Sotheby's main office, London

"Mr. Andrews, we are impressed with your dedication, and I know I speak for everyone who has had the pleasure of working with you during your internship." Mr Thompson sounded sincere enough, but I knew what was coming. His posture was stiffer than usual where he sat behind his mahogany desk dated to the 17th century, French in origin. It was easy to be envious of the man with beauty just beneath his fingertips. It almost seemed to pulse with history.

"We are going to write you a letter of recommendation, and we wish you the best of futures. I'm certain our paths will cross again soon enough."

"Thank you." The hours had been grueling, but I'd loved every second of it. No matter the late nights, it was impossible to be anything but thankful. I'd entertained one or two dreams about getting an actual position here, but it had been a flight of fancy. No one got a position at Sotheby's without years of experience, regardless of their passion. That they'd taken me in at a modest age of 24 for an internship was uncommon enough.

I allowed myself one last glance at the Ming Dynasty vase perched on a pedestal. Over three feet tall, it was a massive piece, delicately painted for an emperor. I wondered where they'd kept it, how many hands had touched it over the centuries. Mr. Thompson treasured items within his area of expertise, like everyone else here, meaning there were quite a few items from the Orient dispersed around the office.

Clearing his throat, he leaned closer to me across the desk, seeming less formal. "Raven, you've done excellent work here. We're truly sad to see you go. This comes from the top, however. There's nothing we can do until you have a bit more experience to show off on your resumé."

"I understand."

Thompson released a sad sort of sigh. "Let me show you out. We'll take a detour via the storage rooms if you want to say goodbye." To anyone else, that would have sounded like complete rubbish. In contrast, my chest made a little flutter of excitement underneath the pain. He knew me well.

The storage rooms underground were heavily bolted, secured with high-tech alarms of various sorts, and enough cameras to make anyone nervous. It resembled a prison, hiding what was never meant to be hidden. Jackson stood on his post by the outer door, ready to drop down an additional iron gate if anyone unauthorized chanced a visit. The gross value of the items inside was a secret to most of the staff, although we would sometimes guess. It made sense to keep it under lock and key, but I still resented the fact.

"We're going in, Jackson," Thompson said.

The security guard frowned. Usually, he knew about he requests to enter the vaults and wouldn't let people inside at random, even if they worked at the auction house.

"It's Raven's last day."

I thought that would have been a futile plea, but to my surprise, Jackson nodded. "I heard you'd be leaving soon. So, it's today then?"

I'd never had a relationship with Jackson, so it all seemed a bit odd. "Yes, off to greener pastures."

Jackson snorted. "You know that's not something people your age really say, right?" He had a fond glint in his eyes, and I couldn't for the world understand why. Unless he was making fun of me. People did that quite often after all.

Before I had to come up with a response, Jackson punched in a code. Thompson followed with his own, and the bolts unlocked one by one. Inside, we had to step through an additional airlock that kept perfect temperature and humidity inside to preserve the treasures. A few items were stored in specific conditions, but those were sealed away in other parts of the storage area.

As always, my heart ached at the sight of the full shelves. If I'd owned one of these items, I'd never let them go. Most of these were here to be sold, held as goods and investments rather than objects meant to love.

Thompson left me to it, unobtrusive in a way that I'd learned was a specific talent of his.

I walked the aisles, carefully touching sculptures and items which could stand the assault. "I can't believe they're selling this." I stood by a spindly bronze sculpture signed Alberto Giacometti. Even though my fingers trembled to touch it, I didn't dare. It was valued at a ridiculous sum, well over £10.000.000, and would be the main attraction at a special auction in August. Modern art had never been my main interest, but it was hard to argue against the man's genius.

"I can," Thompson said.

"You can?"

"I don't think I'd be able to sleep at night. I'd be forever scared of being robbed." He had a point, although I still couldn't fathom how anyone would want to sell it off to the highest bidder. To me it would be like selling a piece of my soul.

"It belongs in a museum where more people can enjoy it." It held true for many of these treasures, but here they were, locked inside a vault with low lighting and no one to see them.

Thompson strode past, heading for the corner where they stored most of the paintings. "It arrived yesterday, you know." He smiled knowingly.

It arrived. I knew exactly which painting he meant. It had been the talk of the office for over a month. My heart thumped faster as I took the necessary steps to catch up. Thompson stepped aside, letting me get as close as possible.

"It's beautiful." The word wasn't enough by far, but my vocabulary tended to shrink at the first sighting. Stunned into silence. "He painted this before he lived in Argenteuil, before the famous lily ponds of Giverny." I traced the features mere centimeters from the canvas. It was as if I could taste the air, hear the rustle in the trees. He'd touched this, blended the colors until he got the exact shade for each and every stroke of his brush. "You can see signs of the painter he would become." Claude Monet, famous for the dawn of impressionism.

"We haven't had a Monet in a while. I'm sure they're angry over at Christie's that we got this piece." Thompson sounded reasonably excited for a man who had very little interest in paintings.

I made another round of the room, studying each item with as much passion as I dared to face. It was my turn to leave after these stolen months of pleasure. The internship had been a dream come true, but there was nothing more to be said, nothing more to do. I had to say goodbye.

"Okay, I'm ready," I said after a while, forcing down the lump of sadness that blocked my throat.

"I hope to see you soon again," Thompson added, and this time, I believed him.

* * * *

Northeast London

The phone rang a week later. I'd packed up my tiny sublet, said goodbye to my two friends in London, and told Mom that I'd be coming home to Devon for a few weeks. I was standing among the stack of boxes when the signal just wouldn't stop.

Mom knew me better than to call repeated times, but the person on the other end had no such scruples.

The number was unknown to me as well.

"Hello," I said, thinking that it must be a salesman.

"Am I speaking to Raven Andrews?" the woman's accent was decidedly American.

"Yes, that's correct."

"Wonderful. I'm Lara Demalier. I got your reference from a few friends at Sotheby's. They assured me you were the right man for the job, so I thought I would call." She added a little laugh at the end. She certainly didn't beat around the bush.

"Thank you for calling." I couldn't afford not to be polite. "What kind of job are you talking about? I'm confused."

"Of course, let's see. My cousin is in a bit of a bind. He recently inherited the family estate and is quite determined to get rid of it all. He needs someone to catalog the inventory and provide evaluations on the most important objects."

This sounded like a massive undertaking, but also an exciting prospect. I couldn't help but let my mind run away with wild imaginings of endless corridors and too many rooms to count, all filled with riches from centuries past. I filed it away, aware that reality rarely resembled my dreams.

"I'm interested, but I would need to know a bit more before I accept." As in, where would I live, how much would they pay me, who would I work for, etc. There were quite a number of unknowns that had to be considered.

"Ash lives in London, but the estate lies in Gloucestershire." She even pronounced it right. "Perhaps the two of you could meet and discuss the particulars. The impression I got was that you live in London, so it shouldn't be too much out of your way."

"I believe that could be arranged." It struck me as odd that she'd called me to arrange a meeting with her cousin. Couldn't he have called by himself? But I couldn't afford to look a gift horse in the mouth. My credit balance had no way to cushion another misstep.

"I will phone him directly and set up a meeting then. Are you available tomorrow?"

I frowned at the boxes scattered around me. I'd loaded a few of them into the car already, and I had to be out by 11 am tomorrow for inspection unless I wanted to pay another month of rent. Freddie might have let me stay for the night if I begged him on my bare knees, but I'd rather not after last time... "It would be better if I could meet your cousin today. I'm about to leave London." I regretted the question right away. I was in no position to make demands.

She only laughed. "I'm glad to hear that you're eager. I'll call him right away if you could be on standby for a few hours."

"Yes, that is possible. Thank you."

* * * *

Central London

Lara Demalier proved to be as efficient as I'd suspected. Twenty minutes later, she'd called back and given me a time and a place. She'd directed me to a restaurant, and I was to ask for Ashleigh Demalier at the entrance. If I'd been the type to get nervous around strangers, I would probably have balked at the peculiar arrangement.

Well in time, I stood outside one of the better locations in the city. A uniformed employee greeted me by the door with a disdainful half-smile. My worn suit was not up to scratch it appeared, no matter how careful I'd been to brush it up. At least she couldn't fault me for anything else. I strove to be tidy and clean on all occasions.

"How can I help you, sir?"

I chose to ignore her inflection. "Ashleigh Demalier should be expecting me."

She gave me a second appraisal. "Of course, let me escort you to his table." The disdain grew exponentially, and I wondered what I'd done to earn such a reception.

The restaurant was dimly lit, drawn in modern lines and colored in earthy hues. The white linen cloths were the only concessions to any tradition I recognized, and I was oddly grateful for their presence. Tables stood at fair distance from each other, indicating guests who were used to privacy.

We approached a table for two at the far end of the restaurant, and I couldn't help but slow my steps as we got closer. Ashleigh Demalier was not what I'd expected, although I wasn't sure what I'd expected at all. He had his elbows on the table, wore a plain shirt with no jacket, and kept his greying dark hair decidedly ruffled as if he'd run his fingers through it more than once during the day. He was also rather stunning despite all that. There was something about the set of his mouth and the heavy brows. It was hard to tell his age, but he was a fair bit older than myself.

"You must be Raven." He reached out with his hand, not bothering to stand up.

"Yes," I took a seat and straightened my suit, determined not to gawk at his features. "You must be Mr. Demalier."

"Please call me Ash." He gave me a wry smile, almost tight at the corners. Sipping his drink, he leaned back, relaxing in a way that screamed confidence. "So, Lara said you're going to sort through my possessions."

I frowned. "No, she asked me if I would consider a job. I'm not yet sure what this job entails."

"Well, I have a house and plenty of stuff that I need to get rid of. Any help is welcome, really." Ash sounded careless enough, but I wasn't sure I believed him. Or perhaps I simply didn't want to believe him.

"What kind of stuff are we talking about." It irked me to speak so casually about antiquities. "I'm hardly qualified to make a full inventory. My specialty is art."

"Let's just say that your qualifications outshine mine, and that's about as interested I am in finding the right man for the job."

"So, any man would do?" My pride was under attack, and the words had slipped through unbidden.

Ash looked straight at me, tilting his head as if in thought. "No, I think you will do nicely. If you need additional help from time to time, I'm sure you have friends to contact. Money isn't the issue here, merely time. I want this done as fast as possible."

I couldn't wrap my head around the 'why', but that was scarcely my job to figure out. "How much time are we talking about?"

"I have no idea, but I can offer you housing for as long as it takes. Then we can either decide to set you up for a salary, or a rate of commission on the sales. It's up to you."

Living at the estate? My hands itched a little at the idea. Not out of fear, but out of excitement. I quelled the thought of adventures and mysteries unveiled. No doubt, with my usual luck, I'd be confined to a bunker with nothing of significance to explore.

"Very well," I said. "I'm happy to start whenever necessary. And a salary would be in good faith, I believe. I have not seen the house, and would not like to take advantage of your family heirlooms." The inventory could be either meager or worth a fortune, but I couldn't take the risk to work solely based on commission.

"Excellent, we'll leave tomorrow." Ash shook my hand again, perhaps sounding a tiny bit relieved, but I couldn't think of a single reason why.

I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I had some kind of job, and that I would live with this man for an unknown amount of time. I couldn't decide if the riot in my heart was due to the excitement or the fear of the unknown. I knew nothing about him. Nothing at all.

A/N I know, I know, I shouldn't be posting new stories when I have unfinished ones around, but I'm feeling very excited about this one. I have the entire plot in my head for once, and I'm quite determined to follow through. So, if you don't trust me, then wait to read until it's finished. Otherwise, enjoy as I go along <3 

Lots of love, 

Avy