FOR.BIDDEN LOVERS

Chapter 4: The Encounter

Richard

“Mr. Bradshaw, your mother wanted me to give you a message." Bernard, my assistant, hands me a note from my mom. It reads, "Your father and I have to go out of the country. Please attend the art auction at the Preston Art Gallery tonight."

Now I know why neither my mother nor father texted me personally. They know I can't back out of the event if they're not available.

"Bernard, please text Jarred, my driver, and have him pick me up here at the penthouse in one hour. Oh, and let him know to wear the suit I brought him." I hand Bernard the note and walk to my closet to pick out a suit for tonight.

"Bernard, what do you think of the navy-blue Armani suit?" I hold the suit up in front of him and spin it around on the hanger.

"I think it's stunning," replies Bernard.

While getting dressed, I finish scrolling through the "Billionaire Wives to be" app. My father wants me to find a suitable wife. He feels the app would help filter out women he thinks aren't worth my time.

I'd love to go about this process the way I prefer, but I'm practically indebted to my parents since all the money I have I inherited from them. Not to mention he's put me on a one-month time limit.

"Mr. Richard, Jarred is waiting for you at the front entrance." Bernard straightens my bow tie for me and winks his eye. Secretly, I wish Bernard were my father. He's supportive, encouraging, and a great mentor. Unlike my father, who is controlling, demeaning, and thinks I can't make positive choices for myself.

I walk down the steps and wave goodbye to Bernard. Jarred is waiting by the passenger side of my Bugatti.

"Woo, the ladies will be after you tonight, Mr. Bradshaw," laughs Jarred.

Jarred is only nineteen years old, but he's loyal and brings a lot of joy to my life. I hired him after catching him trying to break into one of my cars. I know most people would have called the cops, but I see potential in him. He's managed to stay out of trouble since he's worked for me.

A few minutes later, Jarred and I arrive at the art gallery. The Valet driver looks eager to drive my Bugatti, which makes Jarred glare at him and warn, "Not one scratch," and then hand the man the keys.

We walk into the art gallery, and the big spenders appear to be ready to spend a lot of money tonight.

"I hope we find some hot girls tonight," Jarred says, rubbing his hands together. Jarred points to a lady with blond hair and blue eyes dressed in a red Vera Wang gown and a diamond necklace. "Hmm, she's hot." He stares at the young woman like a lion in heat.

I'm not at this event to look for a bride, though I must admit, the young lady Jarred is pointing to is hot.

"Oh, what about her?" Jarred rubs the bottom of his chin and licks his lips like a wolf getting ready to pounce on its prey.

“Jarred, you keep checking out the ladies. I have a few people I need to meet."

Jarred winks and points at me while snapping his finger as if he's James Bond.

I walk off to meet the owner of Berkshire Golf Resort. Establishing a connection with him would be suitable for redeveloping our golf course.

"Ah, Mr. Bradshaw, good to see you here. By the way, how's your father?" Asks Mr. Berkshire.

"He's doing well." I smile and play my part in acting as if I'm living the life of my dreams.

I'm not too fond of business people asking me about my father. They aren't asking because they want to know but because they want a business relationship with a billionaire.

Most of these men see me as an extension of my father. It's almost as if I don't exist outside of him. It frustrates me.

I mingle with a few other business owners and check on Jarred. I'm sure he's lying to some women about his age in the hopes of getting a date.

"I don't know why people spend so much money on paintings that look as if they've been splattered by a five-year-old." Jarred puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head, as he comes towards me a few minutes later.

"You don't understand art then," I reply, laughing.

The host calls for everyone to take their seats as the bidding begins. Jarred and I walk to the side entrance where all the VIPS are allowed.

Not many individuals can afford to be on the VIP list. I look around and only see ten this year.

Jarred notices that I'm rubbing my beard. He says it's my sign that something is wrong, and he's right.

"What's the matter?" Jarred looks at me, puzzled.

“I usually see my rival, Mr. Dubois, but he's not here. That's odd."

"Good evening Mr. Richard. We have your seat waiting for you out front."

“Thank you, I hope this year's selection is good. I was a bit disappointed last year."

"I'm sure you'll find the selections of artwork to your liking and if not, let us know what you'll need, and we'll get it for you."

The host uncovers a piece of artwork from Takashi Murakami, known as the "Warhol of Japan," and is famous for merging fine art and popular culture. His work is in high demand in the art world today.

"Ok, the bidding will start at twenty thousand." Jarred coughs in disbelief.

I nudge him with my elbow.

"Sorry, Mr. Bradshaw."

"Twenty thousand," I yell, holding my paddle card up.

"Twenty-five thousand," a woman in the back yells. Her voice is soft yet stern.

"Thirty thousand," I yell as I look for who is trying to outbid me.

A man sitting two rows in front of me places a bid for thirty-five thousand.

“Forty thousand," I yell. The crowd begins to “oh“ and “awe".

"Forty-five thousand." The voice sounds like the same woman as before. She appears so confident in herself. Everyone here knows not to try and outbid me. She must be new.

"Jarred, go to the back of the room and text me the description of the lady trying to outbid me," I whisper.

"On it," Jarred replies, nodding his head.

"Fifty thousand!" I shout louder, waving my paddle card in the air.

"Sixty thousand!" It's the same woman, except her voice isn't so soft this time.

I text Jarred, demanding he provides me with a description.

Jarred responds to my text. "I can't see her boss, but I have her paddle card number. It's 00155."

I respond to Jarred's text and tell him to stay at the back of the room to try and identify the woman. I'm desperately anxious to meet her.

"Eighty thousand!" I shout, jumping out of my seat, daring the young lady to defy me.

The guests are whispering and looking around.

"Going once, going twice, sold to Mr. Bradshaw" shouts the host. He shakes his head and laughs.

The bidding for other pictures continues, but I can't help but think of the young lady who tried to outbid me. I've never had that happen before.

We bid for the last artwork. It's a collection by Jack Armstrong, worth ten million. I would outbid the person, but he's a good friend of my mother's. My father also made it clear not to spend more than five million tonight.

"That concludes our bidding for today, ladies and gentlemen. We look forward to seeing you next year." The host waves goodbye to everyone and signals me to come and claim my painting.

I nod my head and let him know I'll be right there. I can't leave without finding the mysterious woman that has captured my attention. I need to see her. I want to know if there's a new family in town.

I pull out my phone and look for the text Jarred sent me. "00155." I run out the door, hoping to catch this young lady before handing the doorman her paddle card.

Jarred points to the young woman as she is walking out the door. I run behind her. "Excuse me, excuse me" I yell, trying to get her attention.

Her long black hair flows in the wind and brushes across her lips as she turns around. Her blue eyes draw me in as if they have hypnotic powers—her light brown skin glows in the sun.

"My name is Richard Bradshaw. I don't think we've met." I reach my arm out to shake her hand, curious to know where she is from. She stares into my eyes, and I swear, it's as if she can see my soul. It's as if I'm in a trance and can no longer think of what I want to say to her.

"No, we have met yet," she says, as she shakes my hand and walks away from me.

"Hey, aren't you going to tell me your name?" I reply, puzzled and insulted.

She turns around. Her hair flows in her face, streaking over her right eye. She smiles at me and walks away again.

"Ms. Claire, you forgot your souvenir," yells a man running towards the young woman who refuses to tell me her name.

"Oh, and it was so nice of you to step in for my friend Mr. Dubois. He's raved about your managerial skills." The young man hands her the souvenir and walks away.

"Claire, is it?" I say, smiling.

"Yes, it is." She responds.

"Why didn't you want to tell me to know your name?" I ask, trying not to be gaze into her enchanting eyes.

"I hear you can get anything you want. So, if you wanted to know my name, I'm sure you would have found out." She smiles and proceeds to walk away again.

If Mr. Dubois hired her, there's a reason why and I intend on finding out.