4
JAKE
Mr. Anderson’s face appears on the screen alongside his wife. "Good morning, Jacob,"
"Good morning, Mr. Anderson, Mrs. Anderson. Pleasure to see you both again," I reply, a practiced smile on my face. “And you can just call me Jake.”
Mrs. Anderson leans forward, her enthusiasm evident. The backdrop of their luxurious living room showcases an impressive collection of artworks. “We've been eyeing the Giovanni Battista painting you posted online. It's breathtaking."
I glance at my notes, maintaining a composed demeanor. "Ah, the Ephemeral Echo. It's a remarkable piece with a rich history." My gaze shifts to the image on the screen. "It underwent an extensive restoration to bring out its true essence. What specifically drew your interest?"
We discuss the piece for a bit before they are the ones that bring up the price.
I lean back. "Given the historical significance and the meticulous restoration work, we're looking at seventy-five thousand dollars. However, I'm open to discussion."
There's a brief pause as they exchange glances, undoubtedly assessing the value against their budget. The woman chimes in, "It's a substantial investment, but this piece is exceptional. We need a day to discuss it and get back to you."
"Of course, take your time. Art is a personal journey, and I want you to feel a connection to the piece."
“Wow, that’s the first time I’ve heard a collector say something like that,” Mr. Anderson says.
Mrs. Anderson nods. “Yes, they’re usually so quick to make a sale.”
“That’s not how my business works at all.”
“I can see that.” Mr. Anderson nods. “Let’s see how this acquisition goes. I also see myself working with your company in the future.”
I smile in return before the call disconnects. I’ve learned to play the long game in my three years of working in the business. There are two rules I personally follow—don’t act too eager and let them know they’re the only option.
I sigh as I lean against my chair.
Bea’s voice comes from the door. “Sir, you’ve got your eleven o’clock now.”
“Right. What was that again?”
“The board meeting, sir?”
Crap. I was so focused on the Andersons that I totally forgot about that.
Bea hands me a folder. “Don’t worry, sir. Mr. Quiney and I have everything ready for you.”
“God bless you both.” I flip through the pages as I go.
I gather myself before walking into the conference room.
The air inside is heavy with the collective frown of several stern-looking board members.
Bea subtly slips away, leaving me to face the gauntlet of disapproving gazes.
"Sorry I'm late, gentlemen. Got caught in a stampede at the coffee machine. Apparently, decaf was on sale," I announce with a sheepish grin, hoping to inject a dose of humor into the room.
I shuffle toward my seat at the head of the table.
"Well, at least it's a good workout. Cardio, you know?”
I clear my throat, flipping through my folder. “So, where were we?”
One of the board members, Nelson, leans forward, adjusting his glasses. “We need an update on the European collaboration.”
“We’re setting up our base in France, but we hope to take over Milan and Nice quickly. We also plan to take on museums in Rome and Verona. If anybody has requests or personal connections to cities outside the list, I'm all ears.”
“Paris is a jackpot.” Nelson peers over his folder, which looks significantly bigger than mine. I double check mine. Did Bea miss something? She’s usually so thorough about everything. “Is that where you’re going to build the European headquarters?”
“If we’re going to work long-term and create lasting partnerships, we’re going to need more than just that,” Idris, another member, says.
“Yes, we definitely need a physical presence if we’re going to continue working with museums all over Europe. The logistics of working overseas is not going to be feasible for long,”
I say. “We’re already scouting for places in Central Paris, and we hope to finalize something by the end of the month.”
“I did not just mean that when I meant establishing a physical presence,” Idris says. “We need a strong connection, an expert.”
“With all due respect, I think we are all experts here,” Nelson says, obviously miffed.
Idris scowls. “And why are you taking that so personally?”
“Gentlemen.” I clear my throat. They turn their dagger eyes to me. “Nelson, I understand what you’re trying to say, and Idris, I totally agree. We need to start from scratch and build the department; for that, we need a fresh perspective. In fact, we’re already in the process of hiring an associate with a background in art history and experience working at a museum.”
Idris seems impressed. “Looks like you’ve got everything handled already.”
Nelson nods grudgingly.
“I know how big this project is. Objectively, one of the biggest ones for us since we started this unit. And I will do my best to do it justice.”
I get nods all around, all the approval I will get from them.
“Well, I’m satisfied with our progress. You’ve addressed everything I was concerned about.” Idris starts to get up, and everybody else follows suit.
There’s a soft pat on my shoulder, and I look up to see Nelson peering down at me.
I start to stand up, but he stops me.
“You remind me of your grandfather,” Nelson says. “You’re doing good for yourself, Jacob. We all see the work you do for the company. We were all a little apprehensive when you started the art restoration unit, and most of us thought you would fail.”
“Thank you, I think?”
He continues, undeterred. “We have big hopes for you. And if, at times, it feels like we’re being hard on you, rest assured, we’re just looking out for you.”
I’m touched by his words. “Thanks, Nelson.”
The board meeting mercifully concludes, and I step out into the hallway, greeted by Bea's ever-efficient presence with a cup of coffee waiting for me.
“You are a lifesaver,” I say.
She cracks a rare smile. “You hired me for my lifesaving and coffee-making skills.”
"I did. How are we doing on the hiring front for the Europe team?"
She glances down at her tablet, a subtle frown appearing as she scrolls through the updates. "We've shortlisted three candidates with strong museum backgrounds. Interviews are scheduled for next week."
I exhale. "Next week won't cut it. We need someone in place sooner. Move the interviews up. See if we can shuffle things around."
She raises an eyebrow, her poker face unwavering. "Jake, you know it's not easy to reschedule interviews, especially with professionals of this caliber."
I run a hand through my hair. "Bea, we're on a tight schedule, and we need someone who can hit the ground running. See if you can work some magic. I'll owe you one."
“I thought you were supposed to be on the interview panel?”
“I can’t.” I shake my head. “I’m flying to Paris tomorrow to finalize a few details. I’ll have your sister and Freddie conduct the interviews. I’m sure you will manage things well between the three of you?”
She nods, the subtlest hint of a smirk playing on her lips. "I'll see what I can do. But no promises."
“Thanks, Bea.”
As I step into my office, my eyes widen at the unexpected sight of Chris and Henry lounging at my desk. With his perpetually disheveled brown hair and almost mischievous grin, Chris looks up from his phone. Henry, on the other hand, is frowning.
"Hey, Jake, long time no see," Chris says drily.
I frown. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”
“Apparently, your memory. You were supposed to meet us for lunch.”
"Shit. I completely blanked on our plans. Sorry, guys.”
“I hope there’s a good excuse for abandoning us.”
“I just got out of a board meeting that started at eleven and ran long. Won’t have any time to eat lunch today.”
Chris arches an eyebrow, and Henry raises his sandwich in a mock salute.
"Ran long, or forgot?" Chris teases.
I chuckle. "To be fair, both.”
“Hey, we get it. We all get caught up in our work,” Henry says.
“Not me,” Chris butts in. “I’ll never choose work over myself, food, or friends for that matter.”
“Chris—”
“No, don’t Chris me.” He folds his arms in front of his chest. “You owe us lunch because you left us hanging, and you know how seriously I take my food."
I rub the back of my neck. "I'll make it up to you both, I promise. Lunch is on me next time, and I'll even throw in dessert."
Chris raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "That's a start, but we were thinking of something a bit more... nocturnal."
“What is that even supposed to mean?”
They exchange knowing glances, and Chris leans back, crossing his arms. "You’ve cancelled the last three times we planned on meeting. You owe us big time, Jake. And by big time, I mean you're coming out with us tonight. We're hitting the bar. No excuses."
“I’m leaving for Paris in the morning, and I have all this to go through.” I point at the stack of paperwork on my desk.
Chris cuts me off with a raised finger. "No work excuses, bro. You need a break. Look at yourself and look at this place.” He nods at my office. “You can’t possibly be happy working here all the time.”
I know he means well, but it stings.
“I know it’s a little messy, but we’re working on this big project that’s coming up and…”
“Yeah, we know about that big collaboration you have with the European museums,” Chris says. “That’s all you can talk about, Mr. Big Shot.”
I feel a stab of guilt at his words. “It’s just important to me.”
“We understand, but that doesn’t mean you can’t hang out with us, you know?”
“I know, but don’t you remember what happened the last time I got shit-face drunk? I almost set myself on fire with a cracker, and you had to throw me in the common pool to douse it.”
“You were heartbroken, man,” Henry says. “Happens to the best of us.”
“Yeah, Trinity really messed you up.” Chris shakes his head.
The mention of Trinity leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
Henry glares at Chris before turning to face me. “The point is, we won’t force our plans on Jake. Especially if he is flying out in the morning for work.”
“We should. We miss you, man,” Chris says. “Did you forget how it used to be back in college? We should do something that fun again.”
“We’ll go now.” Henry glances meaningfully at Chris. “Let’s reschedule that lunch soon.”
I sigh after my door closes. I keep failing my friends.
Making my way over to my desk, I pull out the first drawer. There’s an old picture at the back with the date written. My stomach twists as I turn it over. It’s a picture of me and her…Kiera.
We’re standing in front of my dorm building, side by side. The picture was taken when I was moving in to the university, and Kiera had come with me. That’s where we later met Chris for the first time, and the rest is history.
I run my fingers over her face.
Kiera is smiling, her braces visible through the picture. She hadn’t gotten them off until the following week, and she insisted that I go with her and held my hand through it.
My chest aches at the sight of her.
I haven’t seen her since the night we fell apart. I miss her like crazy.
I can never forget college or the memories attached to it. And more importantly, I can never forget about Kiera and that night that was the best and the worst of my life.
I wish I could see her again. I wish things had turned out differently.
I wish she were mine.