Bending The Billionaire

e background. The light was angled perfectly to kiss the edges of every frame, each painting lit like it had been blesse

her, balancing her clipboard against her hip. She smi

closer to the oil painting as though proximity woul

ons, not age. His name, according to the RSVP list, was Phillip Lansing. Real estate money. He wore a navy blaz

ad like she was con

ting." She let her gaze wander, just briefly, toward the front entrance. "

. Lansing's expression f

yes drift toward the couple in red heels and a tailored grey suit, no, not that grey suit. This was a younger man, som

iffness in his shoulders. "Fine. Thre

e, Mr. Lansing. We'll ensure

ways included for a piece this size, but she'd let him believe he'd won som

ed the sale, but from the mental shift it took to reset her expression after every negotiation. She glanced t

, hollow protest; she'd been running on two coffee

vers murmured as she pa

linked

of the gallery. Grey suit. Tall. By the Rothko.

g not to notice until she decided it was the right time to notice.

t: one scuffed desk, an ancient laptop, a stack of packing invoices leaning precariously

to six percent, and the charger at home was on its last legs. She debated ca

conversation, names of artists, murmurs about in

llery floor, scanning the cro

en she

e, no ridiculously expensive watch. His hands were in his pockets, his stance relaxed but deliberate, like he'd chosen the exact angle to stand at.

him, weaving through a trio of women in glittering cocktail d

t glance.

ause for half a second, not because it wa

quite a smile. "Tell me why this is

, critical reviews, the gallery's reputation. Instead, she said, "The artist painted it in the week his fiancée left him for someone she

fted, "And peop

othly. "The art just gives them somet

s didn't leave he

and asked, "Would you like me to

back at the painting. Instead, he gave the smallest of nods, as t

back on the job, but when she glanced

hear when she caught sight of him again, at the far end of the

rsation partner. Just him, watching her

"how divine the brushwork is." But the hairs along her neck were already on alert. She knew

herself with a polite, "If you'll excuse

f voices dulled, replaced by the soft buzz of the fluorescent light over

ss V

the throat-clearing most men used

feet away, hands still in his

nswer my quest

ed. "I tho

e clarified. "Why do you care enou

practiced, unhurried move

r," he said evenl

almost-smile. "If I told you t

say I wante

ave nothing

r brushing the edge of his suit ja

e of the gallery did she let out th

Ar

llery's co-owner and Aria's unofficial handler, was gliding toward

co," Cassandra said, slipping an arm

s chec

othly, smiling for the benefit of the passing guests. Then

a beat. "Another

her eyes sharpened. "He doesn't lo

murmuring something about a call waiting in the office. Cassandra g

Again. A little bit disappointed, she decided to focus on attendi

es rep pack up the rest of the paintings