Trouble

It brings to mind a gorgeous redhead I know, who recently described antiques dealers as old men with crumbs in their beards and moth-eaten wool coats. Nothing like me, she’d said, swiping a silky wave of fiery hair off her ivory shoulder. She was gorgeous, full breasts, hips, tiny waist.

I’d occasionally thought of her since the day we met in Daisy’s store, but that night at the wedding. That kiss… I’d wanted to explore every inch of her perfect figure with my mouth, learn her sweet spots, make her moan, but she ran.

She said she had a boyfriend, but what man in his right mind would let her out of his sight? I’d expect her to demand better of a man. She’s fully capable. Is it possible she lied? Either way, she seems to have taken up residence in my mind ever since that night, like some unwelcome, redheaded Cinderella. Sin…

“He’s courting Brimfield and Skinner.” Miles is still going on about the kid, and I file away my lusty thoughts. “Grafton was on his last episode.”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters because when he puts them in front of millions of viewers, they’ll go to him first with their acquisitions. He’ll have first look at their catalogs.” My diminutive partner is apoplectic over this guy, and I try not to antagonize Miles when he’s having a moment.

Inhaling slowly, I hope someone in heaven takes note of this. It proves I can be kind—when I have to be, which thankfully isn’t very often.

“Let’s look at this from another angle.” I lean forward and place my forearms on my knees, clasping my hands. “This… Link Sherlock, despite the ridiculous name, is presenting the world of antiques to a new generation of buyers and collectors. They’re taking their first sip of coffee milk or venturing into the livestock shows in Branson.”

Miles lowers his shaggy brow. “I’m not sure I follow…”

“Mr. Sherlock will whet their appetite, but we own this field. We’ve made collecting antiquities an art. He’s a barker at the county fair. We’re the auctioneers at Southeby’s. They’ll come to us when they’re ready for class.”

Miles leans back, stroking his short beard. “Class…” He lowers himself slowly into his leather desk chair and his lips pucker as he contemplates my words. “I like it, but how will they find us?”

“The same way anyone finds anything of value. Word of mouth.” Pushing off my knees, I stand, ready to get back to my office and set up my next trip to Manhattan.

“And Brimfield? Skinner?”

“They’re smart to court his attention. He’ll bring a new audience, freshen the market.”

“I think we need to remind them we’re here. Remind them we’re still top of the line, ready when they need us.”

I’m not sure I like the sound of this. “How will we do that?”

“A gala.”

“Gala.” My lip curls. Large social events are not my cup of tea, and I despise party planners. They’re usually pushy, loud women with ideas I don’t like. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll do my usual rounds, pay them all a visit—”

“Don’t get me wrong, friend, but you’re hardly the warmest cookie on the platter.”

“I’m not sure I follow that metaphor. Still, I have established relationships. It’ll be fine.”

“It’ll be old-fashioned. People want new things.” He’s on his feet, pacing the large, oak-pan

eled office. “We can go all out, maybe something outdoors, on Lake Murray. Luxury accommodations, a video montage of us through the years, SWAG bags…”

“SWAG bags?”

“Stuff We All Get. You know, robes and iPads.”

“I’m aware of what SWAG is. How will robes and gadgets sell antiques?”

“They’ll show we care.”

“Here’s how we show we care. I have a meeting with Grafton in a few weeks. I’ll do a quick tour of our Vermont and Pennsylvania locations—”

“I’ll save you the trip. We’re bringing them to us.” He smiles, and I can tell there’s no talking him out of this idea.

Miles is five minutes older than me in this company, and even though we’re partners now, he still likes to pull rank when he gets an idea I hate. Sometimes it’s easier to let him win. With a sigh, I sit in the chair again.

“So you’re thinking Lake Murray?”