Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“Hey,” said Kinley. David raised a hand in greeting.
“You came!” said Meredith. “I thought you’d never go for this sort of thing.”
Kinley shrugged. “I don’t, but hey, I figure I gotta show up for my little brother”—he leaned back to take in Meredith’s outfit—“or sister today, whatever. Maybe start a bidding war for a couple of your pictures and see how much the fat cats are willing to shell out.”
Meredith giggled and linked an arm through Kinley’s. “Let’s go mingle with the aristocracy, and you can tell me all about your meeting with the senator.”
“It’s called networking, darling,” drawled Kinley in very proper British. Switching back to his normal voice, he added, “This is a capitalist event first and foremost, don’t forget that.”
“Yeah,” said Meredith, “and speaking of, I spotted this jade bracelet of Manuel Holland’s and I mean to have it. Come on.” As he and Kinley departed, he called to David, “Good luck.”
Then David was left alone. His gaze traveled over the Deranged Scribblings again. With a sudden impulse and a furtive glance around, he placed a bid on the Forkupine, then made haste for the VIP lounge.
It turned out to be a small area partitioned off between the mezzanine and the back staircase.
David had expected someone to check his presence against the guest list, perhaps even to question it so that he might have to mention being invited by Cartier personally, and was rather let down to find the door open and unattended.
No matter. He was here now, and lawfully so. After taking one last moment to compose himself, he stepped inside.
Maitland Cartier wasn’t there.
Adalynn was, speaking to a woman David didn’t recognize, while Florian poured himself a drink at the makeshift bar.
David did not think he could bring himself to hold a civil conversation with Florian Schwarzwelder.
In a stroke of good fortune, however, his back was turned, so David gave Adalynn a quick nod and ducked back through the doorway.
Returning to the auction floor, he tried to quell his bitter disappointment—not only at Cartier’s absence, but at the betrayal of the unguarded room. Nobody would have stopped him from walking right in, not that it mattered any longer.
No. Cartier would be there, David insisted to himself. He’d said so. Perhaps he was simply late to arrive, held up by other matters. He was, after all, an important and busy man. David could wait, and resolved to relax and enjoy the auction in the meantime.
He had several canapés from the buffet table, made polite small talk with the few coworkers who had sufficient clout to receive an invitation, and waved to Harriet across the room in a brilliant red dress.
She was deep in conversation with a group of women in conservative formalwear—definite finance types.
Best not to interrupt, David decided. At one point, he thought he caught a brief glimpse of Sylvania Holland in her brocaded silks, but soon lost track of her in the crowded room.
Detaching himself from his colleagues, he prowled through the throng of auction-goers alone.
He kept an eye out for Maitland Cartier, did his best to avoid Steve Corner, and tried to quash the mix of frustration and longing that arose within him every time he caught sight of Meredith in the crowd.
He was in his element, sparkling and effortlessly charming and going around air-kissing everyone who wasn’t David.
Tearing his gaze away, he turned to the nearest table and found himself standing before Manuel Holland’s jewelry.
Even if it hadn’t been obvious which piece Meredith liked—a bangle bracelet in pale green jade, carved with a dragon motif—he’d know his handwriting anywhere.
His was the only bid so far, a modest but respectable offer.
David smirked to himself. Perhaps a bit of petty mischief was in order, payback for Meredith’s whispered words before they’d left the house. He entered a bid for one dollar more, and tried not to think about Meredith bending him over the kitchen table.
I ought to fuck you over this table right now so you can still feel me all night.
Perhaps when they got home, he could convince Meredith to make good on his…threat? Offer? Or perhaps they’d venture upstairs again so that David might acquaint himself with the contents of the second drawer.
Not the time or place, he admonished himself. Even if that was rather the point—Meredith hadn’t even had to go through with it to ensure that the idea stayed in his head all night.
He straightened his tie and mentally reviewed all the line items he remembered from the caterers’ invoice, which was burned into his brain nearly as vividly as the words he was trying to forget.
“David!”
Startled, he whirled around, and Harriet seized him in an embrace. David hugged her tight, lifting her off her feet. Another measure of tension left him; though he’d gotten caught up in his work, he’d been more worried than he realized about his unreturned phone call.
When he released her, she gave him an appraising once-over. “Hey, nice tie.” Then, taking in his expression, she tilted her head to one side. “You okay?”
“I was starting to think perhaps I’d offended you,” he confessed, then paused. “Have I offended you?”
“What? Oh!” She punched him lightly in the arm. “No, you big dummy. I went up to Vancouver Island to visit my grandparents this weekend, remember? I was flying back when you called. Sorry I dropped the ball on getting back to you, though. I’ve been playing catch-up all week since I got back.”
“That’s all right,” said David, and meant it.
Retrieving her glass from the nearest table, Harriet asked, “How are you? How’s the house-hunting going?”
“It isn’t,” said David. “It was, but I’ve stopped, but—” He shook his head. “It’s a long story.”
Her eyebrows rose as she took a sip of her drink. “Is everything all right?”
Of course it is, he meant to say. Why wouldn’t it be?
“Everything,” said David, “has gotten quite complicated.”
Harriet nodded. “Walk with me.”
He filled her in on it all—Meredith, the Erlking, and the impending sale of the Midnight Wood—over the course of several circuits around the room, punctuated by numerous stops for each of them to check their respective bids.
Harriet was determined to acquire a hand-painted silk scarf and a blown-glass figurine of a swan.
Meanwhile, David raised his bid on the Forkupine twice, and was secretly impressed at how Meredith managed to outbid him on the bracelet every time it left his sight.
Though David glossed over the more salacious details, he gave Harriet the main points.
A small worry that he ought to be properly networking still gnawed at the back of his mind—no matter how disparaging Kinley’s pronunciation of the word—but David felt much better talking to Harriet and getting it all off his chest.
“This is a mess,” said Harriet. David nodded morosely. “A mess,” she repeated. “A train wreck.”
“Yes.”
“Tomorrow,” she said. “I’m staying at the Bingham Inn tonight and I’ve got a business brunch in the morning, but before I leave town tomorrow night, you can take me to dinner and we’ll figure this out. As for right now?”
“Yes?”
“Right now,” said Harriet, “you’re going to talk to Maitland Cartier.”
“What?” At Harriet’s nudge, he turned, and she gave him a little push right into Cartier’s path.
“You’ve got this,” she whispered, and then she was gone.