Chapter Three
Ava
I drive slowly and carefully toward the auction.
Ever since becoming a mother, my driving abilities have gone from regular to downright driver ’s-ed-tape-worthy.
Theo cries for a few minutes, then settles down.
Mom and Dad tell me I’m lucky; Theo cries far less than I did when I was his age.
And I do feel lucky, for that, sure, and also for his very existence.
Mom and Dad are usually cool about taking care of their grandson. But tonight is their anniversary, hence the sitter, and I don’t want to disturb that… even if I know they’d cancel their plans for me. They deserve to have some time together to celebrate.
“This is a big night,” I murmur, pulling to a stop at a red light.
“Mommy’s big night, Theo. I hope you can be a good boy for Auntie Cassie.
If I can make some good purchases for the gallery, maybe Adrian will give me more responsibility.
And you know what that could mean? A pay bump.
And you know what that means, sweetie? That means more independence.
We won’t have to rely on anyone one day.
It’ll just be me and you, Grandad and Grandma. ”
He makes a beautiful sound halfway between a laugh and a snort.
“That’s right,” I agree. “We don’t need anyone.”
Least of all, Michael.
That’s what I tell myself as I drive, ignoring the pit in my stomach, the ache that hasn’t shown any signs of fading in almost eleven months. Still, this is the lot of some women, many women, and I wouldn’t trade Theo for the world.
I feel eyes on me as I carry Theo through the function hall toward the offices at the back.
Or maybe I’m just imagining it, projecting because I’ve felt the sting of self-consciousness ever since I first started showing as a young mother.
I’m twenty-three, so it’s not like I’m that young, but still…
Sometimes I think they can tell what happened just by looking at me. I imagine them thinking, Aw, poor girl, she bought some playboy’s lies and then he lumbered her with the consequences.
Adrian and Cassie are sitting at a small table when I enter.
Adrian is dressed sharply as usual. He stands, smiles tightly, his eyes staring in that way people call dead or shark-eyed.
Cassie is a bright, happy hippie, a thirty-year-old, with hair dyed multiple colors, wearing a set of denim overalls.
She coos as she walks over and gently takes Theo from me.
“I’ve got his bassinet in the car,” I tell her. “I’ll go and get it. I forgot. Sorry.”
“Ava,” Adrian says. “Take a breath. This isn’t that big a deal.”
I bite my lip, then release it. Not wanting to seem anxious sometimes makes me more anxious. I get anxious about seeming anxious. What a loop. “What if he starts crying? Will they hear? Is there a fridge in here? I’ve got my travel cooler, but—”
Cassie nods to the corner. “We’ve got a fridge. Don’t worry. That oh-so special milk won’t spoil.”
I flush, laughing. “You’re right. I need to chill. I promise, when I come back, I’ll be so Zen, you’ll ask if I’m changing my profession to full-time monk.”
I go outside again, this time imagining them thinking, What a mother, she’s abandoned her baby! and grab Theo’s stuff. When I return, Cassie has got Theo on her knee, cooing as he giggles happily up at her. Adrian is standing over the table, papers spread out beneath him.
I set the stuff down, then go to his side. “These are the ones we need to look out for,” he says, showing a few experimentalist pieces. “The artist is on the rise.”
“She sold a piece last month to those English aristocrats for half a million, right?”
Adrian grins at me, nodding. “Yes, precisely. That’s why I’d like us to circulate before the auction begins. We have two chances here. The first is to network, expand our reach, and make friends who might become useful later.”
“The usual schmoozing,” Cassie comments. “Better you than me.”
“And the second is to subtly downplay Athena Gravestone’s value,” Adrian mutters, tapping his chin.
“But the subtle part is important. We don’t want to be seen outright slandering an artist. If we can lower her value in the eyes of a few players, we might be able to snag some pieces a little cheaper. ”
“Athena Gravestone,” Cassie mutters. “That has to be made up.”
Adrian chuckles. “She’s a genius, Cass. She can call herself anything she wants.”
“When I’m branded a genius, you won’t even be able to print my name. It’ll be a public offense,” I say with a grin.
Adrian rolls his eyes at me, and I smile. I’ve got a dad, who’s supportive, who I love, who loves me, but sometimes, Adrian feels like my work dad.
Adrian’s cellphone rings. He takes it out of his jacket pocket, and his smile immediately becomes more convincing. Not that I need convincing, it’s just… well, sometimes, in certain lights and at certain times, I know what people mean when they call him unnerving.
He leaves the room, so I sit beside Cassie, gently stroking Theo’s cheek. He giggles but also gives me one heck of a stink eye as if I’ve just intruded on him and Cassie. Cassie notices, laughing, shooting me a wink.
“Have you noticed that Adrian only ever looks really happy when his wife calls?” Cassie asks.
“Hmm,” I murmur, afraid to overcommit in case I ruin this once-in-a-lifetime job opportunity.
“Hmm,” Cassie echoes, laughing. “I’m not a spy, Ava.”
“I think it’s nice he loves his wife. This world has too many men who are willing to abandon and ignore their women. Who are willing to just… just walk away and pretend like they never made a commitment to begin with.”
Whoa, slow down.
“Their women,” Cassie repeats. “I didn’t know you were so… old-fashioned.”
“I’m not,” I say, meaning it. “I don’t know where that came from. I think maybe I’m just nervous.”
“Hey, it’s cool. You don’t have to explain.”
Her eyes flick to Theo, still right at home on her knee. Neither she nor Adrian have ever asked about his father, a fact I’m very grateful for.
Adrian returns, moving his hands wide as if to clap them together.
But he stops before his palms collide, smiling at Theo.
He mime-claps instead. “Showtime. Ava, with me. Cassie, take notes on any calls from artists or other dealers. If you think it’s important, text me and I’ll come back here to deal with it myself.
And most importantly…” Adrian walks over, and ever so gently reaches down and takes Theo’s hand. “Take care of the little man.”
“You got it, chief.”
After giving Theo a kiss, Adrian and I leave the back room. Other dealers and gallery owners file out with us, all of them doing their own version of our game plan, all with their own agendas.
The large hall is filling up now, serving staff circulating with silver trays of champagne and non-alcoholic alternatives. I go for the alternative, wanting to keep a cool head. Plus, I get worried about breast milk. Apparently, you can have a few small glasses, and it doesn’t matter, but still…
“Nothing to do now but schmooze,” Adrian says. He nods to a group of high-society women, glittering dresses, stylish bangs. “I’ll take those. I recognize Cecilia from a party a few months ago. Would you mind taking him?” He gestures to a man leaning against the wall at the edge of the room.
“Sure,” I murmur. “Who is…”
Adrian disappears before I can finish the question.
Okay, I’m on my own.
The man is probably in his mid-twenties, wearing flashy gold rings on three out of five fingers on each hand, lazily looking around like he’s too good for this place. I swallow a ball of nerves, put on my best customer-service face, and walk over.
“Hi, I hope I’m not disturbing you,” I say.
He hears me. I see him react subtly, but he doesn’t look at me right away. Across the room, the group of ladies laugh loudly at something Adrian says.
Finally, the man kicks from the wall and turns. “You’re with Kovacs, yeah?”
“That’s right,” I say. “I’m Ava Ward. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure?”
“Ruthless bastard, your boss,” he replies. “I’m Hank, if you can believe it. People never think a man like me would have a name like Hank. But there it is. Hank Mayweather. Like the boxer. Except I can’t fight.”
He offers me his hand.
“Oh, I’m sure you can fight,” I say, sounding inane even to myself.
He holds my hand for a beat too long. I don’t like it, but unfortunately, it’s part of the job. “Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know. Stupid. I’m stupid.”
I am not stupid, but I’m saying it anyway.
Get it together.
He lets go of my hand. “Do you know who I am?”
I almost say, Hank? But then I quickly stop myself. I think fast. His tone implies that I should know. Maybe that’s why Adrian didn’t tell me; he assumed I did too.
“How could I not know one of the most prestigious collectors in the city?” I say.
Hank grins, but there’s a look in his eyes, knowing.
I take a leap. “Though I know you like to keep a low profile.”
He nods slowly. “But it seems my reputation precedes me.”
“And you’re telling me that’s entirely unintentional?” I say, offering a smile.
My mother once told me, Everything is useful. I’ve taken that and run with it. Years of working in stores as a teenager, then more years as a waitress taught me how to read people, how to shape myself to what they expect and want.
In fact, the only time I didn’t do that was with Michael…
Get him out of your head.
Hank holds his hands up. “Guilty.” A pause. “So, what have you and Kovacs got your eye on?”
“Nothing in particular,” I lie.
“Not that you’d tell me, anyway.”
“I might be new, Mr. Mayweather, but I’m not that na?ve.”
He chuckles. “A shrew operator in the making.”
I hope so.
“Dare I ask you the same question?” I counter.
“Have you heard of Athena Gravestone?”
I pretend to think, then nod. “Oh, yes, of course. She’s very… experimental.”
He narrows his eyes. “Experimental is good, no, Miss Ward?”
“Oh, yeah. Athena is incredibly talented.”
“Why do I feel like there’s a but in here somewhere?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. Athena is incredible. Young – sure – and perhaps a little untamed, but incredible.”
“One might be forgiven for thinking you’re implying a sensible man might give her a few more years to develop.”
“Well, one might remember that this one has said no such thing.”
“Only heavily implied it.”
I hold my hand up. “Why do I feel like you’re trying to get me to slip up?”
He laughs. “Or perhaps you’re so clever, you’re pretending to slip up.”
“That sort of thing is over my head.”
“What thing?”
“Politics…”
My breath catches. I almost fall. It’s so melodramatic, but I swear, my knees nearly buckle.
Across the room, framed over Hank’s shoulder, a ghost has just walked into the room.
A ghost with dark hair streaked with silver and a light stubble across his jaw, a six-foot-one ghost with muscles straining out of his tight-fitting suit, a ghost who kissed me and claimed me, then abandoned me with our child.
Michael – I don’t even know his surname – adjusting his cufflink as half the women in here eye-fuck him into oblivion.
“…metaphysical aspect,” Hank is saying.
I tune in quickly, praying he doesn’t notice the atom bomb that has just detonated in my chest. “Yes, yes, of course.”
“Still,” Hank mutters. “Maybe I’ll pass her up this time. Thanks for the tip, Miss Ward.”
“You’re, yeah, uh, you’re welcome.”
He looks askance at me. “If you’ll excuse me?”
“Sure.”
I lick my lips, staring, wondering if I’ve lost my mind. But I remember how we talked about art that magical night, how he spoke about the time-stopping aspect of it. He said he liked to lose himself in paintings. Then he called me a painting, and it didn’t feel silly or like a line.
It felt real. It felt like the start of something.
He strides across the room with that same confidence I’ve seen countless times in my traitorous dreams, takes a drink from a waiter, then turns, scanning the room.
When he sees me, a jolt goes through his entire body, like he’s just been electrified. His hand tightens around the stem of the glass until it trembles and liquid sloshes over the rim.