“You’re both excellent in business; your galleries are performing well. Thanks for sharing your figures. It made it easier to cut out the competition. But there’s more to it than that. You know how much I adore this gallery. There’s so much love here. I need to trust that whoever buys it won’t ruin it for greed.”
“That won’t happen with me,” I say, my voice firm.
“Same here,” Liam adds, giving me that trademark smirk. “Oliver here curates for museums and old money while I bring fresh blood into the market. My clients may like their champagne, but they also dropped thirty million on artists last year.”
I resist rolling my eyes. Yes, Liam's sales numbers are impressive… You don't become a finalist otherwise. But there's more to this business than turning quick profits. One of my galleries has helped build three major museum wings and launched exhibitions that changed how we view twentieth-century art. That's the kind of legacy Mr. Warne wants to protect.
“As much as you both say that, I need more than words,” Mr. Warne continues.
My knee bounces rapidly under the table. I force it still with a firm hand before Liam notices. What the fuck could he want that will get me over the line?
“What do you need?” I ask.
“Both of you are single, right?” Mr. Warne looks between us.
“Yes,” Liam confirms.
I nod slowly, my mind racing back to my recent conversation with Declan about settling down. I’d laughed it off then, but now, with Warne’s gaze drilling into me, I wonder if my personal life is becoming a professional liability.
“I’m engaged,” I blurt out.
Liam twists to face me with an eyebrow raised. “To who?”
Fuck, I can’t think. My mind blanks completely as panic floods my system. An ex? No, too messy. A friend? They’d need convincing. Make someone up? But what if Warne wants details, or worse, wants to meet them? Who could I say that would work, that won’t fall in love with me? Luckily for me, Mr. Warne interrupts.
“That’s not relevant, Liam. I need you both to be serious.”
“And how does being in a relationship show that?” Liam asks in a biting tone.
Is he upset at me one-upping him or at Mr. Warne for making this a requirement?
“Being in love softens your heart, makes you see things differently. It’s a feeling, like art, and it's something I'm looking for,” Mr. Warne explains, his gaze shifting to me.
I force a smile, pretending I understand. His eyes crinkle, and the corners of his mouth lift. “My father and I made a promise. When he sold me this gallery, we agreed that its next owner would understand the importance of family. That's why he insisted on the contract.”
My heart sinks as the pieces click into place. A contract? Now Warne’s strange questions make perfect sense. I’m being judged not just on my work, but on my personal life too.
Liam shuffles in his chair beside me. “So, I need a girlfriend to buy the gallery?”
“You need a wife.” Mr. Warne's voice carries the weight of decades.A fucking wife?
“My father believed that someone with a family would protect the gallery’s legacy, not just its profit margins. He wanted its future owner to understand what it means to build something that lasts beyond yourself.”
I have no interest in marriage and kids right now, but I need this gallery for me and my mom. I want the most respected gallery in the world to have the name Lincoln.
How on earth will I convince someone to marry me?
“Maybe we could double date, and I could meet your fiancée, Oliver?” Liam sneers.
My chest tightens, and I tug at my collar, suddenly feeling like I can’t breathe.
“That sounds great. Let me know when and where, and we’ll be there,” I say.
“Let’s plan for next week,” Mr. Warne suggests.
My stomach plummets. A week? Mentally, I try to find someone to convince in just seven days.
“Can we move it a few weeks?”
