ogling her as she crossed their path. She couldn’t blame them; she did look gorgeous, after all.
“Perfect,” her mother said the moment Christine stepped into the back room of the auction area.
“I hope you prepared appropriately for this,” her father said seriously.
“I’m sure I’m capable of standing next to some paintings, father,” Christine said flatly.
“It’s more than just standing there and looking pretty,” her father replied, “You have to look approachable and friendly. You have to make the buyers want to bid higher and higher. It is not as easy as it looks, young lady. I certainly hope you are taking this seriously.”
“Of course she is taking it seriously,” her mother cut in.
Christine sighed and turned away from her parents. Times like these, when they treated her like a clueless child, were the times she really hated being part of this business. Maybe she’d never shown interest, and she was constantly giving attitude about what they were making her do, but they were going too far. What her parents failed to see was that she was, in her mind, rightfully upset at having to do the laborious chores. Those were below her and she had no need to work on them because that would never be her job. She was the sole heir to their estate, and that included this business. As far as she was concerned, they needed to train her on how to run the business rather than how to sweep. That’s what the help was for.
“Are we ready?”
Christine turned to look at a well-groomed man, about her father’s age, whom she assumed to be the auctioneer. She nodded and he led the way. Christine put on her sweetest smile and stepped out, sure she would dazzle the crowd. As soon as the two of them were on the platform, a hush fell over the crowd. The auctioneer began the introduction for the evening before announcing the first item. Christine turned to her left and saw George moving swiftly toward her. He was wearing a suit and his hair was slicked back; she’d never seen him cleaned up like this and she had to admit he looked quite nice. Once the auctioneer gave her the go-ahead, Christine swiftly pulled the drape off the first painting.
“Let the bidding commence at $50,000! Do we have $50,000? Number 3! Do we have $55,000? Number 1! Do we have $60,000? Number 5! How about $65,000? Number 3! Can we go to-”
“$80,000!” shouted a slender man in the middle, holding up a paddle marked with the number 9.
“$80,000! Do we have $85,000?”
And so the bidding went on, with the man holding paddle 9 winning the first piece for $105,000. Every art piece that came along started at a higher bidding offer. Christine had never thought of something so basic, that the paintings would be introduced in order of increasing value. She kept an eye out for the piece with the gold frame because she assumed it would be the last given the measures her parents had taken with it.
It was after the first few items that Christine began to feel as though she was being watched by more than just bidders, all who were hungry for a good deal on one of the many desirable auction pieces. She scanned the crowd but the flurry of
paddles and numbers being called out made it difficult to focus. And so, Christine was unable to pinpoint where the feeling of being watched came from.
It was only when the final painting came up for auction, the portrait of the man who bore a striking resemblance to the man from the elevator, that she noticed the familiar face in the audience. It was that same man– and he was holding a paddle marked with the number 21. Christine gulped. If he was an employee, a man who handled deliveries, what was he doing sitting amongst the wealthy bidders? Christine’s mind raced.
“And now we have the piece of the evening, an extraordinary acquisition by the Mister and Missus Sunderby! This painting comes with its original, gold frame. It is not gold-plated, ladies and gentleman, it is pure gold surrounding this most notable of pieces.”
The auctioneer turned to look at Christine meaningfully. She immediately raised her hands and moved them with a flourish, stepping behind the painting to move to the other side. She continued to model it for about a minute before the auctioneer finally spoke again. The room was so quiet one could hear a pin drop.
“The bidding shall commence at 1.25 million. Do we have- number 7! Can we get 1.5 million? Number 13! How about-”
“3 million,” Carlyle shouted gruffly as he raised his paddle.
“3.5,” Rossi countered with finesse.
Christine looked at Carlyle’s red face only for a moment. Her attention was drawn to the man holding paddle number 21. He sat straight up, paddle at the ready, his eyes fixed on Christine. She felt a knot form in her stomach. He was clearly intent on purchasing the painting, but he would not take his eyes off her. She felt both intrigued and unsettled.
“4 million!” Carlyle screamed even louder than before, waving his paddle almost frantically.
“4.5,” Rossi countered calmly.
Christine could not believe the two of them were battling it out for the piece. She had to figure one of them would give in soon. There was a brief silence before the auctioneer called out, asking if Rossi’s was the final bid. Just as the bidding was about to close, a deep voice resounded in the room.
“6.5 million dollars.”
Christine whipped her head around just in time to see the man holding up his paddle marked with the number 21. It took every ounce of self-control for Christine to keep her jaw from dropping. He’d just been biding his time, waiting to swoop in at the last minute. It was obvious he knew what he was doing. It struck Christine that the man had so easily made a bid for such a large sum of money.
“7,” Rossi said, finally sounding a little less collected than earlier.
Christine could see a small smirk tugging at the man’s lips as he said, “7 million and 50 dollars.”
A small ripple of laughter ran through the crowd. This was a game to him, in some way, but he had a sense of confidence that told Christine he was sure he’d be walking away with that piece. He was intent on purchasing the portrait no matter the cost. She wondered why he wanted it so badly and why Rossi continued to bid against him. It was evident, however, that the man had come to the auction for that piece alone. She recalled him stepping into the elevator with her. She remembered the way he’d started at the painting after hanging it up. Had she been wrong? Was he not an employee? None of this made any sense. As she continued to wonder about the identity of the man and his obsession with the portrait, she felt the knot in her stomach tighten so much that she nearly felt sick.
The man was staring directly at her. It was as if his eyes were piercing into her, reading every thought that crossed her mind. She’d never experienced anything like it. If he was so intent on purchasing the portrait, why was his gaze fixed on her?
“7.25 million,” Rossi said a bit louder.
The man let the auctioneer nearly close the bid, once again, before quietly saying, “7.3 million dollars.”
A hush fell over the crowd. The auctioneer looked at Rossi, but she had finally given in. It was clear the man would stop at nothing to have the winning bid. Christine gulped. The auctioneer closed the bid, calling out ‘number 21’ as the winner of the grand piece. Rossi looked furious. Carlyle was stunned. Everyone else was completely silent. The mysterious man, however, seemed pleased in a way that indicated he’d known this would be the outcome all along.
That was the moment Christine made up her mind to find out who he was and why he would possibly be willing to pay so much for something so hideous.
Chapter Four
After the auction, the guests were mingling and sipping champagne in the gallery space of the auction house. Her parents made their way through the crowd making small talk and being pleasant on the whole. Christine wondered just how much of their behavior was completely fake and for the sake of their business. They were well mannered, to be sure, but some of the people in attendance simply were not the type for her parents to be sincerely fond of.
Christine, however, had absolutely no interest in mingling with the bidders. The only thing on her mind was finding the man who’d purchased the portrait for such a high price. She wanted to know his name and his reason for being so fixated on such a horrendous piece of art. It was clearly valuable, given Carlyle and Rossi were originally the two parties in a bidding war, but it clearly meant a lot more to the mysterious man. Christine scanned the crowd for the tall, handsome man but to no avail. He was nowhere to be found. Upon concluding he’d already left the auction house, having won what he went for to begin with, Christine felt a sense of disappointment. Now that she knew he was not just a deliveryman, she found herself more inclined to learn more about him.
By the end of the night, her curiosity had not subsided. She was intent on finding out the answers to her questions. She’d even gone so far as to ask her parents if they knew who the man was but they told her it was the first time he’d ever been to one of their auctions. Christine stood in the corner of the gallery helplessly staring at the thinning crowd. It was not until the employees got to work tagging everything for delivery, and her parents forced her to help, that Christine came up with a plan.
She decided that she would tag along for the delivery of the portrait. It did not matter if the man would have it sent to his house or office. Either of the two would provide her some insight as to who he was. She also knew that his name would have to be on the delivery forms. She mentally kicked herself for not having thought of it earlier. All she wanted was to find out who he was; he’d created an insatiable curiosity in her. So she made it a point to help tag that portrait under the guise of wanting to make sure the most important piece was handled properly.
“In fact,” she told Daisy, “I’ll be joining the delivery team for this particular piece. As you know, it is highly valuable and the client paid a very high sum of money for it. Given that my parents took extra precautions with this portrait from the start, it is only natural for me to see it through to the end.
Daisy nodded in agreement, looking rather impressed. Christine ignored the prickle she felt as a result of Daisy’s reaction. She hated that she had some kind of opinion on what Christine should and shouldn’t do. At the moment, however, it mattered a lot less than the mission Christine had laid out. Daisy was in charge of inputting all information, so it was essentially all in her hands for Christine’s plan to go through smoothly.
On the day of delivery, things were very much outside Christine’s comfort zone. She’d dressed professionally but had been careful to pick out an outfit that showed off her figure. She had no idea why she wanted to look good for the mysterious man. She rode along with one of the delivery drivers, who made friendly small talk despite the fact that Christine did not display much interest in conversing with him. It was not just that her mind was occupied, wondering what she was about to find out, she also did not care to make nice with a delivery driver.
When they pulled up to a rather sketchy looking district, she began to get nervous. She was also confused; why would a man who bid millions of dollars on a painting live in this sort of district? She had no
t processed the fact that he did not have an Upper East Side address when she’d spoken to Daisy about the delivery. Christine looked around and wondered if this was some kind of storage or business place for the man. The delivery truck pulled up to a large, brick building with something of an industrial look. Christine wondered if this was one of those up-and-coming trendy types of districts in the process of gentrification.
Once the deliveryman had unloaded the painting, they went inside the building to get on an industrial elevator for a journey to the second-to-last floor of the building. The elevator opened up directly to an entrance hall of a large, industrial loft. Stepping inside, Christine was both relieved and astonished at the strangeness of the décor. She stepped in further, tentatively, and looked around. The interior looked almost like a medieval castle had been set down inside a New York loft. It was astonishing.
“Miss Sunderby,” the deliveryman said in a quiet voice, “If the new owner of the piece comes out, will you be speaking to the client or would you like me to take care of that?”
“I’ll do it,” she said somewhat dismissively.
The mysterious man, however, did not make an appearance. Christine wondered if he was even home or if he’d left instructions to just place the painting in a particular location. She couldn’t help looking around. Leaving the deliveryman to do the lifting, she began to look around the large living area. She ran her fingers over everything she saw, knowing from her brief exposure to him at the auction house, that this was a man with far more than 7.3 million dollars stashed away. She wondered just how much everything in this loft was worth, which really made her question the man’s choice of neighborhood more than ever.
She looked around and noticed there were not very many paintings on the walls. There were, however, other decorations and sculptures. Everything was in keeping with the medieval theme, even the furniture. It was beautiful, if dark, and not at all tacky. Christine stepped further inside, having no qualms at observing every inch of the man’s house. There were no photographs of him or, rather, no photographs at all. It didn’t occur to her that it was rude and obtrusive in any capacity to look through someone’s house. All she cared about was finding out more about the mysterious man whose eyes had pierced through her at the auction house. Even his name remained a mystery since he’d not filled out a proper one on the forms after the auction.
The Campus Jock: A College Bad Boy Romance Page 40