Chapter 20: Private Viewing, Part Two
Chase turned from the flank of the Lumen One with the smile of a man addressing a room he believed he owned. "Then let us stop admiring it," he said, loud enough for the nearest guests to hear. "I will take the car."
Vincent Karp blinked, then recovered with professional delight. "Mr. Donovan, the Lumen One is a preview piece, but every conversation has a starting point."
"Good," Chase said. "Give me the number. Not the brochure number. The number that makes it happen tonight."
Serena stood three feet away with her hands folded, watching the turntable carry the car through a slow quarter turn.
"There is paperwork, of course," Karp said, lowering his voice. "Deposits, allocation review, the ownership conversation we discussed."
"Have the paperwork ready," Chase said. He glanced at Olivia. "When I decide on something, darling, I decide."
Olivia did not smile back. Her eyes had moved from Chase to Serena, and they stayed there. "You keep looking at her," she said quietly.
"I am looking at the staff," Chase said, "because the staff are how things get done." He turned to Serena at last, full on, and his tone changed into the one men use for waiters and weather. "You. Fetch the manager, please. And whoever handles contracts. Tell them Mr. Donovan is ready to talk ownership."
Serena did not move. "The general manager is not on the floor yet," she said. "Her name is Paula Nguyen."
"I did not ask her name," Chase said. He lifted one hand and snapped his fingers. "Manager. Paperwork. Tonight."
"Chase," Olivia said.
"It is fine," he said. He waved Serena off with two fingers, already turning back to Karp. "And bring the build sheet while you are at it. The real one, not the press card."
Serena felt the old garage in Allapattah rise up in her chest, the rented bay, Chase at the door with his bag packed, saying grease and debt like a diagnosis. Twelve years had taught her the uses of stillness. Her hand rested near the pocket of her suit, where the stopwatch chain lay against the cloth, a thin bright line.
Chase saw it then. Serena watched him see it. His eyes caught on the chain, and something crossed his face that was not contempt, something older and quicker, a recognition that arrived before thought. His gaze lifted to her face and stayed a fraction too long.
"You have one of those faces," he said slowly.
"So I am told," Serena said.
"Have we met at one of these?" He gave a short laugh that found no echo. "Geneva, maybe. Or one of the auctions."
"No," Serena said.
"Hmm." He studied her a moment longer, and Serena saw the exact instant he chose the easier story, the one where a woman in a plain dark suit could not possibly be the ghost at his shoulder. His mouth reshaped itself into condescension, and the flicker went out. "Well. The staff here are very composed. Aspirational, would you say, Olivia?"
"I would say she has not fetched anything," Olivia said. "And she does not look worried about it."
"Confidence is part of the costume," Chase said. "Theo," he added, "your team is very theatrical tonight."
Theo Marchetti, who had been watching Serena with the stillness of a man holding his breath, said, "We try to hire well, Mr. Donovan."
Olivia stepped closer to the car, and to Serena, with the unhurried grace of a woman who had decided the men were no longer interesting. "May I ask you something?" she said. "Not him. You."
"Of course," Serena said.
"The doors," Olivia said. "Everyone keeps calling them wings. Are they actually structural, or is that theater too?"
Chase laughed. "Darling, it is a door."
"The hinge carries load through the roof spine," Serena said. "Each door is eleven kilograms, carbon over a magnesium frame, and it will hold its seal at speeds the car will never legally reach. It opens in nine tenths of a second."
Olivia held her gaze. "You know it the way a person knows their own house."
"I know it the way a person knows their own handwriting," Serena said.
"And is it for sale?" Olivia asked. "Honestly."
"No," Serena said. "It never was. One of one means one. Whoever tells you a number tonight is selling you something else."
Karp made a small, strangled sound and called it a cough. "Well, every asset has its context, Miss Ashworth, and context can be discussed with the right parties present."
"Then let us get the right parties present," Chase said, too brightly, and he laughed, a shade too loudly, the sound ringing off the glass while the turntable turned and the Lumen One gleamed and said nothing. Serena watched him with terrible patience, and waited.