Lord at First Sight (The Montevor Royals Saga #8)

Chapter 32

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

LAURA

S hanghai is overwhelming, but Antoine is so lost in thought he hasn’t noticed. He’s been like this ever since we landed about forty minutes ago. The cab weaves through a city that’s bigger and bolder than Chengdu in every way. The sheer scale of things is enough to inspire awe. Shanghai has a population of thirty million, which is twice that of Chengdu. Oddly, it feels roomier. Where Chengdu is covered with a muggy blanket of smog, Shanghai is airy, no doubt thanks to its location on the coast.

But what impresses me most about this city is the skyscrapers stretching like silver needles to the sky. I’ve lived all my life in vertically capped Paris. When I traveled on vacation, it would be to historic cities across Europe, except for “provincial” Chengdu. To me, a skyscraper looks like something built by an alien civilization.

I steal a look at Antoine who’s sitting beside me. He hides his emotions well. But by now I’ve learned to pick up on the little signs—the way he grips his phone, the set of his jaw, the tightness at his mouth…

He’s been like this ever since Jie confessed she’d sold the music box. After we left Chengdu Poly Auctions, Antoine withdrew to a quiet spot to phone someone. An hour later, as we were ordering our lunch, he received a call. Again, he stepped out to answer it. When he came back, he announced that we were flying to Shanghai because his “friend” had cracked the auction house’s system and found the buyer’s name: Xiang Wu. A successful lawyer based in Shanghai, Wu is the new owner of the music box that had been sitting on my grandma’s shelf for decades, unnoticed and unappreciated.

Well, except by Jie.

The cab jolts over a pothole, and I grab the edge of the seat. Antoine scrolls on his phone, probably reading up on Xiang Wu or something equally productive. I, on the other hand, am unable to focus. There are too many questions crowding my head. What if Wu is out of town? What if he refuses to show us the music box?

What’s our end goal here, anyway? To take a picture of ourselves holding the box and email it to Pedro as proof that we found it and passed his secret challenge?

I’m about to ask Antoine when the driver announces, “Here we are.”

He points his chin at a glass-and-steel office building and pulls up. Antoine pays. We enter the vast lobby. The air smells of freshly cut flowers. Could be from the enormous arrangement on the front desk or a banal air freshener.

As Antoine approaches the receptionist, he wraps his hand around mine.

“We have an appointment with Mr. Wu of Wu & Associates,” Antoine says in English.

The receptionist, a young woman with a headset glued to her ear, flashes a dazzling smile. “Of course.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Bellay,” Antoine adds.

She picks up the phone and murmurs into it.

“We have an appointment?” I whisper to Antoine.

He nods without so much as a glance at me.

The receptionist hangs up and informs us in English, “Mr. Wu’s assistant will be down shortly to escort you.”

“Thank you.” Antoine gives her a brief, formal smile.

The ease with which he conducts himself in this intimidating environment is at such odds with his clothes and tattoos that I get a dizzy spell.

Three minutes later, a man in a tailored gray suit introduces himself as Mr. Wu’s personal assistant.

“If you would follow me,” he says, leading us to the elevators.

We enter one. I can’t stop thinking about how Antoine managed to swing this meeting. An intervention from his rich dad, no doubt. It’s not like tattoo parlor owners have a direct line to Shanghai’s top dogs!

Two minutes later, we step into a pristine office with floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the city. A man in his fifties greets us, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed, and his handshake firm.

“Mr. Bellay, welcome,” he says in English. “Mrs. Bellay, a pleasure!”

I stammer, “Likewise.”

Wu motions for us to sit, and we settle into plush chairs opposite his enormous desk.

Antoine leans forward, all business. “Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Wu. I was hoping to inquire about an antique music box you purchased in Chengdu earlier this year.”

Wu’s expression doesn’t flicker, which surprises me. I was expecting annoyance or, at the very least, wariness. He had, after all, asked to remain anonymous.

Instead, he clasps his hands together and leans back in his chair. “Ah, you must’ve heard we’re putting it up for a charity auction.”

I blink.

Antoine’s shoulders relax visibly, but his face remains neutral. “Yes.”

“My wife had it appraised again here in Shanghai,” Wu continues. “The new estimate was double what I’d paid for it in Chengdu.”

I am so not reporting this to Grandma Feng! She was already upset when I explained to her why we couldn’t see the box at Jie’s. If she hears about the new estimate, she’ll spend the rest of her life cursing herself for her kindness.

“It was my wife who persuaded me to part with it,” Wu says.

Our raised eyebrows make him chuckle.

“We don’t need the money, eh,” he adds. “But my wife is very involved with an animal charity, and she kept telling me about all the great things they could do with the proceeds. She was so excited that I gave in.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Antoine commends him. “Can we see the music box before you auction it off?”

“I’m afraid it’s impossible.”

Antoine’s hand tightens on the armrest of his chair. “Why not?”

“The music box is already under lock and key at the Shanghai Treasure auction house.”

“I see,” Antoine says. “When will the auction take place?”

“Tonight, during a private gala dinner at the same venue.”

Antoine gives Wu a questioning look. While I have no idea what he’s trying to convey, the older man seems to have no trouble getting the message.

“It’s by invitation only,” he informs us with a smile. “Tickets are five thousand dollars a head. We’re going to have very high-profile attendees, luxury dining?—”

“That’s a very reasonable price,” Antoine cuts in.

Huh? In what universe?

Antoine hands Wu a business card. I can’t see what’s written on it, but it looks remarkably minimalistic for a tattoo artist.

“It’s settled, then.” Wu beams. “My assistant will issue tickets for you and your wife. You can pay directly at the venue. He’ll email you the details within the next ten minutes.”

Antoine nods. “That would be much appreciated.”

“I trust you’ll find the event enjoyable.” Wu rises to his feet.

Antoine and I stand and thank him.

Wu extends his hand again. “See you tonight—and welcome to Shanghai!”