I spent the rest of the afternoon working and answering phone calls from the heads of divisions. To my own great frustration, curiosity nagged within me to go out and check on how the team was getting on with Ada. I had been determined to ignore her presence and set her strict guidelines, and hovering over her shoulder like a fool wouldn’t accomplish either.
Adam knocked on my door a little after six in the evening. “I have been showing Ada the ropes on client management,” he said. “And she had some great insight about the Burch account.”
Damn. Et tu, Adam?
I sighed and waved him in. The account was potentially a huge sale and having it take place at our auction house would not only give us a significant commission but considerable press coverage and notoriety. It couldn’t go to our competitors.
“Apparently she used to go to school with Burch’s son.”
And of course she had. I forced out a small, annoyed sigh. "It's unlikely her connections with his child is going to land us this account."
"You’re right, sir," Adam said excitedly, moving forward. "But she knows the old man a little as well. And since you're going to meet him on Thursday, bringing Ada Hathaway along might help seal the deal, so to speak."
“Was this her idea?”
He looked slightly sheepish. “Yes, but I support it. Sarah thought it was a good suggestion as well.”
They’d really ganged up on me on this one. And the absolute worst part was that they might be right. Being able to list Burch’s collection of Greek and Roman artifacts would be hugely beneficial to the firm. Hathaway’s auctions routinely attracted the world’s wealthiest collectors, private museums and trusts.
“Thank you, Adam. Send her in?”
Ada walked into my office not two minutes later, her blond hair perfectly curled behind her ears. She sauntered over to the chair opposite my desk and took a seat, slowly crossing her legs as she did.
I hated that she moved like she owned this place, like she'd been here all of her life.
I hated that she had.
She blinked at me with long, dark lashes. “Yes, Grant? What do you need from me?”
Hell, she was making me say it. “Adam spoke to me of your suggestion. He implied that you have some familiarity with the Burch family.”
“Familiarity? Yes. I was in the same school class as Trip for nearly six years. We got on famously.”
Trip. I had lived on the Upper East Side for nearly eight years now and still found it hard to stomach some of the old money’s stupid ass nicknames. If I ever met another Chip or Pippa or Finn or Muffy in my life it would be one too many.
“And did you also get on famously with Trip’s father, by any chance?”
She gave a low laugh and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “We’ve met, yes. Why, you make it sound so lurid!”
I’d only asked a simple question. She was the one behaving atrociously. “I’m driving to Connecticut to meet him and inspect the collection on Thursday.”
“And convince him to choose Hathaway’s.”
“Yes,” I said. “As far as I know he hasn’t met with another auction house yet, but he’s made it clear that he’s looking to sell and the vultures are circling.”
“And we want to be the most scavenger-y of the scavengers. Got it.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Considering your background, your assistance in this meeting might be of value. Do you think you could handle it? I’d run negotiations and the majority of the conversation, of course.”
“I know I can,” she said primly. “I think I proved today that I know this business well. I have a good way with people, despite what you might think, and I believe Charles will be glad to see me.”
I heard the argument she didn’t add, clear as day between us. And I’m a Hathaway. Her mere presence there would ground the meeting, despite the fact that I had made sure Hathaway’s had grown far beyond its Manhattan roots. We had opened offices in twenty-seven new countries since I took over the helm from Arthur.
“The meeting is on Thursday; he’s agreed to meet me at his house. We leave at ten in the morning from the office. Dress appropriately, and I want you researching the entirety of his collection tomorrow and everything else you might need to convince him.”
“Give Trip a call, you mean?” She asked dryly. “Remind him of our friendship?”
I half-shrugged. “Like one of his photos on some social media platform, what do I know.”
“Poke him on Facebook?”
“What?”
“Never mind.” She shook her head with a small smile that made it clear she’d been mocking me in some capacity or another. God, she exemplified perfectly why I should stop dallying with girls from this area for good. “Do you want me to order a car for us?”
“No, I’ll drive us.”
Her eyes widened slightly, giving me instant satisfaction. “People do still drive their own cars, you know.”
Ada pursed her lips in irritation. "Thanks for the update. I simply didn't think the great Grant Wood, CEO of Hathaway's, deigned to do that sort of thing. Productivity 101, and all that. Can't very well reply to emails if you're behind the wheel."
That was one of the things I had weighed in the balance when I decided not to use a car service, and it annoyed me that she had zeroed in on that so effectively. “I like driving,” I said simply. “Now, you have research to do.”
The door closed behind her and I released a pent-up breath. Something about Ada managed to slip right underneath my skin, like a splinter under a nail. No one else in this company would dare call me Grant, and most definitely not an intern on any of the trainees the other divisions regularly hosted. I could see it in her eyes, the laughing disrespect.
But what really annoyed me was that it bothered me.
5
Ada
The others at the office were both helpful and positive towards the upcoming trip - with one notable exception. Michaela said nothing at all to me, leaving for a meeting with a comment to Sarah that “it isn’t right that interns were given such privileges, particularly with clients of this magnitude.”
It hurt, mostly because it was true.
I had spent the entire previous day growing accustomed to the job and memorizing everything there was to know about Charles Burch’s collection. The individual pieces had varying amounts of information available, but I memorized it all.
Grant came out of his office just before ten. He wore a three-piece grey suit, and his hair was thick and dark as it fell over his brow. It pained me to admit it - even to myself - just how handsome he was. If only he knew how to smile he might just be attractive.
“Let’s go,” he said, barely even shooting me a glance.
"Good luck," Sarah whispered as I gathered up my files and my handbag. I winked at her as I followed Grant out to the elevator.
“Good,” he said, glancing down at the documents I had in my hand. “You can use the drive to go over the details again.”
"I did that yesterday. I know them already."
He raised an eyebrow, as if he doubted this, so I gave him a sweet smile. "And are these clothes to your liking?"
Grant turned to me fully. "What?"
“You told me to dress appropriately.”
His gaze traveled down my tailored dress in navy, which reached just above my knee. I looked entirely professional and entirely plain, much, I thought snidely, like him.
Grant gave a short nod. “Yes. Terrific.”
We walked in silence through the garage, finally arriving at the square reserved for the company's CEO. Grant's car was a classic BMW, black with tinted windows. "This is a nice car," I said. "It shows a lot of personality."
“Thanks,” he replied. I didn’t even think he caught the sarcasm.
A two-hour drive with Grant Wood. And only four days earlier I had been with friends and their friends, surrounded by carefreeness and easy ways to escape. How quickly life could change.
Grant's
hands were wide and comfortable on the wheel. He didn't wear a wedding band, and I realized that I didn't actually know a lot about him. Not that there was likely much to know, I thought dryly, thinking about the way he had lived for work since my father first hired him.
“Where did you go to university?” I asked him, trying to think back to what I’d heard. Not a whole lot, really. One minute he had been Dad’s mentee, present everywhere he was.
Grant’s hands seemed to tighten around the steering wheel. “We’re not here to exchange pleasant chit-chat,” he said. “We work together, and we will remain professional.”
“Despite our private history?”
“Our what?”
“Your close relationship with my father? The fact that I’ve known you for what, six years?”
"We haven't really known each other," he said in an icy voice. "We've just met on occasion."
“Then let’s remedy that. Where are you from?”
“What do you mean?”
"Where were you born?" I said slowly. God, this man really was difficult. A cardboard cutout of a human, having to be taught basic human behavior. I wondered if he had an off button, or perhaps reset.
"In New York," he replied.
“The city? The state?”
“State.”
“It’s a large state.”
He shrugged. “Upstate.” His tone made it clear he was done with this line of conversation, and I silently cheered. I’d managed to make a nuisance out of myself.
“A big family? Do you have legions of siblings running around?”
“No.”
“Was your goal always to become the head of an international auction firm when you were a little boy?”
“Was your goal always to become a drifting socialite when you were a little girl?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. Unprofessional, indeed. “As a matter of fact, yes. Some people had posters of bands and actors; mine were of derailed child celebrities and New York heiresses.”
Almost despite himself, his lip curled. “Glad you can see it that way.”
The silence stretched on between us. I fiddled with the hem of my dress and watched the landscape pass by outside.
“So,” I said finally, determined to break the silence he so wanted to keep. “Does my father often berate you into accepting interns? Or am I just a lucky exception?”
“No. Arthur seldom comes into the office anymore,” Grant replied. I curled my hand against my side. So much for light-hearted conversation.
“It’s been difficult for him since Max,” Grant added. “But-“
"I know. I would rather not talk about that." I busied myself with rearranging the seatbelt. Of course he had to take this conversation to a new low by mentioning my brother. I'd asked questions about his family; he retaliated in kind.
“As you wish,” he said. “Now tell me what you’ve remembered about Burch’s collection.”
We spent the rest of the drive rehashing the strategies for the visit and the details of the collection. We pulled up along a large, tree-lined street in New Haven, snow dusting the road. Iron gates greet us and Grant lowered his window.
"Mr. Wood and Miss Hathaway here from Hathaway's to meet with Charles Burch," he said to the electronic speaker.
“Come on in,” a voice replied, distorted by the radio.
The gates swung open and Grant drove us into the wide front yard and around a beautiful fountain, frozen in the cold.
“They’ve repainted the house,” I remarked. “It used to be blue, not grey.”
Grant gave me a sideways glance. "You didn't tell me you'd been here before."
I smiled at him. “Whoops.”
We walked up the portico just as Charles opened the front door. "Welcome! It's a pleasure to have you here. Ada, you look as lovely as ever." He bent to give me a hug, and I responded with a wide grin. I hadn't seen him for almost five years, but there was a time I had nearly weekly.
“Hi, Mr. Burch. How have you been?”
He looked well, if a bit more grey-haired than I remembered him. “Great. I have thought of you often, my dear, and your father with you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “That means a lot to us.”
Charles turned to Grant, who looked slightly annoyed at not having been greeted first.
"Mr. Wood. It's a pleasure to meet you."
“Likewise, Mr. Burch. I’ve been looking forward to viewing your collection for ages.”
Charles gave a proud smile. That was one of the things I had always loved about Trip’s eccentric, bookish father - he was genuinely kind.
“You must be especially eager to see the Phidias piece?”
“Yes, I am. But also the one by Scopas. Such a rare piece.”
Charles looked over at Grant with raised eyebrows, as if seeing him for the first time. "Indeed. It's the lesser known of the two, naturally, but knowing the history behind the artifact and its creator, it's undeniably the more magnetic of the two."
I struggled to hide a smile as I followed the two of them through the foyer and into the wide sunroom where the collection was housed.
The two of them moved up the length of the room, pausing at each old stone sculpture artfully placed and lighted within glass boxes. It was a small collection, but valuable - each piece had been tracked down and bought at auctions around the world. I knew it was Charles's lifework, and it was clear in the warmth in his voice when he described each piece to Grant and me.
It had been a long time since I had been a small girl occasionally accompanying my dad for consultations, or being shown around the Hathaway's vault by one of the security guards. If Hank worked when we were there, he would take Max and me in each hand when we had nothing to do but to wait. This is a beautiful piece, he'd say, peering over at a painting or a blue-and-white Chinese vase. And then he'd make up some marvelous story about its origins involving pirates or fairies and genies and we'd giggle and ask for more. What about this one, Hank? Where did this one come from?
The feeling of marvel is one I hadn't felt in a long time, and seeing it so clearly on both Grant and Charles's faces sparked a corresponding ache inside.
“Now take a look at this piece,“ Charles said finally, stopping at the centerpiece. It's the only one we haven't yet discussed, and I don't recognize it from the information we had studied the day prior.
"This is new?"
Charles nodded. “About a year since I bought it. It was the final piece I sought to crown the collection.”
Grant stood silently, taking in the large, naked woman on the plinth. She lacked an arm and a head, the wide torso clad in a tunic and a shield clasped in her remaining hand. The marble work was beautiful.
"Artemis?" I suggested. "Or Diana, depending on whether it's Roman or Greek."
"Has to be Greek," Grant said, leaning closer to observe the detailed work on the shield. "200 BC?"
Charles gives an impressed nod. "Yes, it's a statue of Artemis from 300-200 BC, from one of the Greek isles. It came to me entirely legally, but suffice it to say that I find this collection worthy of a larger audience."
"Yes, it's truly stunning," Grant said. "And on that note, shall we discuss your objectives and hopes with a possible auction?"
"I want to sell the collection in its entirety."
"Are you certain?" I asked. Since I heard about it I’d been surprised at his desire to part with something he has spent decades researching, finding and loving.
I could see Grant in my peripheral view as he turned to me with incredulity, but I ignored him.
Charles nodded at me, kindness in his eyes. "It's time. I have never seen myself as their owner, anyways, merely a steward on their eternal path. And I want them to be sold with museums and art collections in mind. Where is no matter, only with the stipulation that they must be displayed on occasion for public view."
“We can do that,” Grant nodded. “I agree with you; they should be enjoyed by the many.”
Charles ga
ve a sudden, wide smile. It looked as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "Then it's settled."
“When would you want it to take place?”
“Whenever you think it best.”
"Mid-February,” Grant offered. "Gives us time to properly photograph each item and get the information out to relevant media outlets and interested museums."
“Our lawyers can handle the rest, I assume?”
Grant nodded. “Yes. And I’m of course always available, should you have any questions.”
"Great. That's great. And Ada, I'm so happy to see you working for your father's company. Interning, was it?"
“Yes, that’s it.”
“He must be very happy with that.”
I thought of the disappointment in his eyes when he told me this was the last chance, the final straw. "Yes," I said. "He's so pleased."
6
Grant
There wasn’t much unplanned about my days. I woke up at the same time each morning, I followed the same exercise routine. I was pretty sure I had used the same shampoo for nearly a decade at this point.
My home followed the same rules. A date I had brought to my apartment a few months back had called it pristine. When put that way, I supposed it did lack the personal effects or touches other people cherished. But who had the time for that? Being set in my ways had never steered me wrong in the past, and I saw no reason to change that now.
And in my professional life?
Routine meant cash, and cash was king.
I sat at the head of the conference table, my fingers tapping against the edge of the oak wood.
“Does anyone know where she is?”
Michaela shook her head, her arms crossed across her arms.
"I'm sure she'll be here in a moment," Sarah offered. Adam and Linda exchanged glances.
It was nearly five minutes past eight, and the coming days were hectic for the firm. We had a physical auction a day, as opposed to the frequent online auctions. The physical auctions were hugely importance as they gave prospective buyers a chance to see the goods they were buying - not to mention mingle with other buyers, to see and be seen.
Look But Don't Touch: Enemies to Lovers Page 3
