Page 11 of City Of Thieves
She’d pulled me in and made me love her, and then she made me love art. Years later, my love became a dependency, and my dependency became an obsession. I dropped out of school and went to work at my mother’s gallery for a time. After we fell out, I ran away to Russia for a year. When I returned, I set up on my own and forced Manhattan to pay attention, but I never forgot that painting.
Sometimes I think that day atRegency’swas the last time I felt truly happy.
A few years later, I’d take a knife to “Ines,” slashing the canvas out of desperation, and breaking my mother’s heart.
That was the night I left home for good.
“Miss Sanders?” My driver coughs discreetly, bringing me back to the busy sidewalk.
“Thank you, Andrew. That’ll be all.”
Pulling myself together, I sashay into the building, my false confidence and impeccable style adding an easy ten to my twenty-two years.
All eyes turn in my direction as I enter the Calacatta marble lobby. The papers call me the Ice Empress of Modern Art because of my refusal to give them an inch of vulnerability.Since then, my nickname has become trapped in social circles in a never-ending loop. My reputation precedes me. It doesn’t matter that I’m the youngest private gallery owner in the city or that my first curated exhibition was a sold-out, ten million dollar success. Every business is just another extension of a man’s world, and once their dicks feel threatened, they’ll go out of their way to make your achievements as insignificant as possible.
How they’d laugh if they knew how close my ice castle was to cracking.
My cheeks redden in humiliation when I think about my meeting with the bank yesterday. I’m only one missed payment away from them foreclosing on my loan. I have exactly two weeks to come up with two million dollars, or I’m going to lose the only thing I’ve ever been allowed to love.
“Tatiana, darling!” gushes a voice to my left. “I thought that was you.”
“Richard.” I greet my colleague with a reluctant air kiss. He’s an agent for another private gallery in town. An accidental rival and a pretentious British bastard, who couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.
So far, the rumors about my impending financial ruin are non-existent, but he’d be the first to tell me otherwise.
“Are you agenting or buying?” he enquires, ushering me along the elegant hallway towards the auction hall, my heels click-clacking loudly against the marble.
“Agenting,” I reply smoothly, tucking my purse and brochure under my arm as I remove my vintage black gloves, one delicate finger at a time. “For a Saudi Prince who’s recently developed an expensive taste for British art.”
The lie rolls so easily off my tongue...
Then I think of the three missed calls from the withheld number, and my stomach lurches.
“Budget?”
“You know it’s never ladylike to discuss such matters, Richard,” I chide, mentally kicking him in the shins.
“Who says anything about you being a lady?” His haughty face smirks, and I mentally shift my foot to his groin. “Such a title would require an impeccable family heritage, and there are many on Capitol Hill who’d argue otherwise.”
Piece of shit.
He’s referring to my father and the huge multi-million-dollar gambling bill he managed to push through the Senate a couple of years ago. It involved some very public backhanders and unwanted scrutiny.
“We can choose our acquaintances, but not our family, Richard,” I bite back, as we reach the auction room.
Without waiting for his response, I head straight for my usual seat, five rows back from the stage. It’s a prime spot within the auction’s “triangle of influence” with direct eye contact with the auctioneer for that subtle, last-minute bid. There are rules to this game, the same as everything else in life. It just so happens that these are the only ones I adhere to.
“I quite agree.” Richard takes a seat next to me, much to my irritation.
Why must British men always overwear their cologne?HisDrakkar Noir already has my subtle fragrance in a chokehold. Crossing my legs, I pull out my phone. There are another two missed calls from the withheld number, so I tap out a quick message to Moscow to get him off my back.
Here. Will call when it’s done.
I tell myself that this is the last time as I slide my device back into my purse, but I’m just as good at lying to myself as I am to everyone else.
The room is filling up fast.
Nearly every seat is taken.
