But you’re checking in on your girlfriend.
Fine. What I was doing was scoping out the Interpol building, which was just down the street. I could have said no to this today or done it on the phone, but when I noted the location, I decided to do a little reconnaissance. Not that I had plans of ever walking in through the front door, but it paid to be prepared.
It was just smart to know where all the cameras were.
Besides, thoughts of Nyla Kincade had caused me a sleepless night, and because of the idea that I might catch a glimpse of her, I may have jumped at the chance to be there in person.
One hundred seventy-five. I raised my paddle, frustrated that my competitor would not back down. Who was he?
That question was answered when he turned to his companion just to his left and murmured something, laughing, and then turned back to sneer at me.
His face. I knew exactly who he was. And a whole stream of feelings roared in as I raised my fucking paddle again.
Garreth Jameson. That twat. We'd gone to Eton together, though I barely thought much of him then. We were even peripherally friends most of the time until everything changed. After what he'd done, I vowed that one day I would kill him.
At the time I'd made that vow, it had been one of those things that you say but you only sort of mean. But now that I was a grown adult, had skills, power, and money, I meant it in a very real sense.
Bored, I sighed and raised my paddle before speaking clearly. "£200,000."
A hush fell over the auction. Jameson turned back to me, sneering once more, and I met his gaze, giving him a smug grin. He scowled and put his paddle down. "Yeah, that's right, you git." I mumbled to myself. “I won this time.”
It went on like that for the remainder of the auction. Me bidding on pieces I did not want merely for the joy of making him bid over his likely maximum. Driving up the price, sitting back in mock disappointment when I would lose out on pieces. Nodding in acquiescence as he got overly priced garbage.
One day, you really do need to grow up.
Yes, one day. Just not fucking today.
When it got to the pieces that I was there for specifically for our family collection, my bidding was modest but well within range. I knew exactly what they were worth and this time, I wasn't playing with my money. I was playing with Du Mont money. Of which my mother, being the last in the line of Du Monts, had plenty.
But I also knew she was very particular about her art. What she was and was not willing to spend on. There would be some pieces that would be kept in our family vault and some that would be on display in the museum in Monaco. When one of those came on the auction block, Jameson raised his paddle, throwing out the maximum sum my mother was willing to pay. I frowned. That son of a bitch. My palm itched to raise the paddle and force the price up.
Not your money. Stop it.
No, it wasn't my money, but what if I supplemented it?
Stop it. You’ve already spent £500,000 today. Don't be ridiculous.
That money was a drop in the bucket, honestly. But considering I hadn't intended to spend it when I’d left my penthouse earlier, it probably said something about how I felt about Garreth Jameson.
I kept my paddle down.
Jameson turned, his brows lifted in surprise. I shrugged, indicating, 'Well, you win some, you lose some.' I knew for a fact that he would try and offload the piece soon. The Jameson family had a reputable art collection of their own, but it was nothing like that of the Du Monts. This piece certainly wasn't going to fit, and since his father controlled the collection, the old man would be livid about his purchase.
I acquired the other two pieces below our maximum price, which I could be happy about, and my mother would be thrilled. I was just sending a text to AJ after the auction and had gone to arrange for delivery when Jameson approached. "Oh, tough one today. I didn't think that the Hales stooped to turning up in person to do their own auctions."
"And what are you doing here? You could easily have had a representative do it."
"Since I am a bit of an artist myself, I like to see the pieces personally. I'm not a pretender, you know?"
I raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh, I didn't realize you were still painting. I thought after, you know, that forgery thing that you got caught up in, you’d stopped."
His brows snapped down. There had been a forgery scandal some years ago. Paintings by a moderately unknown artist, complete with authenticity paperwork, had started floating around. Each piece not going for any more than £10,000, which is really what they were worth. But there were murmurings, rumblings, that they were forgeries.
They weren't really worth paying attention to, but I remembered the scandal for the Jameson family because Garreth had been caught in the fray as having some mild acquaintance with the forgers. Those in tighter circles had murmured that he had forged some pieces himself.
While a talented painter, he lacked imagination in his own work, but he had the skill to copy well enough. It was a skill that, in and of itself, was amazing. He just lacked vision.
He nodded, giving me that standard rich-git smile. How many times had I given that smile? The one that we were all bred to give. The one we were all taught. We learned it by watching our fathers do it in social situations. Ninety percent smugness, five percent disdain, and five percent contempt. It made my hands itch to hit him.
"Well, congratulations," he muttered.
I nodded. "Congratulations to you too. I didn't think the Elise would fit your collection from what I've known of it, but way to branch out. Good for you."
Even though that smug smile remained in place, I could see the slight furrow of his brow. He was not good at hiding his emotions.
As I turned to leave, he said, "It’s been a long time since I've seen AJ. She was one of my favorite people.”
Time stopped as my brain locked into the fact that he had the nerve to speak my sister’s name after what he did to her.
I might not be able to use my burn against another member of the Elite, but I could certainly throttle this worthless wanker.
A burn was a complete social, financial, personal annihilation of someone. And no matter what, another member of the Elite couldn’t save them. Short of murder, you could do anything to ruin them. We each were inducted with one burn available to us. But Elite members were exempt from a burn.
I took a step toward him, and then I felt a soft hand on my arm. My gaze flickered to the right, Charlotte Bryce, the auction director, smiled up at me. "Mr. Hale, if you would just come with me, I have arranged for delivery of your pieces. Just tell me which ones go where."
I settled my gaze back to Jameson, and he gave me a head nod, though smugness and malice were reflected in his eyes as I said, "I'll be seeing you again, mate."
He grinned. "Yeah, you certainly will."
What was supposed to happen was that I turn and follow Charlotte, but my brain was having none of that. Instead I indulged in the fantasy of beating the snot out of him, right there. From our years in the Elite, I knew hand to hand wasn’t his specialty. He’d rather taken to fencing.
I could take him.
I could. I really could. But I needed to get my shit under control. Vengeance would be much sweeter if I made him squirm first. So, I forced myself to unclench my fists, then I turned and walked away.
Jameson might think he'd won that round, but we were coming for him. He had a lot to answer for.