“I’m fine. Just a little low blood sugar. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch.” I don’t mention Warren and Shelly giving me a headache, since the low blood sugar part is true. And I didn’t have the courage to chase after the waitstaff.
“You should’ve said something. Let’s go to the auction, and I’ll have someone bring you a plate.”
We walk into a huge ballroom set up to hold the main event. Many of the chairs are already occupied, and a projector shows art pieces up for bidding to whet people’s appetites.
David and I take seats in the back. He signals one of the waiters. “Can you make a plate of hors d’oeuvres for my date? She hasn’t eaten anything.” He says it so smoothly, like he’s done it thousands of times before.
It’s oddly comforting and nice to be taken care of…and not be expected to appear pathetic and pitiable at the same time.
“Certainly, sir.” The waiter turns to me. “Any allergies? Or something you’d rather not have?”
“I’m okay with anything,” I say.
“Something to drink as well?”
“Champagne. It was really nice earlier.” I turn to my boss. “David, do you want anything?”
“Burgundy, if you have it,” he says. “Otherwise, any full-bodied red will do.”
“Certainly.” The waiter glides off.
“Thank you,” I say to David. “I would’ve never thought to ask. I didn’t know I could eat like that here.”
“My dates eat. I hope you feel better after you get some food in you.”
I nod, then look around a little—at the glittering chandeliers, a quartet occupying the stage and the people milling around, checking their phones and chatting. I lean over to David. “Are you going to buy anything?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m buying a piece for my grandma, and paying for it in her name. It’s her birthday present.”
“That’s very thoughtful.”
“Thanks, but it isn’t exactly my idea. She always asks us to make charitable donations in her name for her birthday. So that’s what I’m doing. Plus, I think she’ll like the piece. Very modern, very vivid, you know?” He points at the slide on the screen. “That one.”
I look at the image, the stark red and purple. The colors are eye-catching, but the patterns they make don’t seem to be anything easily understandable.
“Very Alexandra Darling,” David adds. “Especially the purple.”
I tilt my head a little, hoping to see something. But nope. It just looks like a bunch of splatters and lines.
This is why I probably won’t buy art even if I win the lottery. Or purchase one for anybody’s birthday.
“And the best thing is that the stuff I want will be up early, so we can cut this short if you want.” He lowers his voice. “I know I’m interrupting your weekend.”
“It’s okay. It’s my job.” Every article I read said it’s my responsibility to anticipate and meet my boss’s needs. Besides, it isn’t like I have something better to do. The training videos can wait.
“It’s not. I’ll make it up to you, though. I promise.”
I don’t argue. Despite his seemingly nice, laid-back personality, David can be surprisingly stubborn. He always does what he wants. I wonder if Shelly is aware of that. If she is, she wouldn’t try to get him back when he obviously doesn’t care about her anymore.
The waiter returns with my plate and our drinks. I place the plate on my lap and start nibbling, while the auction starts.
The painting David wants is up first. I look up to see the opening bid, but a prickling sensation crawling on my back makes me turn, wondering if somebody’s staring at me.
My gaze collides with Warren’s. He’s staring at me like I’ve betrayed him, then cocks his head and glares at me… No. That’s not right. He’s glaring at David. I’ve seen that expression on Warren’s face before. It’s the look he gets when he thinks he’s losing something that should rightfully be his. He tosses back his drink, then mouths something at me.
I shake my head. I have no idea what he’s saying, and I don’t want to engage.
Warren’s eyes narrow. He makes a bid for the painting, then takes a swallow of some amber liquid in his hand. I put a canapé in my mouth and wonder what he’s up to. Does he really like the painting? Or is this about David?