“You’ve done what?”
“She was the one who told you the first edition shouldn’t be moved, was she not?”
Ada gave a slow nod. “Yes. But I didn’t tell you that.”
“No. Why not?” This part genuinely intrigued me. “You could have defended yourself with the truth.”
“Would you have believed me over Michaela?” Her tone was wry. “No? Didn’t think so.”
I shifted uncomfortably. The honest answer was that I probably wouldn’t have. And that didn’t really sit well.
“How’d you find out, anyway?”
“Linda overheard her give you the instruction.”
The triumph in Ada's eyes had little to do with the revelation, I thought, and more with the fact that it proved her theory. Without Linda to back her up, I might not have believed her.
“I said some harsh things yesterday that was unwarranted. I want you to know that the work you’ve done here so far has been surprising.”
Ada looked incredulous. "Is this an apology from Grant Wood?"
“Don’t push it,” I warned her. “I’m going to ask Adam to take over some of Michaela’s tasks while we search for a replacement. That means you’ll be assisting Sarah on client control. Think you can handle it?”
“Oh, Grant,” Ada said, rising with a wide smile. “I’ll show you client control.”
9
Ada
It was a sunny winter day when I arrived the following week, annoyed and upset, to find that everyone in the executive branch had skipped the 8AM meeting. There was no one in the conference room.
“Hello?” I said to the empty office.
"Ada, is that you? We are in Mr. Wood's office," Linda called.
An unusual tableau greeted me; they were all splayed out around Grants table, papers and computers everywhere. Adam looked like he hadn’t slept, and Sarah had her usually immaculate hair in a flat ponytail.
Grant stood at the helm of the table. “Ada. Come on in.”
“What’s happening?”
“Jack and Thorns,” Linda sighed, the name of our main competitors echoing through the room. “They outsold us last week. They’re putting on an offensive to capture most of the Old Master’s market, outselling us on commission fees.”
Ah. So this was a war room.
“What are we to do?”
Linda patted the chair next to her and I took a seat. Grant smiled, and it was full of savage promise - he wasn't the youngest and most successful CEO in Hathaway's history for nothing. "We retaliate."
“Can I help? I know we are one short on executive staff. Use me if you need to, anywhere.”
I was half expecting a scoff, but Grant only nodded. “We will have need of you. I think it’d be good if you assist the relevant divisions in this, helped coordinate the new sellers we need to attract.”
“Of course. I also know Ben Harris a little, if you need information on him.”
Grants eyes snapped to mine. “You know the new CEO of Jack and Thorns?”
I played with the hem of my skirt, slightly uncomfortable with the sudden attention of everyone around the table. Even Adam had put down his pen.
“A little. He’s worked there for years before becoming CEO, and I’m a Hathaway,” I shrugged. “We usually exchange pleasantries at events and the like.”
Grants focus instantly became laser-like. “What’s your take on him?”
"Competitive. Easygoing. Prefers vodka martinis over those made with gin, which is never a good sign. I'm not sure how much art or cultural experience he has but he doesn't strike me as someone who accepts losing."
“Well, neither am I,” Grant said.
We worked intensely that day. All avenues were explored for how to draw more sellers to choose Hathaway’s, from drops in commissions to other sellers premiums. The trick with auctioneering was that you had to make people want to sell and make people want to buy, all at the same time.
I'd always watched Dad's business from a distance, proud and jealous at the same time. It had taken him away from us for so many evenings and weekends and school graduations.
But I was starting to see the appeal, too.
* * *
“Thank you,” I said to the delivery guy. “You’re a lifesaver.”
He gave me a wan smile. “Hear that all the time, beautiful.”
The scent of Thai curry filled the elevator on my way back up to the executive floor, making my stomach rumble. It was nearly eight in the evening, and most of the other divisions were entirely empty and dark by now. But not us.
I met Linda on my way out of the elevator. “You’re staying, dear?”
I nodded. “A while longer, at least.”
"See you tomorrow, then. Oh, that smells good."
“From Chili’s,” I said. “Best Thai takeout on the Upper East Side.”
"Adam just headed out, too. Just you and Mr. Wood left."
“Alright.”
“Don’t stay too late,” she said with a wink that I decided not to decipher. Linda had known me since I was a child. She was probably alluding to my former days as a party girl, if anything. But definitely not to anything between me and Grant.
He was still sitting at the large working table in his office, papers spread out before him. His thick hair stood up in disarray as if he’d just been running his hands through it in frustration.
He looked up when I entered. “Food?”
"Even the great Grant Wood can't run without fuel." I began to unpack the boxes as he fastidiously made space for them, moving his precious papers out of distance from any potential food stains.
“Thai?”
"Yes, and some spring rolls. Don't you like it?"
“I do,” he replied. “I just didn’t think you did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I laughed.
He shook his head. “Well, it’s not foie gras or lobster exactly.”
"Hey, I enjoy all types of food. I don't discriminate. Besides, who are you to talk? I saw you driving an Aston Martin last summer, buddy."
“Yeah, but I didn’t grow-. Never mind.” Grant shook his head. “Thanks for getting the food.”
“Of course. My knowledge of all the best takeout places has to come in handy sometimes. Chopsticks?”
“No.”
“Why?” I grinned.
“I don’t use chopsticks.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never tried, in other words.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, that’s what I mean. Come on. Don’t hold the food hostage.” Grant reached across the table and grabbed one of the boxes. He took a bite of his Pad Thai, and I was momentarily distracted by his lips. I'd never noticed how full they were before, or how long his lashes were. He truly was an attractive man. Not for me - never for me - but I could appreciate beauty where I saw it. After all, I'd been an art major.
“Everyone else has left,” he told me. “I don’t expect you to have to stay much longer either, you know. It’s late.”
“And give you another excuse to call me useless? No, I don’t think so.”
He raised an eyebrow. "I deserved that."
"Besides, the others have a family to get home to,” I shrugged. "I don't. I’m guessing you don’t either?"
He shook his head, still bent over the noodles. I already suspected that, of course. Grant didn’t wear a wedding ring despite the fact that he was often pictured with women in the various magazines in the art and auction world.
There was something so odd about seeing him like this - down to his shirtsleeves, broad shoulders stretched out not in work or in action but in eating, his hair out of its usual neat wave. I shook my head and tried to focus back on my red curry and the fact that I was working late with a man I had despised for so many years. Funny how life works out.
I looked up and saw Grant holding one of Jack and Thorns latest magazine’s in a death grip, his fork in his other hand.
“I can’t let Hathaway’s fail,” h
e said.
“Hang on a moment. Nobody said anything about the company failing? We just have some friendly competition. They still have a smaller market share than us. We’ll figure something out.”
Grant stared at the Jack and Thorns logo as if it were the devil and didn’t reply, so I reached over and pried the magazine carefully from his hand. “Hey,” I said. “What did you do within your first six months at this company?”
Grant looked up at me. “Sorry?”
"You orchestrated the largest single contemporary art sale in modern history."
His lip curled at that. “287 million dollars in one hour.”
"You did that within your first year at Hathaway's. You were twenty-four at the time."
Grant's eyes re-focused entirely on me. "You've been watching me."
I rolled my eyes. “Of course I have. You’re basically all my father has been able to talk about since you started working here.”
He snorted. “Right.”
“Plus, how many more locations worldwide do we have distributors now?”
“Forty-seven.”
“How many new divisions have been added under your leadership?”
"Eight." His gaze was tinged with amusement. "You know, being recited a list of my achievements by Ada Hathaway was probably the last thing I thought I'd be doing tonight."
“Funny how things turn out, isn’t it?
He ran another hand through his hair, and it slid like silk through his fingers. I was momentarily distracted, thinking about how it would feel between my fingers. How soft it’d be at the nape of his neck.
“I didn’t know you’d studied art history until Linda informed me this morning.”
“Didn’t you ask for my CV before hiring me?” I smiled. “I’m sure we spoke about this at my interview.”
He rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”
"It's not like I could have studied anything else, is it?" I folded the edges of my empty takeout box and put it back in the plastic bag.
"Do you really feel like that? Obligated?"
I searched for the two fortune cookies, hidden under a mountain of napkins and small packets of soy sauce. "I guess so, a little bit. But I did enjoy it. I think I might like the design aspect more, though - the drawing and painting. Creating."
He accepted the cookie I handed him with a slight frown. “I thought you ordered from a Thai place?”
"They specialize in fusion cuisine," I said with as straight a face I could manage. "You can get sushi, Chinese and Thai, all from the same menu."
He smiled as he opened the packet. “I don’t think I’ve had one of these in years.”
“How have you survived, without the excellent guidance they provide? What does yours say?”
Grant pulled out the small roll of paper. "‘Love is as necessary to human beings as food and shelter.' Hah. Well, I remember why I so seldom read these."
“Come on, that’s arguably true.”
“Sure,” he snorted. “What does it say on yours?”
I unrolled the small piece of paper. "‘Well-arranged time is the surest sign of a well-arranged mind.'" I hadn't even finished before I heard Grant's laughter. It was deep and rich, and I knew instantly that I would need to hear that again. Find a way to spark it, somehow.
"What?" I reached over and hit him on the arm. It was firm under my touch. ”What's so funny with that?"
“Nothing. Just, of all the things you could have gotten… Ada, even you have to find that a bit humorous.”
I did. "Well then, Mr. Wood. If I'm in need of a more well-arranged mind, then you're in need of love. Hey, don't pull that face at me. I don't make the rules. The cookies have spoken."
He scoffed and put his own finished takeout box in the bag. "Right. How presumptuous of me to disregard the fortune."
“Give that to me.” I took the bag from his hand and tossed it in the trash by the door to his office. On my way back I was struck by the sheer quantity of books he had. They filled the entire far right of his office, leather-bound or colorful. I ran a hand down the spines on one shelf.
Artifacts of Roman Britain
Etruscan Jewelry
The Collected Works of Michelangelo
His office was a veritable library. “How many of these have you actually read?”
Grant looked up at me. "Nearly all," he said, and turned his attention back to the file at hand. He must have felt my silent incredulity, though, because he flicked his attention back to me. "You should try it sometime."
“Being a know-it-all?”
“Reading.”
“Very funny.”
“It might actually give you a well-arranged mind.”
“My teachers at the Yale Department of Art History would salivate at all of this. You could practically teach courses in here.”
He snorted. “Right.”
"You didn't go to university, did you?" I asked. It was a challenge and a guess, but from the way his eyes snapped to mine, it had to be true. The silence stretched out between us, beats of uncertainty and heat.
“I did other things,” he said finally, breaking my gaze. He flipped through some of the papers faster than I thought he could actually read. “A lot of the people who come in here will lord their degrees or their specialist status. They’re good and I need experts. But no one knows as much about all of our divisions as I do.”
That I could believe, if he'd spent his nights and weekends with these books as his friend. No wonder that he'd been successful so fast. What had he done before Hathaway's, then? My father had always referred to Grant as a self-made man, wealthy by his own merits, though I had never cared enough back then to ask how or why.
Grant, it seemed, was a bit of a puzzle. One who was looking rumpled, frustrated, manly and very attractive.
"What book would you recommend? For me to start my new well-organized time and mind?"
He rose from the table, tall and contained as he strode to the far end of his shelves. Whatever book he was looking for, he found it immediately.
“Here,” he said, stopping a pace away. ‘The Organized Mind’ by Daniel Levitin.”
“You actually had this in your office?”
“Yes.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you plant that fortune cookie at the takeout place earlier?”
Grant gave a small, crooked smile. “No. Read it, if you want.”
"Alright." Our fingers brushed as I took the book from him.
I swallowed. “Thanks. Is it my turn to help you find love in return?”
"I don't need anything in return," he murmured.
"Okay."
The air between us grew quiet and heady. Grant was so close I could feel the faint scent of his cologne and his own, masculine scent. When had he become this alluring? Neither of us moved, struck still as if by some enchantment.
“Go home, Ada,” Grant said softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice to speak, gathered up my things and fled.
10
Grant
“Here are the papers Linda needs you to sign," Ada said, putting a large stack of manila folders on my desk. “This contains your briefings for the afternoon meeting, the printed schedule of the conference you're attending next week, and a salmon bagel. I noticed you didn't have time to eat lunch today."
I had to admit it to myself - she was good. I just didn’t have to admit it to her.
“With cream cheese?”
“Of course.” She gathered up the envelopes in my to-be-sent pile and headed out.
“Oh, and Ada?”
“Yes?” She paused just by my door, tossing back her hair to look at me. With her fitting dress and clean face of makeup, she looked like a million bucks. If only I could stop noticing that.
“Charles Burch called. He’s in town and would like to have dinner with us tonight before the auction tomorrow.”
“With the two of us?”
I hated that I liked t
he way it sounded, the two of us, spoken in her voice. This inane infatuation needed to stop.
I nodded to her. “His son is coming along, too. Are you free at eight?”
“Yes.” She smiled, as if she looked forward to it. Probably only because Trip was going, I thought darkly. “I’ll meet you there. Send me restaurant information?”
“Will do.”
The rest of the office cleared out at seven, and I spent the remaining forty-five minutes replying to emails by our international distributors and preparing the week ahead. I had a phone meeting with our office in Japan that, due to the time difference, I could only do now.
I looked myself in the mirror before heading out, splashed on a bit of extra cologne. An entire evening with a client. I had done it before and would do it again, but that didn’t mean I tended to enjoy it. Usually it was meaningless chatter, although Charles had seemed very knowledgable.
And as stupid as it was, I had to admit to myself that I wasn’t looking forward to Trip being there. I knew Ada came from a different world than me, that our upbringings were a thousand miles apart, but I didn’t look forward to seeing it so clearly.
Although, perhaps that was exactly what I needed. A good, strong shot of reality should cure me of whatever physical attraction I felt for Ada.
I was halfway to the restaurant, walking up Fifth Avenue, when my phone rang. Ada Hathaway, the caller ID said. I didn’t think she’d ever called me before.
“Yes?”
“I was here early, and they were too, so we went inside. We’re having a drink at the bar before they show us to our table. Thought you should know.”
My mood soured instantly. She was early, so eager was she to meet Trip.
“Good. I’ll see you inside.”
I didn’t wait for her reply, but hung up and quickened my step. The restaurant came into view. Le Mirage. French. How lovely.
“Good evening, Mr. Hathaway.” The waiter greeted me. “Your party is inside, having just been shown to the table.”
"Thank you." He took my coat and I was lead through the darkened interiors to a round table at the back. I saw Ada's blonde hair first, her back to me. She was chatting animatedly - her hands moving as she spoke, and across from her, the two men were watching with sparkling eyes. And how long had this taken? Five minutes? She was like an enchantress.
Look But Don't Touch: Enemies to Lovers Page 5
