New York Billionaires Series

“Not to mention I wouldn’t dare use it if I paid this much for it,” I say. “Oh God. It has pheasants on it.”

“You’re not a fan of pheasants?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever given them much thought.”

“Tell me,” Anthony says, turning toward me, “what is your favorite fowl, Miss Davis?”

The dry humor in his tone makes me laugh. I hadn’t expected him to have so much of it. “Are you using my own tactic against me? I should add that to the list of prompts we ask potential clients.”

“It would be original.”

“It sure would,” I agree. “You told me to call you Anthony. Doesn’t that mean I’m Summer?”

He leans against the bar beside me, crossing his arms over his chest. Looking back out over the crowd. “Summer,” he agrees.

“Good.” I take another sip of my flute, only to find it near empty. I should slow down. “Are there canapés around here somewhere?”

“They should start serving them soon.”

“Good.”

His voice drops. “Oh, joy.”

I follow the turn of his head to the two approaching men. Similar in height, but one has brown hair, the other light auburn. Both in tuxes. Both coming straight here.Content rights by NôvelDr//ama.Org.

“Friends of yours?” I ask.

“Business parters,” he says, and then, murmured beneath his breath, “and friends.”

I smooth a hand over the dark green silk of my dress. “That’s exciting.”

Anthony has time to shoot a dry look my way before his business partners are upon us.

“Have you seen what’s on offer?” the auburn-haired one says by way of introduction, an arm against the bar. The quick smile on his face makes up for a crooked nose… had it been broken once? “What the hell am I supposed to bid on here? A sixteenth-century French futon?”

“It would liven up your bachelor pad,” the dark-haired one says. His eyes find mine and I can tell he clocks how close Anthony and I are standing.

“Yes, but a futon?”

I clear my throat. “There’s a lovely set of china,” I say. “With a pheasant pattern.”

Anthony snorts at my side, reaching for his glass of brandy. The crystal hides the twitch of his lips.

“China,” the auburn-haired one repeats. “Victor has lost his mind about this whole thing.”

“I’m guessing he has no idea what’s actually being auctioned here tonight. Anthony, why don’t you introduce us to your date?”

He puts down his drink. “Gentlemen, this is Summer Davis. Summer, this is Carter and Tristan. We work together at Acture Capital.”

I shake their hands. Neither of them tries to hide the looks they shoot Anthony. Is it surprise? Shock? Regardless, I give them my widest smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” I say. “I’ve heard a lot about the work Acture Capital does.”

“A china expert and a venture capitalist fan?” Carter asks. “Anthony, where did you meet this woman, and can you point me in the same direction?”

“Much like a sixteenth-century French futon,” Anthony says, “Summer is one of a kind.”

I have to smile at that. He’d sidestepped the issue of me working at Opate, hiding it in the guise of a compliment.

“But unlike a sixteenth-century futon, I’m not usually sold at auction,” I add.

All three of them chuckle. “What a shame,” Carter says, putting down his glass. “Should we… oh. It’s showtime.”

A hush settles over the gathered guests as the MC takes the stage, tapping the mic a few times. He introduces the CEO of Exciteur to polite applause and a tall, dark blond man strides across the stage. The illusive fourth partner of Acture Capital. A glance at the brochure gives me his name.

Victor St. Clair.

“Let’s have a seat,” Anthony murmurs by my side. A moment later a large hand rests on the small of my back.

We find seats at the back of the room. His business partners sit two rows ahead, giving us privacy. I wonder if we should have made it clear that it’s not like that between Anthony and me.

The bidding kicks off with an abstract painting no bigger than my hand, by renowned-artist-I’ve-never-heard-of and at a price-too-high-to-comprehend. I sit in awed silence as items and trips are auctioned off at hair-raising prices.

Anthony doesn’t bid on a single one of them.

I lean toward him. His aftershave is pleasant, a hint of pine and musk. “Which one are you waiting for?”

He’s close enough that I can follow the raised arch of his eyebrow. “I’m going to get you your china, of course.”

I grin at the obvious joke. His gaze drops to my lips for a second before returning toward the stage.

“Now time for item number fourteen…” the auctioneer says. “A twenty-four-karat diamond watch from Cartier in the classic Panthére design.”

Anthony raises his hand.

I look at him, but he keeps his eyes on the rapidly speaking auctioneer. Two others bid as well, but Anthony’s arm rises another time. Then a third.

By the fourth time, he’s the only one still with his arm up. The price is north of a hundred thousand dollars.

“Sold to Mr. Anthony Winter!” the auctioneer calls to the sound of applause. I just stare at him.

Anthony turns to me. “Well, you recommended it.”

I just blink at him. “It’s a woman’s watch.”

“So it’ll make an excellent gift,” he says, lowering his voice. “Think about the monkeys, Summer.”

“Right. You’re very generous.”