1. Wren

“Guess who gets to see New York at Christmas?” Dressed in a suit, as always, my boss, Pat, leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.

With my elbows on my small desk, I tucked my hands under my chin and put on my best pout. “You’re just being mean at this point.”

I’d begged him to send me to New York this weekend. But after six years, Pat had become immune to my puppy-dog eyes, and the no had flown from his lips easily.

Seeing the city that never sleeps at Christmas wasn’t my priority, honestly. I’d seen the Macy’s lights, the windows at Saks, and Rockefeller center plenty of times in my life. I’d even had the privilege of watching the Rockettes on stage a few times growing up. The magic of a New York Christmas wasn’t the draw.

No, I was desperate to tag along to the private sale of one of the most famous pieces the Boston Auction House had sold since I’d been hired. I’d been told that I could come across as shallow, and maybe that was true, but not when it came to art.

“Mean, really? Even if the person I’m talking about is you ?” The corner of Pat’s lips lifted at the end of the sentence.

I bolted upright in my chair, my heart hammering.

No way.

“What?” I clasped my hands in my lap, afraid to hope .

Please don’t let him be messing with me .

My love for visual art ran deep. The message a painting could convey was like nothing else.

Stonehenge , by John Constable, was a masterpiece. I’d hardly had the opportunity to enjoy it last year when we priced it out for the owners. So not only was I yearning to experience a transfer of a piece of this caliber, but I wanted to spend a little more time in its presence. Soak in each brushstroke. Wonder how the artist had brought the clouds to life. Study the subtle details that allowed the blend of colors to make each rock pop against the almost gray sky. I wanted to sit in the deep feelings the painting pulled from my soul.

When a piece of art spoke so loudly it echoed through my body like this one had, it was impossible not to long to see it again.

“Larry’s youngest is in the hospital.”

I sucked in a breath, and my heart crashed into my stomach. I wanted this opportunity, but not because of someone else’s misfortune. Larry was a nice guy. He lived one of those perfect lives, with a home on Long Island, a white picket fence, and three cute-as-hell kids.

“Oh no.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Is he okay?”

“It’s a combination of pneumonia and asthma.” Pat frowned from the doorway.

I couldn’t blame him for hovering there. My office was the size of a closet. There was hardly enough room for my desk and one extra chair.

“Larry says it’s precautionary, but even so, he can’t leave.”

“Of course.” Larry was the kind of guy who took off for T-ball practice. There was no way he’d leave his wife or his son during an emergency. “So…” I nibbled on my bottom lip. God, I was an awful person for it, but now that I knew Larry’s emergency wasn’t dire, excitement was pounding through me. “I get to go?”

“Not only are you going, but you’re it.”

My heart skipped as I gaped at him. This moment was surreal. Until now, I’d thought I had no chance. The customer we’d arranged the purchase for had literally refused to allow me to be involved with his account at all. He wouldn’t even speak to me if Larry wasn’t available. “I get to run point?”

Pat nodded. “Diana has tickets to Pops Holiday at Symphony Hall this weekend.” Tight lines formed around his eyes. His wife was a former cellist and a loyal patron of Boston’s Symphony. If he skipped one of their biggest performances of the year, I could only imagine Diana’s wrath. “Since I have no interest in getting a divorce for Christmas, I can’t travel.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “But.” He gave me a pointed look. “That doesn’t mean I expect this transfer to go anything but perfectly.”

“Of course.” Excitement bubbled up my chest, but I forced myself not to beam too brightly. Professionalism, that was my goal.

“Good. As you know, this client is…” He rocked back on his heels. “Picky.”

Difficult. Demanding. Frustrating. According to Larry, at least. I wouldn’t know because I’d never even spoken to the guy. It was as if his identity was a national secret or something. To a certain extent, I could understand, I supposed. The buyer was paying millions for this piece, and it wouldn’t be wise to advertise that. Art theft was real and rampant. Discretion was important in our business, but we rarely kept secrets from those who worked within these walls.

“I can handle anyone,” I promised, confidence settling me.

I excelled at schmoozing. I’d practically been born to do it, and I’d absolutely been trained to be social. My whole life, my parents had dreamed I’d become the wife of a senator or a businessman who consistently sat on the Forbes Top 100 list. Clearly I’d missed the mark. I was no one’s wife. Not that they ever let the idea of me getting married go.

Pat gave a clipped nod. “I don’t doubt your social skills, but everyone’s watching this one.”

I cocked a brow.

“Cliff is leaving after Christmas. It hasn’t been formally announced yet, but I’ll move into his role at the first of the year.”

I forced myself not to react to the way he was studying me. I’d been hearing this rumor for a couple of weeks, and damn, I wanted his job. I’d been slowly working my way up for the last six years. I wasn’t the only woman here, not by a longshot, but most of the females in employment were in acquisitions, and very few made it to management. Long hours and late nights made it difficult to find an acceptable work-life balance. For me, that wasn’t an issue. I didn’t have kids, heck, I didn’t even do relationships. I just had a drive to move up, and Pat’s job came with a nice title, a pay raise, and several staff members under him.

“Erin would love to have more females in management roles.” He shrugged, nonchalant, as he dropped that crumb of information.

“You know I’m gunning for her job someday.” I smirked. I’d interned under the head of our auction house the summer after I got my master’s degree from NYU. The woman was a force. A total badass. She was exactly what I wanted to be. When I’d finished my three months with her, Erin had offered me a job. It was entry level—literally checking in the paintings and setting up the displays for the weekly auctions—but I jumped at the opportunity. And six years later, I’d been promoted several times and the two of us still met for monthly dinners.

“Even Erin knows that.” Larry chuckled. “I’ll email you the flight info and everything you need.”

“Perfect.” Satisfaction swelled in my chest. This whole thing had made my day. Hell, it’d made my month.

Pat lifted his chin and gave me a small smile. “Get out of here. It’s almost eight; everyone else left hours ago.”

They had, but this was my thing. I thrived on working long hours, learning the details of each piece for the next auction, and searching out up-and-coming artists. I was running the auction on Sunday night, so I was here ensuring that every detail would be perfect. Putting in the extra effort like this was what made me stand out. It was how I knew I was on the short list for Pat’s job.

“Go home.” He tipped his head toward the elevator down the hall.

I gave him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

With a chuckle, he left me alone in my office.

I sat back in my chair, staring at the watercolor hanging opposite my desk, yet not actually seeing it. This was my break. The opportunity I needed to move out of the windowless room and down the hall to management. Finally.

I pulled out my phone.

Me: GUESS WHAT?

Avery: You didn’t listen to me and went ahead and bought yourself the bondage-like Louie shoes for the WAGs party next week.

Ha . Of course I had. Though I can’t imagine either of my best friends would be surprised by that. And that kind of news? It did not warrant a message in all caps. I wasn’t a wife or girlfriend of any of the Boston Revs baseball players, but since Avery was both the coach’s daughter and the star pitcher’s fiancée, my bestie always made sure I got to tag along to the fun professional baseball events.

Jana: You finally broke the dry spell and gave in to the hot intern.

I rolled my eyes. Even if it had been months, I had zero intention of messing around at work. I had goals, and I wouldn’t risk compromising them. A fling wasn’t worth the risk, and men tended to find me intimidating. I said what I thought and knew what I needed, and I didn’t put up with crap. Somehow that made men wither around me.

Me: Seriously? Those are your guesses for my all-caps message?

Jana: What would you guess if I’d said that?

Me: A bird shit on Chris again, and this time you got it on video.

Jana worked with Avery at the Boston Zoo, and their stories made me cackle. Especially when they included Avery’s very grumpy, very germaphobic fiancé.

Jana: GIF of a girl spitting out her coffee

Jana: Yeah, that would be worth an all-caps message.

Avery: Don’t pick on my fiancé.

Me: We love Chris.

It was the truth, even if his issues with germs and cleanliness meshed poorly with our girl’s job as the head of avian medicine at the Boston Zoo.

Jana: Of course we love your man. We even let him tag along to girls’ night.

Avery: Let him? Ha. You two make him come.

Avery: GIF of an eye roll

Avery: Anyway…what’s the big news?

Me: I’m going to New York! I got lead on the secret project.

Avery: GIF of fireworks

Jana: That’s AWESOME.

Avery: Congrats!!!!

Me: Yeah, so no girls’ night out this weekend.

Avery: Chris will be crushed.

Jana: Dead. Skull emoji, skull emoji

Chuckling, I dropped my phone into my bag. Chris might be the best thing that ever happened to my bestie, but fun was not his middle name. I couldn’t complain. He loved our girl enough to put up with Jana and me without a single complaint. The man lived by the mantra that if Avery loved it, then he did too. #boyfriendgoals. Or I guess #husbandgoals would be more appropriate.

As I set my phone down, I smiled at the framed photo of Jana, Avery, and me that I kept on my desk. We’d been the three musketeers for years now, but Avery’s wedding was next month, and Jana had finally given the guy she’d been dating the boyfriend label, so things had changed a lot lately. I couldn’t say I was sad about it. I had my career, and one day, I’d be kick-ass Auntie Wren to the slew of kids my friends produced.

I unplugged my laptop and dropped it into my bag, then tucked my Stanley bottle and my glasses inside.

Two minutes later, I was stepping onto the elevator to head out but was stopped when a voice called out.

“Hold it.”

I threw an arm out and caught the door just before it closed completely, and as it bounced back open, a black heel appeared against the silver floor and Erin stepped on.

“Wren.” Smiling, she tucked a strand of long blond hair behind her ear. She was the epitome of professional in her stylish suits and expensive heels. “I hear you have a big weekend.”

Giddiness coursed through me, but I schooled my expression and nodded. “Thanks for giving me the chance.”

“Thank Pat,” she said. She always made it clear that although she loved seeing me succeed and was happy to give me advice along the way, my achievements were my own. “A word of advice, though.”

I tipped my head, eager, like I always was, for any tidbit of information she had for me.

“In our business, it’s important for everyone, but especially women, to remain professional, regardless of the situation or who the client might be.” She pursed her lips.

“Of course.” I let out a breath of relief. I prided myself on my ability to be professional no matter what.

She cocked a brow. “Just keep that in mind this weekend.”

I nodded and gave her a grateful smile, but in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder who exactly I’d be dealing with.