Page 17 of Fortress of the King

He doesn’t look rattled as I flick my eyes around the room as more bids erupt around us. Good old Harry.

“Nineteen thousand, ladies bid, twenty-two thousand in the back, can I see twenty-five?”

“Thirty thousand,” Angelo Medici calls out as gasps ring through the crowd, even I stutter as I flick my eyes down to him. Son of a bitch.

For the first time since I have met him, he gives me a slow smile. He likes the game, and he knows how to play it.

“Mr. Medici has expensive taste, ladies and gentlemen,” I quip as muffled laughter rings through the room. “Do I have any further interest on thirty thousand dollars for the exquisite Harry Winston earrings? Going once, twice…. Sold!” I make a big show of banging the gavel down as I return his smile.

He buys my next lot; a Boston landscape painting by Gertrude Fiske, for five thousand dollars. Never mind that she was the first woman to be appointed to the Massachusetts state art commission in nineteen twenty-nine, my big selling point.

I don’t think Angelo Medici cares because next, he gets into a battle of wills with another wine collector over two cases of rare Chateau Margot Cabernet-sauvignon merlot, aged over twenty years.

It’s eye-watering, even to me.

Everyone is excited as a buzz goes around the room while the two gentlemen battle it out.

I know who will win.

Angelo Medici doesn’t own this town because he is weak, he owns it because it’s in his blood.

The hunt. The thrill. The chase.

I feel my skin flush at how he looks at me, sitting there sexy in his polished suit, unrelenting as I act unaffected by him.

“First call at one hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” I call, lingering, avoiding his penetrating stare that’s daring me to hurry it up. I won’t, I’ll drag this out. “Second call, are we all done at one hundred and fifty thousand…this is the final call…”

I flick my eyes back to him as he rubs his chin with infuriating arrogance. He knows he’s got this. And I’m happy to say he’s paid more than we thought it would fetch.

“Sold, once again, to Mr. Medici, the big bidder for the night, congratulations.” I bang the gavel and raise my eyebrows ever so slightly at his exasperating run of bids.

This one went for a while.

Everyone claps, and I can see people whispering and shaking their heads, probably at the exorbitant amount he just paid for two cases of wine in his own gallery. All in the name of charity, of course.

He acts like he just bought a newspaper, not spent my entire salary, and then some.

He’s bought every fucking thing on my list tonight. Halfway through the last auction, I wondered if he wasn’t just raising his paddle so I’d look at him.

Conceited asshole that he is, I wouldn’t put it past him.

The emcee comes back to the microphone to announce a refreshment break, congratulates the winning bidders and ushers us off the stage. Patricia gives me a nod of approval as I step down.

“That was crazy!” Melody says, linking my arm as we both swipe a glass of champagne when nobody’s looking. She pulls me with her toward the staff room.

“Tell me about it,” I reply, glad to finally be off stage.

Mr. Arrogance personified had to buy up big. It’s just another way for Angelo to reinstate his authority as if it were under any doubt.

“I’m just going to freshen up,” I tell Melody as she nods, sipping her champagne.

I escape down to my office to pull myself together.Just breathe.

I do just that, steeling myself as I guzzle half the champagne down like I’ve been stuck in the desert.

I halt in my tracks, my back to the door.

I feel him before I see him.

His scent permeates my small space, and nothing could distinguish Angelo Medici more than the dark and musky cologne that sends fire to my belly.

I take a deep, silent breath as I count to five.

“Mr. Medici,” I say as I turn to face him. “We meet again.”

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