Winner Takes All (8 page)

“Dad loved those paintings,” he said softly.

“Which is why I think he’d be very pleased to know that his cherished paintings were going to help find a cure for colon cancer.”

Cole bit back a response. Even though she raised millions and millions of dollars each year, Loretta Hammond didn’t think she did enough. She would never think she did enough. “It really wasn’t my intention to discuss this, Mother. I wanted to talk about the auction end.”

“All right. Talk away.”

“I met with a woman from Wyndham’s this afternoon and—”

“Wyndham’s called you? How strange. I thought I told them to have their representative get in touch with me. I’m sorry they bothered you with this.”

He recalled the image of Eva holding out a felt-tipped pen to Mrs. Hemingway. “I assure you it was no bother.”

She saw the look in her son’s eye. “Really? How remarkable.”

He was unaware that he revealed anything remarkable. “What?”

“Nothing. Go on. You met with a woman from Wyndham’s today.”

“Yes, she presented their case to me and I thought what she said was worth discussing further. This was her first presentation, but she pulled it off very well. Her facts and figures made sense.”

“This gets stranger and stranger,” she said thoughtfully. “I wonder why Wyndham’s would send a neophyte to court such an important sale. I was expecting a call from Mr. Wyndham or from his son at the very least.” She paused for a moment. “I believe I’m almost insulted.”

“I don’t know what they were thinking—perhaps they recognized her talent—but as I said, she did an excellent job. I don’t think Mr. Wyndham or his son Ethan could have been more convincing.”

Loretta knew Cole was not the sort to have his head turned by a pretty face. Yes, he dated the Lucys of the world, beautiful women who seemed jaded to her, but they were also intelligent people who could hold a reasonable conversation or tell an entertaining story. For this reason, she wondered about the woman from Wyndham’s. Could she have caught her son’s eye? Was that why they were having this discussion?

“All right,” she said, opening her menu. She didn’t want Cole to know how very interested she was. “Fill me in.”

He opened his menu and glanced at it, quickly deciding that he was in the mood for salmon. Then he ran through the proposal Eva had made over lunch, pausing to explain in depth her theories on touring the collection and the strategic importance of Nashville. “She was insistent that she could create more public awareness and woo more customers.”

“She sounds like a very good saleswoman,” Loretta said unimpressed. She had met many good saleswomen in her life. That didn’t say anything, however, about the quality of the product.

“That’s what I thought. But then she mentioned figures. According to her, Wyndham’s would be willing to take a ten percent seller’s commission.”

She closed her menu. “Ten percent?”

“Ten percent.”

“But that’s five percent less than Davidge’s or Brooks’s.”

“I know.”

Loretta took a sip of wine and did some fast calculating in her head. “That could mean the difference of hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

“It’s worth looking into,” he said, indicating to the waiter that they were ready to order.

Within seconds the man was at their table with a cordial smile on his face. “What can I get you today, ma’am?”

It took only a moment for the Hammonds to place their orders. After the waiter was moved on to the next table, Cole returned to business. “You haven’t signed anything yet, have you?”

“No, no, we’re not that far along yet. Mr. Cartwright and I are still discussing terms, although I do think he has certain expectations. Naturally, this proposal raises some interesting possibilities. Mr. Cartwright told me that the commission rates were nonnegotiable and Mr. Kimble from Brooks’s said the same thing.”

“Wyndham’s is smaller and they’re trying to get a more significant piece of the pie. They have to work with smaller profit margins until they establish themselves in the big leagues.”

Loretta nodded. “I wonder if Mr. Cartwright will be open to negotiation now. Nothing like the threat of good healthy competition to get a vendor to bring down his price.
Vive le
capitalism.”

“But you will meet with Wyndham’s?” he asked, trying not to sound as if the decision mattered to him. “I assured Ms. Butler that nothing had been finalized yet. She had a strong case, Mother. Hear her out.”

Cole rarely made requests of her. “I’ve got Kimble from Brooks’s tomorrow and a million meetings for the Fashion Ball. It will have to be sometime next week. Is that all right?”

He nodded. “She’s sending a formal proposal over tomorrow. I’ve told Philip to take a look at it before passing it along to you. Like I said, I think you’ll find the contents very interesting.”

“Unless, of course, I invite her to the Fashion Ball,” she said, looking at her son carefully to gauge his reaction. She didn’t miss the flicker of interest in his eyes. “But I suppose I wouldn’t really get a chance to talk with her, what with my hosting duties and all. No, perhaps I should just wait until next week. I’ll have Cassandra set something up soon. What do you think, Cole?”

He thought having Eva at the Fashion Ball was a wonderful idea, one that he was going to put forth himself, but now he shrugged indifferently. He didn’t want to overplay his hand. He could tell that his mother was on a fishing expedition. Since his father died, she had become like more conventional mothers, worrying about her son’s future and longing for grandchildren. This was not about the future or grandchildren, and he didn’t want her to get her hopes up. “Will Davidge’s and Brooks’s be there?”

“Of course. They’re courting my goodwill, and giving money to the Hammond Foundation is the best way to do that.”

“Then perhaps, for the foundation’s sake, you should invite Eva.”

“Eva?”

“Ms. Butler, the representative from Wyndham’s.”

“It’s a persuasive argument and I’ll take it under consideration. I’ll be sure to let you know my decision.”

He shrugged as if bored with the topic. “It makes no difference to me.”

Loretta fought a smirk. Clearly, it made all the difference in the world to him, and in order to torture him a little longer, she decided she wouldn’t send out the invitation until Friday. She had only one son and needed to get all the joy she could out of him. “Still, I’ll have Cassandra call you as soon as the invite goes out, assuming it does.”

“That’s not necessary,” he assured her, as the waiter brought out their first course. He put mesclun greens with sherry vinaigrette in front of Loretta and pan-fried scallop salad in front of Cole. He then hovered for several seconds with a fresh pepper grinder. Cole accepted a few turns while his mother waved the waiter off.

“All right,” she said, deciding that it was only fair that he not be warned. After all, poor Ms. Eva Butler was only getting twenty-four hours to prepare for
the
social event of the New York season. Most women had four weeks to get ready, and Loretta knew that they needed every one of them.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Cole realized that he’d protested too much. His mother was an extremely clever woman and had obviously figured out that he was very interested in the movements of Ms. Butler. For that reason, he refused to follow up on her invite. Although he would be tempted to ask Cassandra what the final decision was, he would withstand the urge. There wasn’t any way he could find out now without tipping off his mother. Even a request from Philip for the guest list would be treated as suspect.

“This is very good,” he said, changing the subject completely. “The scallops are delicate and tender. How’s your salad?”

Although the bland conversation didn’t fool her, she went along with it willingly. “Excellent. Mrs. Hemingway gets points for food quality and atmosphere.”

“She is a jewel.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Eva was perusing
the final draft of her cover letter for the third time when Devorah tapped on her desk.

It took Eva a moment to register the interruption. After a delay of a second or two, she stopped reading and looked up. “Yes?”

“Ben would like to see you in his office,” said an impatient Devorah. “He has ten minutes before he goes into a meeting.”

Eva looked at the clock. It was ten minutes to ten. All she had left to do was slide the letter into the envelope with the other elements of her proposal and call the mailroom. “All right. Tell him I’ll be right there.”

Her announcement, which was distracted and carelessly tossed off, didn’t fool Devorah. “I said he has only ten minutes before he goes into a meeting. He’ll be in meetings most of the day. If you don’t see him now, you won’t see him at all today, and then tomorrow when I come around here telling you Ben wants to see you, I’ll be handing you a cardboard box as well.”

Eva signed the letter. “All right. Be there in a second.” Although she heard Devorah’s warning, it didn’t bother her. Devorah was always threatening to hand coworkers a cardboard box, but these threats were baseless. Devorah could no more fire a Wyndham employee than she could afford to buy one of the artifacts the auction house sold.

She sealed the package and addressed it quickly in her scratchy handwriting. Then she looked around the room. Her coworkers were sitting at their desks, all seemingly engrossed in their own projects. This was what it was always like at Wyndham’s. The staff, made up almost entirely of Ivy League graduates and the offspring of British aristocrats, were friendly enough in a Tiffany’s salesperson way, but they weren’t outgoing and they were rarely inclined to do you a favor—especially not for a junior associate who’d recently been promoted to senior associate. They were a cutthroat bunch who would sell their mothers to get one over on a colleague.

Her gaze traveled to her neighbor. Except David. He didn’t fit the mold. He had the proper pedigree—son of a viscount, grandson of a former Home Secretary—but not the attitude. He was gregarious and outgoing and loved to chat: The more information he gathered, the more information he could spread. At the moment, David was drinking his first cup of coffee of the day, which meant he would soon start reading Buzzfeed, which would be followed by Gawker, Vox and the AV Squad. Eva had observed his morning routine enough times to know he was still thirty minutes away from doing any actual work.

She brought the package over to him.

“Can you spare a second?” she asked disingenuously. She knew the answer.

He looked suspicious. “What for?”

“I need to get this out ASAP. Mind calling the mailroom for me and arranging a messenger? I’d do it myself, but Ben wants to see me and Devorah is threatening the old cardboard box,” she explained. “All the information is on the envelope.” She held out both. “Think you can handle it?”

“I can do it from my desk, and it doesn’t require me to make any snap decisions that affect the lives of hundreds of people. Yep, right up my alley. Leave it here.”

She did exactly that. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

Eva looked at her watch. Eight minutes until ten o’clock. Perfect. It would give Ben enough time to say his piece but not enough to review and lecture.

“He will see you now,” Devorah said importantly as Eva brushed by her desk. “Go right now.”

Devorah wanted to be a gatekeeper, Eva thought, but she just didn’t have the trappings. Her boss wasn’t important enough and she herself was far too young.

“You wanted to see me?” Eva asked as she entered the room. Ben was sitting at his desk reading the newspaper. He had his own morning routine, and reading the
Times
from cover to cover was one of them. Being up on current events didn’t directly relate to his job, but it didn’t hurt and every once in while he snagged a commission from the obituaries page.

Ben wasn’t the best boss in the world—he was lazy and easily bored and tended to not be around when you needed help—but Eva liked him. There was a disinterestedness about him that appealed to her and kept him out of her hair. Other staff members weren’t so insouciant. Room at the top of the Wyndham’s ladder was tight, and most of Ben’s underlings resented the space he took up.

Not Eva. She knew he wasn’t dead weight. Ben sometimes had good ideas. He just didn’t like having to implement them.

Looking up, Ben folded the paper and put it to the side. “Yes, yes. Come in. Take a seat. I want to hear about your meeting with Hammond yesterday. How’d it go? Do we have the account yet?”

Eva laughed. She wasn’t entirely sure Ben was kidding, but the question amused her anyway. “Not quite, Ben. I’m still working on it. But I know for a fact that nothing has been decided yet and that Wyndham’s has as good a chance as Davidge’s or Brooks’s of getting it.”

Ben nodded. “Hmm. How receptive was Hammond to our pitch? Could you get a feel of his interest?”

“Actually,” she said, a little nervously, “I didn’t meet with Hammond himself.”

“You didn’t?”

Rather than open herself up to criticism about the appointment mix-up—perhaps she should have called to confirm, something she would certainly be doing on October fifteen and the full week before—she explained how she’d met with one of Hammond’s associates. “I would call it a vetting,” she said, improvising as she went along. “I pitched him our ideas, which we then discussed in detail. He seemed very interested and suggested that I send the proposal to Hammond’s office. He promised to give Hammond a head’s up.”

“Have you?”

“I just handed it off to the mailroom,” she said, glad that it was almost true. She’d known he’d ask, which is one of the reasons she’d been so determined to get it done before coming in to see him. “I had to drop the seller’s rate by five percent in order to really get his attention, but I think we have a chance.”

Ben frowned. “Eva, you know very well that the seller’s rate is fixed.”

“Yes, I do but I spoke—”

“It’s Ethan’s pet cause. It’s the first big thing he did when he assumed control of the New York office,” Ben told her. He didn’t have to, of course. Eva knew the facts as well as he did, but he wouldn’t give her a moment to explain. “I know it’s a damn stupid policy that ties our hands and gives us no room to maneuver. We’re in the auction business, for God’s sake: Everything is negotiable.”