Page 13

An art auction was not the time to showcase my Salma curves.

As much as I knew the ladies of leisure wouldn't respond as well to me as their male counterparts, I still wanted to be accepted by them.

Barging in full-boobie was not the way to go.

So, I dressed modestly in a silk sheath with a velvet jacket over that.

No one stopped my car when I pulled into the private drive.

An attendant took my keys after I parked before the front doors.

As they drove off, I went up some steps to the guarded doors.

That's when I was stopped, but I presented Goldring's business card.

It didn't just get me in, it also got me the royal treatment.

One of the guards left his post to escort me down a corridor where an attendant offered me a glass of champagne before ushering me into the auction room.

Only when he saw that someone was taking care of me did the guard leave my side.

It didn't stop there. Just inside the auction room, a woman waited to hand me a leather notebook with a silver pen tucked into an attached sleeve—a pen engraved with my name. Considering how I'd just met Goldring a few hours earlier, that detail was damn impressive.

The auction had your typical set-up with chairs set in lines facing a podium and side tables holding photographs of the art up for auction set against the walls.

Even with the tables lining two sides of the room, there was significant space around the chairs.

It helped that there were only around thirty chairs.

Goldring had been super selective when handing out the invitations.

Getting included suddenly became an even greater achievement than I'd initially thought.

Sure enough, when I wandered up to the nearest table, I passed some faces I recognized.

Not personally. From my research. These were the elite of New Orleans society.

They glanced at me, some glancing longer than others, but mostly, they were interested in looking over the art.

There were trays of drinks and appetizers being passed around, but I kept to my champagne and myself as I did the same.

A large photo on a stand represented every piece while leather folders sat before the photographs with all the information on the pieces.

I was perusing a painting that most of the people there were ignoring when I felt a hand on my elbow.

“Ms. Haven, I'm so glad you made it!”

I turned and found Goldring standing behind me with an older woman on his arm. “Mr. Goldring, thank you again for inviting me. You've got some incredible pieces up for auction.”

“We're delighted to have you. This is my wife, Jane. Sugah, this is the lady I told you about. The one I met earlier today.”

“It's a pleasure.” Jane Goldring held out a hand.

I shook it as I would a man's hand. “So nice to meet you. Thank you for being gracious enough to accept a stranger into your home.”

“Don't mention it, darlin'.” She smacked my shoulder. “You made my husband feel young again, and I'm all for that.”

“Oh my!” I held a hand to my chest. “That makes me sound like a lady of the night.”

She giggled. “My husband goes to bed too early for a lady of the night. Perhaps a lady of the late afternoon.”

I burst out laughing, then clamped a hand over my mouth. “Oh, I'm so sorry.” I looked around. “There I go, making a great impression on people.” I rolled my eyes. “It's a good thing I don't care.” I laughed again.

“That's the best way to be,” Goldring said. He looked over at the painting I was inspecting. “I'm not surprised to find that you're interested in the Moulrain. It's my favorite too.”

The best part? I didn't have to fake my interest. Goldring and I really did have similar tastes in art. Probably because my tastes were older than his. You could call them ancient.

“Bill told me you like the more classical pieces,” Jane said.

“I do. I don't care for the bright swaths of splattered paint that the kids love these days.” I grimaced. “Probably because it looks like something kids could do.”

Jane laughed brightly, earning a lot of shocked looks.

“I never understood that whole movement either.

I don't see the talent in it. I mean, Impressionism, sure.

But don't glob some paint on a canvas and tell me it's a landscape.

Or that it's the combination of colors that evoke a certain feeling.” She rolled her eyes.

“I tried my hand at art once. When I asked my teacher about that, she said you have to learn the rules of art so you can surpass them. Abstract art is supposedly beyond the rules.”

“What did you say to her?” Goldring asked.

“I didn't say anything. I left the class immediately.” I rolled my eyes.

“Art is one of the few joys in life that doesn't have rules.

If it did, abstract art wouldn't exist. Those artists aren't rebels, breaking rules because there aren't any rules to break.

It's when you impose rules on creativity that it dies.

That teacher obviously didn't know crap about what she was teaching.”

Both Goldrings laughed at that.

“You see?” William said to his wife. “Wonderful, isn't she?”

“A breath of fresh air!”

“Or stale, old air.” I nodded at William. “At least as far as art is concerned.”

Jane burst into laughter again. “I like your air just fine, sugah.”

“Thank you. I like your air too.” I sniffed. “It's scented with jasmine if I'm not mistaken. Night blooming jasmine, not the common variety.”

“Good nose.” Jane looked impressed.

“I love fragrances nearly as much as art.”

“Oh, me too!”

“Sir, we're ready,” a man said to William.

“All right.” He let go of his wife, saying to her, “I'm going to check on the pieces one last time before we get started.”

“Go on.” Jane pushed him away and grabbed my arm. “I'm stealing your friend. She's mine now! We're going to drench ourselves in perfume and champagne while we talk about art.”

Goldring laughed. “I thought that might be the case. Have fun, ladies.”

As he left, Jane escorted me to the front row of chairs. We sat down near the aisle, her closest to the aisle.

“I'm using you as a barrier, sugah,” she whispered to me. “I hate having to make small talk with someone who just happens to sit beside me.”

“I've got you.” I nodded. “None shall pass.”

She laughed again. “How long have you been in Nawlins?”

“Oh, well, I've only just arrived. I've been putting my house in order. No time for socializing. But now, I'm getting out and meeting people.”

“You married? Lookin'?”

“Neither, to be frank. I like being on my own.”

She nodded. “There's so much freedom in that. So, no children?”

“No.” I frowned. “I never had the urge. You?”

“I have three.” She shrugged. “To be honest, there were times when I wished I had gone your route. But at the end of the day, it's nice to have family. Do you think you'll ever change your mind?”

“You know, people always say that when a woman meets the right man, she begins to want children.” I shrugged. “Maybe I haven't met the right man yet.”

“What an introduction,” someone said on my left.

I looked over to see a tall, muscular man, dressed in lightweight but expensive clothing. “Was that an introduction? I don't believe so.”

Jane giggled. “She told you, James.”

James nodded at Jane. “She sure did. Care to make me more respectable?”

“It looks as if you won't be alone for long, Ms. Haven,” Jane said to me.

“Don't you dare!” I smacked her arm. “It's Salina to you.”

She grinned. “Well, Salina, this is James Breaux. James, this is Salina Haven, new to town.”

“Oh, I know she's new.” He sat down next to me and held out his hand. “I'd remember you.”

“Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand.

He sat sideways and slid his arm over the back of my chair. “Where are you from, Salina?”

I stiffened, glanced at his arm, and said, “I don't believe I gave you the honor of my first name, Mr. Breaux. Now, if you'd kindly remove your arm from my seat, I'd like to get back to my conversation with Jane here.”

Jane hooted in laughter, attracting the attention of the other guests, who were filling the seats. Even William, up near the podium, lifted his brows at his wife.

James wasn't fazed. He removed his arm and inclined his head. “My mistake, Ms. Haven. Forgive my impudence. I was hoping to get to know you better.”

“And I was hoping to buy some art. Goodnight, Mr. Breaux.”

“Goodnight, Ms. Haven.” He got up, still smiling, nodded at Jane, and moved a few seats down.

Jane pressed her lips together, then whispered, “I have never, in my life, seen a man handled so well. And James Breaux too. Do you know he's considered the most eligible bachelor in town?”

“Is he?” I scowled. “He seemed a little slimy to me. No offense. I hope he isn't a good friend of yours.”

“Breaux?” She laughed. “Absolutely not! I agree with you. He's slimy! Thank God you sent him on his way.”

I leaned in to whisper, “Not far enough. It's hard to be subtle with men.”

She was still giggling when her husband joined us and the auction began.