Page 147 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“You’re in a bad position. I get that. Someone with too much money and too much leverage has made your job harder. I’m offering you an exit for one item. You can say you felt unwell. You can say I was temporary staff from the charity benefit circuit. You can say nothing and take a very long bathroom break. But if you go back out there and ignore paddle twelve during Lot 47, you’re going to have a dragon, a law firm, and every person with a phone in that room discussing why this auction house runs private sales in public.”

His face tightened.

I waited, resisting the urge to tap my foot impatiently.

He looked at the cash again, then said, “The mirror is Lot 47.”

“I know.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I go tell Rafe Virelli you’re feeling cooperative but shy.”

He closed his eyes. “You’re terrifying.”

“Thank you. I’m an intern.”

That, apparently, didn’t comfort him.

Three minutes later, I was standing behind the rostrum, wearing a borrowed black jacket, holding a lot card, and wondering whether this was the moment my law career became either legendary or evidence in my upcoming criminal trial.

The guests had reassembled.

Rafe’s face when he saw me nearly made the entire thing worth it. He sat in the third row and stared at me with an expression that suggested his soul had briefly left his body to consult risk management.

I raised the gavel.

Several heads turned. Someone murmured. Dimitris Burelian leaned back in his chair, his mild smile sharpening.

I smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. We’ll resume with Lot 47.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed.

Yes, I had moved the lot order.

In my defense, the lot cards were right there, and the auctioneer had been very emotionally weakened by the five thousand dollars.

A staff member near the side door seemed to consider objecting, then looked at the absent auctioneer’s closed door and chose employment over heroism.

“Lot 47,” I continued, because my voice was apparently steady even if my internal organs were vibrating. “A shrine mirror, late Edo period, silvered bronze and lacquered backing, provenance materials available to registered bidders.”

I didn’t look at Rafe. If I looked at Rafe, I would laugh, faint, or develop a permanent medical condition. “We’ll open at one thousand.”

A pause.

Dimitris lifted his paddle.

“Two thousand,” I said.

Rafe lifted his.

“Three thousand to paddle twelve.”

Dimitris’s eyes cooled.

“Four thousand… Five thousand to paddle twelve.”

A murmur moved through the room.