Two of the three featured women are on the auction house
side of this high-dollar world, and one finds that she
actually does have some artistic talent and that her work
is highly marketable.
Carry Klein is being sent to London to head up a newly
established branch of Ehrenpreis Auction House. She has
made it to second in command at their New York office
through hard work, integrity and denying herself a life
outside of work. She is determined to make a go of it in
London against the older established auction houses like
Christy's and Ludbrook.
Lizzy Duffy is second-in-command in the fine arts
department at Ludbrook. Lizzy is a hard worker, but she
hasn't exactly made her way to the top through hard work
alone. She's in a quasi-relationship with her boss, or at
least she thinks she is. Her situation gets a little sticky.
Serena MacDonald is recently divorced and trying to make it
on her own with her little girl, Katie. She is not getting
much support from her ex-husband. When a painting she does
of her next-door neighbor's dogs sells at auction for
$25,000, the neighbor's son sets out to strike up a
lucrative deal with Serena reproducing Old Masters. Where
will this lead?
Discover how each of their stories connects with the other
to create a tantalizing tale of survival, power, glamour
and fraud. Olivia Darling resurrects and integrates
a daunting character from her debut novel, VINTAGE, and
spices up the plot with his appearance and interest in the
art world. There's just enough sex to add some zest to this
read, and, once again, the champagne flows freely in this
masterful work.
Three women with nothing in common but a taste for the
good life and a shared history of betrayal are about to find
out just how far they’ll go to make a name for themselves in
the glamorous world of fine art—a place where the stakes are
high but the rewards can be . . .
PRICELESS
Young, ambitious Lizzy Duffy is
determined to become a successful auctioneer—even if it
means sleeping her way to the top. But when she suspects
that her boss is using her, Lizzy wastes no time in plotting
the ultimate revenge. Fine art expert Carrie Klein has come
a long way in her career. Now she’s ready to take the London
art scene by storm and show her rival she’s not the naïve
woman he once took advantage of. And in a drafty farmhouse,
impoverished artist Serena MacDonald struggles to support
her young daughter by forging Old Master paintings . . . one
of which ends up at auction. When her secret is discovered,
Serena’s fate may depend on her ability to fabricate one
last masterpiece.
From the glittering lights of New
York City to the major auction houses of London,
internationally bestselling author Olivia Darling delivers
an unforgettable novel of ambition and greed, desire and
deceit, that’s as alluring and luxurious as a rare work of
art.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
It was the moment he sucked whipped cream from her fingers
that Lizzy Duffy realized her relationship with her boss
had changed irrevocably. Subsequently, losing her virginity
to him was either the best or the worst career move she
could possibly have made. As she lay on her back in Nat
Wilde’s bed, worrying at a cuticle and examining a cobweb
in the corner of his bedroom ceiling, Lizzy decided that it
was probably her worst move. And staying the night had
compounded it. She remembered something she’d read in some
magazine: don’t act clingy after the first time you have
sex. It was clingy, wasn’t it, staying the night in the
hope of a reassuring cuddle? Nat had fallen asleep right
after he’d come. Lizzy knew she should have gotten straight
up and caught a taxi home right then to prove she wasn’t
bothered. Beside her, Nat slumbered on, seemingly unmoved
by the same dilemma.
What on earth had possessed her? Fact was, Lizzy knew
exactly what had possessed her. Nat Wilde had possessed her
the moment she’d first laid eyes on him at her interview
for a position in the Old Masters and Nineteenth-Century
department at Ludbrook’s, the auction house on New Bond
Street. Fresh from her master’s degree in art history at
the Courtauld, Lizzy had prepared a pretty speech about her
passion for nineteenth-century British watercolorists. But
she hadn’t had an opportunity to deliver it. Nat Wilde had
been running late. He’d breezed into the Ludbrook’s office
fifteen minutes after the interview had been due to start.
He’d been slightly inebriated, having lunched with his best
friend, Harry Brown, head of Ludbrook’s’ department of fine
wines, at their gentleman’s club on St. James’s. Nat had
picked Lizzy’s CV up from the desk and had seemed unable to
focus on it. Then he’d looked at her, focused very well on
the hem of her skirt, and said, “You’ve got the right
degree, you’re passably pretty, and you wear short skirts.
You’re hired.”
The right thing at that moment would have been for Lizzy to
take offense, but before she could open her mouth to
protest at such a superficial and sexist dismissal of her
proper talents, Nat Wilde had smiled at her. And it had
been the kind of smile that had made her feel he had been
joking about her being “passably pretty.” That was an
understatement, of course. He found her far more attractive
than that. Lizzy couldn’t help but smile back. She’d been
smitten.
“Your first assignment,” Nat had said. “Tell me about this
little painting right here.”
Her heart still fluttering like a hummingbird with the
hiccups, Lizzy had followed Nat across the room. Balanced
on a shelf had been a small watercolor of a farmer bringing
cows in from the field at the end of the day.
“Artist?”
“Easy.” Lizzy had trotted out the name.
“Real?”
Lizzy had peered closely. “I think so. The only way to know
is to see the signature. But he wouldn’t have signed a
piece this small on the front. You’d need to turn it over
and—”
“Already done that,” Nat had said. “Put a reserve on it of
ten to twelve grand. What do you think?”
“I think that’s just about right,” Lizzy had said. “How
about you?”
“I think you and I are going to work together very well.”
And they did.
Never before had Lizzy found getting up for work to be such
a pleasure. She was thrilled to be working with the art
that she loved, surrounded by fellow enthusiasts. She had
long been determined to have a great career in an auction
house, but now she had an added incentive to sparkle. Each
morning she veritably sprang out of bed at the sound of her
alarm. She spent at least an hour getting ready, blow-
drying her fine blond hair into something resembling a do.
And oh how her efforts were rewarded. Nat Wilde could make
her day with a wink, and the winks were plentiful. They’d
flirted like crazy for the past six months. And now here
she was. In his bed.
That afternoon’s sale at Ludbrook’s had been a barnstormer.
Lot after lot had busted through the ceiling prices Nat had
predicted. And finally, Nat had achieved a price of seven
figures for an early nineteenth-century oil. It went to a
Russian collector. All the good papers would cover the news.
After such a successful day, Nat announced that the entire
team deserved a treat. He utilized his direct line to the
maître d’ at the Ivy and booked a table for eight o’clock.
“Sit here,” said Nat to Lizzy, patting the seat beside
him. “You’re my right-hand girl, and I want you at my right
hand.”
Lizzy settled into the seat, catching the envious glances
from the other girls in her department—Olivia and Sarah
Jane—as they found themselves at the other end of the
table, between the two bespectacled boys, Marcus and James.
“Champagne!” Nat announced. He ordered a bottle of
Champagne Arsenault’s Clos Des Larmes, which Lizzy
understood was the good stuff. It certainly went down
easily. They polished off six bottles among them, the
restaurant’s entire stock.
“It’s on old John Ludbrook’s account,” Nat reminded
them. “And you deserve it!”
He toasted the team, as one and individually.
“Olivia,” he said, “you are the goddess of typing. Sarah
Jane, without you, my mailing list would be nothing.”
Lizzy felt herself color crimson when Nat praised her
pretty blue eyes. “Which are so good at spotting a
masterpiece!”
Dessert arrived. Lizzy chose sticky toffee pudding with
cream, getting some on her finger as she pulled the dish
toward her. Quick as a flash Nat grabbed her hand and stuck
her finger into his mouth.
“Don’t want to waste any,” he said.
Lizzy almost crawled under the table for shame. She was
hugely relieved no one else seemed to have noticed.
“How are you getting home?” Nat asked as they were
collecting their coats.
“I’ll get a cab,” she said.
“Where to? Hammersmith, isn’t it? My place is on the way
there. We’ll share a ride.”
They started kissing as the cab sailed past the roundabout
at Hyde Park Corner. By the time they got to Nat’s flat in
South Kensington, Lizzy knew she wouldn’t be taking the
taxi on.
“Do you have any cash?” Nat asked. “I left my last tenner
as a tip.” Lizzy duly dug out her last twenty and handed it
to the driver.
“Thank you. You’re a dear. I’ll pay you back tomorrow.”
Nat took her by the hand and led her into the shared lobby
of the mansion block in which he lived. They continued to
kiss in the mirrored lift. Nat’s tongue flickered inside
her mouth like an eel in a bucket. Lizzy smiled at her
reflection over Nat’s shoulder as he nibbled at her neck.
She sighed with delight as Nat slipped his hand up her
cashmere sweater and started to fumble with the clasp at
the back of her bra.
Once inside the flat they went straight to the bedroom.
Lizzy’s nerves were as taut as violin strings as her
clothes fell to the floor. Would Nat still want her when he
saw her naked body? Nat’s growl told her that he did.
“Oh. Yes,” Lizzy sighed as he cupped his hands around her
bare breasts and fiddled with her nipples. As he sucked
each one of them in turn, he somehow managed to slide her
little white cotton panties down as far as her knees. While
Nat turned his attention to Lizzy’s buttocks, the panties
dropped to her ankles and Lizzy kicked them off. Now she
was completely in the raw but Nat was still fully clothed.
He soon remedied that.
While Lizzy arranged herself on the sheets in what she
hoped was an alluring manner, Nat divested himself of his
tie, his shirt, his trousers, and underpants as though the
clothes were on fire. There was a brief and awful moment
when Lizzy thought Nat might actually be intending to
ravage her with his socks still on, but he remembered just
in time and pulled them off as well. They went flying
across the room. One ended up dangling from the standard
lamp.
Nat dived onto the bed, narrowly avoiding head-butting
Lizzy in the nose as he did so. Lizzy hadn’t really thought
about what would happen next. More kissing, she hoped. She
wanted to be covered in kisses from head to toe. Top to
bottom. Indeed, it seemed that Nat was already very fond of
her bottom. It wasn’t long before he flipped her over onto
her tummy and was bestowing naughty little love bites to
her shapely pink buttocks. So far, so silly. Lizzy giggled
as Nat jiggled the spare flesh on her bum. But then things
turned rather more serious. He stuck his hand between her
legs. She felt his fingers groping for a way inside. And
then, suddenly, he lay fully on top of her, squashing her
face into the mattress. She felt his erection, which she
hadn’t really seen yet or gotten to know, pressing hard
against the place where his fingers had been moments before.
“Nat, I . . .”
She meant to tell him, but before she knew it, the
inevitable was already happening. Lizzy drew breath sharply
at the first thrust. Fortunately, there were only five more
of those before Nat came with a terrifying bellow that made
Lizzy respond with a cry of her own.
“Good for you?” he asked as he pulled out.
Good? Well, it hadn’t hurt as much as she’d expected. And
there was no blood. If she were honest, most of Lizzy’s
enjoyment of the moment had been stymied at the thought
that she might leave a dirty red stain on Nat’s pure white
sheets. But she didn’t. She checked. There was no evidence
whatsoever that anything monumental had taken place.
Fact was, Nat hadn’t even known she was a virgin. Lizzy
thought he might have guessed, but, if he had, he didn’t
say anything. He just rolled off her and fell asleep. His
face as he lay dreaming was youthful and perfectly
untroubled. Unlike Lizzy’s.
She lay awake all night, staring at the bare walls of Nat’s
bedroom (utterly typical for the home of a fortysomething
divorced guy), replaying the event over and over, wondering
and worrying if she had done what was expected. And then,
of course, there was the question of contraception. They
hadn’t used any. Would her local pharmacist stock the
morning-after pill? What were the rules about taking it?
How had she gotten to twenty-six without actually knowing
this stuff? How had she gotten to twenty-six without losing
her virginity anyway? She shook her head in disbelief as
the disapproving face of her only serious boyfriend came to
mind. He had been president of the Christian Union at
university and had flat-out refused to have sex outside
marriage. They had broken up when Lizzie was twenty-five.
There had been opportunities since, but by then Lizzie had
decided that getting to your midtwenties without having
done it was just plain weird, and she didn’t want to have
to explain so she avoided the issue. And after all that,
she lost it to her boss. In just eleven minutes from taxi
to finish. Was that it?
Finally, at seven in the morning, Lizzy decided it was time
to go.
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