Page 101 of Casanova LLC

“No, no. He knows where to find me.”

We smiled politely at each other.

“May I join you?”

“Of course.” I went and stood next to her. I offered her a glass of the warm champagne. “Oh, thank you.”

“Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials.”

“You are hardly the first—ah.”

An hors d’oeuvre of humor was necessary for the entree of seduction. I affected a wounded look. “You mean there was someone else?”

“A few hundred someones.”

We both took a sip of champagne and turned our attention to the painting.

It was the size of an SUV. It was blood red with streaks of gold filigree going through it and had feathers affixed to the bottom. One small upper corner was blue.

I gave it a moment. “What do you think?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing emerged for a few seconds. “I like…”

“The blue,” we said at the same time.

She covered her laughing mouth and glanced over her shoulder, before admitting, “It’s not my style.”

“Is it anyone’s?”

“Richard’s buying it.”

My eyes flicked to the price tag: three hundred twenty-five thousand dollars.

“He asked my opinion. Which he likes to do. But I don’t think it matters. In the end, he gets whatever he wants.”

“He’s lucky he’s got you.”

She lifted a shoulder at that. “I used to work here.”

“At this gallery?”

“He knows I know the market.” She raised her glass to coy lips. “Even if I hate it.”

“Should I be flattered or offended that you told him about my work?”

Her eyes went teasingly scolding. “Don’t make me say again how in love I am with your work.” She looked over her shoulder again. “I’m just surprised he is.”

“Maybe he just wants you to be happy.”

She didn’t answer that, just smiled diplomatically at me.

“Well, thank you. For wanting something from me.”

“Don’t thank me, I didn’t ask for it. I just showed him a picture of the painting I’d seen at Cyril’s. Although, admittedly, I couldn’t shut up about it. That said, I’m thrilled he’s taking you on. There’s nobody better.”

We sipped.

“I really think what you do is special. The first time I saw the painting, I…I was…transported.” She looked away. “You do something on a canvas that—it moved me. You moved me.”

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