Chapter 5
“Nina?” Darrell’s voler caught as he processed the name of his long–lost daughter. He shook his head quickly. “No, couldn be What would she be doing here?“.
According to his sources. Nina had grown up in some backwater village. This auction was the definition of exclusive–you needed a net worth of at least 300 million dollars just to get through the door. No way she could be here.
“Maybe not,” Humphrey said softly, tucking away his suspicions before adding. “Though she did mention plans with her boyfriend tonight.”
Darrell’s steps faltered “Boyfriend? What kind of man?”
Humphrey shrugged. “She didn’t say.”
“Look into it.” Darrell’s voice hardened. “She’s had no proper education. At her age, she could easily fall in with the wrong
crowd.”
“Sounds like someone’s worried about his daughter getting hurt! Humphrey said, a slight tease in his tone as he matched his father’s stride.
“Worried? About her?” A harsh laugh escaped Darrell’s throat. His weathered features, carved stern by years of experience, twisted with derision before settling into something darker.
“I just don’t want her dragging our name through the mud,” he added.
In the auction house’s VIP suite, Nina sprawled across a leather armchair with casual grace.
Meanwhile, the distinguished Mr. Snee–whose very presence usually commanded reverence–was bent double like a fussy parent, his dignified bearing forgotten as he tied her shoelaces.
“You’re really pushing it with this princess act,” he teased, his hands carefully crafting a perfect bow in her laces. “What am your personal butler?”
Nina watched him through mischievous eyes, her cheeks chipmunk–full with a fruit candy. She rotated her ankle to inspect his handiwork, delicate brows lifting in approval.
“I’m not lazy,” she declared with unshakeable confidence. “I only skip tying them because you’re here. I do it myself usually!”
“Is this what they call workplace harassment these days? Clifford couldn’t help but laugh. Only Nina dared to be this brazenly unreasonable with him–and he had no one but himself to blame for enabling her.
A knock cut through their banter.
“Come in,” Clifford called, straightening.
Paul entered, practically oozing deference. “Mr. Snee, it’s almost time for Ms. Morisot to take the stage.”
“But my candy!” Nina protested around her mouthful.
Clifford gave her head an affectionate pat. “Business first, sweets later.”
“Fine” She dragged the word out, then suddenly brightened. “Clifford!”
“Hm?” He was reaching for her face veil when she caught him by surprise. One soft hand curved around his neck, and befor he could process what was happening, warm lips pressed against his. The candy slipped from her mouth to his in one
Chapter 5
NOV
smooth motion.
Paul’s jaw practically unhinged. ‘Oh my God! is this for real?
Even the unflappable Clifford froze, blindsided by her sneak attack. But before he could push her away, she’d already bounced back, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
No trace of romantic flutter colored her satisfaction–she was purely triumphant, like a child who’d finally gotten one over on an adult. “The higher–ups always preach against food waster he declared, snatching the veil from his slack grip
She settled it over her face and gave the shell–shocked Paul a playful tap as she breezed past. “Snap out of it! We’ve got places to be”
“R–right, of course.” Paul hurried after her, still visibly dazed,
Once they’d gone, Clifford’s assistant Tyrone Stephenson approached with a tissue, shaking his head. “Mr. Snee, she knows perfectly well you’re a germaphobe who hates sweets. You really shouldn’t let her get away with everything.”
Having worked alongside Clifford for years, Tyrone knew his reputation as the “Devil Trainer a man whose strictness was legendary. Yet something about Nina seemed to short–circuit all that famous discipline.
Clifford just smiled and typed on his phone: [Get me a clean food bag.]
“What for?” Tyrone asked, confused.
Clifford replied: [Just do as I said.]
When Tyrone returned with the bag, Clifford carefully stored away the candy Nina had given him. “T’ll return it to her later,” he said, still smiling.
Tyrone could only stare. These two were in a league of their own.
The auction house’s main hall hummed with anticipation, every seat filled with the city’s late. The promise of seeing Ms.
Morisot paint live had drawn out the upper echelons of society like moths to a flame.
Darrell and Humphrey sat surrounded by an endless buzz of conversations, all centered on one name: Berthe Morisot “Hey, you’re here for the live painting too? Great minds think alike!”
“Back off this one. That painting’s got my name on it.”
“After coming all this way? Have a heart–let your old friend have this one.”
“May the highest bidder win, eh?”
“First public appearance ever! Even just catching a glimpse of the master herself will be worth the trip.”
Humphrey leaned toward his father with a knowing smile. “Quite the crowd gunning for this piece. Still feeling confident?”
Among the gathered elite, Darrell’s presence cut through the chatter like a blade. Eyes Jocked on the empty stage, he answered with quiet determination. “That painting is coming home with me.”
