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“You’d be shocked by how often my meetings take place around art,” I say. “Even in the world of decimal points and dollar signs, people are drawn to beauty.”
“How true,” Marie says.
“My employer has considered your request,” I say.
“Oh?” Marie’s voice drips nonchalance, as if I were mentioning a shift in the weather.
“She says it can be arranged.”
Marie doesn’t respond at first. Then, “I wonder if it was a hard decision,” she says. “She so loved to brag about her son.”
“Really?” I can’t disguise the incredulity in my voice. Sloane has only ever seemed derisive toward Rhett.
“Oh yes. When she and her husband used to hang around my circle, all they could speak about was whatever stage of life young Rhett was in. How smart, how charismatic, how proud they were of everything he did.”
What changed? I suppose Rhett grew beyond the age in which his mother could control every choice he made.
“What should I tell her?” I ask, forcing us out of this heartrending topic. My words are a bit too blunt, but I desperately need to stomp out the regret and guilt rising in my heart.
Marie answers with a question of her own. “Who would be managing my money at the Westing Bank?” she asks.
“Whomever you’d like,” I say.
“I assume you have a client portfolio,” she says. “You’re not just in acquisitions.”
“You’d assume correctly,” I say haltingly.
She allows the unsaid to linger between us. I manage some smaller accounts now, but taking care of Marie’s billions would be a full-time job. Could she actually want me in charge of it?!
“I like to know who I work with intimately,” Marie says, confirming this wild new twist of events. “And exactly how skilled they are.”
I wait. Here it is, the latest test.
“There’s a painting that’s being sold tonight. As I’m sure you know, paintings are more than a pretty piece to hang on a wall. They’re an important investment, increasing or depreciating in value as time goes on. Everything that is sold tonight will be expected to gain their owners something in the long term.”
Marie finally rips her eyes away from the painting and appraises me with the same cool, steady eye. “However there is one particular painting being sold tonight that will turn an immense profit, much more so than any other. I would like you to bid on that one. Get it for me, and this conversation can progress further.”
I nod once. “Consider it done,” I say. Then, without further comment, I turn and sink back into the crowd.
My heart is pounding, and I almost don’t notice Paul standing right in front of me. I barely avoid colliding with him.
“Excuse me,” I say, but he moves to stand in my way.
“I’ll give it to you,” he says. “You don’t quit.” He’s slightly red and though he tries to keep his voice even, I get the impression that he also ran across the ballroom to intercept my conversation with Marie.
A bit too late for that, Mr. Morgan.
I smile evenly. “Some have called me relentless,” I say.
“And how about stupid?” he asks.
“Only by my lessers,” I respond.
I catch Rhett approaching quickly and shake my head to call him off. Turning back to Paul, I gaze coolly up at him. “I don’t have anything more to say to you.”
Paul’s jaw tightens, but then he steps aside.
My heart doesn’t finally calm down until Rhett and I reach the buffet table.
