“Yes, I am interested,” she said. She wanted to check him out, and if he had a good reputation, she was more than willing, and liked the idea.
“My father has a very large gallery in a mansion in Paris, which we own, and he has some spare offices he would give us for the space we would need. I talked to him about it before I left. I came here to deliver a painting for him to a client in New York. I’ve been working for him for the past five years. I’m ready to do something of my own, and the internet is more of our generation than his.” She smiled and they talked animatedly for two hours. He left her his card, and she looked him up when she got home. His father was one of the most prestigious art dealers in Europe, Arnaud Muset, and there was a profile of Jean-Pierre on their website. His credentials were excellent for someone his age. He had gone to the Sorbonne, followed by Oxford, where he got a master’s degree in art history. He had begun at Christie’s, as she had. She called him after she looked him up.
“Why don’t you come to my office tomorrow?” she suggested. He said he’d be there, and could spend two days with her, possibly three, before he had to get back to Europe to join his father at meetings in Madrid.
He showed up the next day in jeans with a blue shirt, a well-cut tweed jacket that looked English, and brown suede boots. He was very attractive, which she reminded herself was irrelevant. She was in love with Paul. He was tied up with his children all week, and had told her he couldn’t see her until the weekend, so she had spare time to spend with Jean-Pierre, showing him everything. He represented an extraordinary opportunity for her.
“Would you be interested in a partnership eventually?” he asked her on the second day. It would involve his investing money in her business.
“Possibly. For now, let’s just think of it as the Paris branch.” She wanted to discuss his suggestion with her financial advisors. She had invested part of her inheritance from her father in the business, so she wasn’t casual about it, and didn’t want to take on a partner she didn’t know well. But eventually, his proposition might be of interest to her. She enjoyed the time they spent together. He had an easy, pleasant style, but he was also businesslike and well organized. He didn’t flirt with her. He was serious about their work.
He left for Paris on Friday afternoon, and she had agreed to come to Paris in a week and spend two weeks there, going over things with him. She told Paul about him that night. She hadn’t mentioned it all week, because they were both busy, and she wanted to explain the plan to him at length.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Paul looked surprised.
“You didn’t have time. What do you think of the idea?”
“It sounds good to me, but you should check it out with your financial people.”
“I already have. So far, it all looks good. I’m going to Paris in a week to check it out with him,” Olivia said, and he looked startled.
“You are? So quickly?”
“Why not?”
“Why are all the women in my life migrating to Paris?” he said, smiling. “I wish I could go with you, but I can’t leave the kids. Maybe you’ll run into Eileen,” he said, joking, but Olivia didn’t smile.
“I hope not. That would be embarrassing.”
“Just don’t go to Le Cordon Bleu when you’re there.” She had no reason to anyway. She was going to meet with an art dealer, not a cooking school.
They managed to spend one night of the weekend together, but the following week, all three of his children had midterms, and he had to be home to help them study for them. He told her he wouldn’t be able to see her before the weekend. She couldn’t wait for Eileen to get home. She was tired of playing second fiddle to his kids. They always came first with him, and she couldn’t help wondering what their life would be like, even when he wasn’t living with them. They always had a game, or a practice, or a problem, or a tutor, or were sick, or needed his attention. And with three of them, there was no time for her on the merry-go-round he lived on.
She hadn’t seen him in six days when she left for Paris on Friday night. Paul was disappointed that she was leaving. He had gotten Tina to agree to stay for both weekend nights, but now Olivia would be gone.
Her flight landed in Paris on Saturday at nine A.M., and she took a cab to the Ritz, where her mother always stayed. Jean-Pierre knew when she was arriving and they had agreed to have lunch in the covered garden of L’Espadon on Saturday. He wanted her to meet his father. She was looking forward to it.
She lay down for a while to rest, and then took a bath and changed. She put on a chic black suit, and felt very sophisticated as she headed to L’Espadon downstairs at the Ritz. Jean-Pierre was waiting for her and wearing a suit and tie. He looked happy to see her.
“How was your flight?”
“Easy. I watched a movie and slept the rest of the time until we landed. I like night flights for that.”
“So do I,” he agreed. “My father used to send me to Asia a lot when I started working for him. I got used to sleeping on long flights.”
The maître d’ showed them to a table in the garden under the glass roof. He knew Jean-Pierre well. Jean-Pierre ordered champagne for them, to celebrate “their alliance” and “the Paris branch.” She ordered a light lunch, and so did he. They talked nonstop for two hours, sharing ideas for the business, some of which she wanted to incorporate in New York too. He had made some excellent suggestions, and they were both in high spirits when he took her to their gallery on the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, the most elegant shopping street in Paris, where his father owned a large building they had transformed into the gallery many years before.
Jean-Pierre took her upstairs in a private elevator to his father’s office on the top floor. The door was open, and an imposing-looking man in his sixties was seated at an enormous Louis XV desk. He glanced up when he heard footsteps, and smiled when he saw his son with a beautiful redhead in a chic black suit. Jean-Pierre had mentioned his interest in Olivia’s business in New York, but his father didn’t make the connection until Jean-Pierre introduced them.
“So you are my son’s new associate,” Arnaud Muset said, smiling at her. They both looked so young to him, and made a handsome pair. Jean-Pierre had a weakness for very young, very sexy, somewhat cheap-looking girls. Arnaud was relieved to see him with a respectable young woman for a change. But he wasn’t dating her, he wanted to go into business with her, which was an entirely different matter.
Arnaud showed her around the gallery himself, and took out some remarkable paintings for her to see. He often dealt in Old Masters and the major Impressionists, but handled the modern artists too, particularly Picasso. He pulled out two spectacular Picassos, and she quietly said that she had one from the same series herself. Arnaud was intrigued to hear it.