Free Romance: The Art Of Love: A Billionaire Romance by Veronica Cross Page B

took a deep breath. “When she passed, Feigenbaum’s helped me sell most of her collection. That’s
how I paid for my first major pieces.”
              Annette
nodded. It wasn’t an unusual story. The taste for art seldom passed from
generation to generation unchanged; the works that delighted the parents would
bore the child, while the children’s choices tended to horrify their elders.
              “You’ve
come quite a way since then.”
              “What
about you?” Clifford asked. “How did you wind up giving your life to art?”
              “That
decision was made for me,” Annette said. “My parents had a gallery. Nothing
grand, not like Feigenbaum’s .” She smiled. “I
remember we always had at least one painting of a white tailed deer on offer.
That and speckled trout. Duck decoys were big for a while.”
              Clifford
nodded. “I’ve been in that kind of place. They have their own…charm.”
              Annette
smiled. “You’re kind. I grew up knowing there had to be more. That there had to
be work that was better. That would speak to things beyond what I could see in
the woods.” She laughed. “It was New Hampshire, for god’s sake. I knew what was
in the woods.”
              “Have
you found what you were looking for?” Clifford asked. “At college? At Feigenbaum’s ?” His voice deepened and he looked at Annette
out of the corner of his eye. “At my place?”
              “Those
are two very different questions,” Annette replied. “College was amazing. It
opened my eyes to things I never even imagined. Asian art. African art. And
then Feigenbaum’s – that’s been an exceptional
experience.” She took a deep breath. “There I have to say that I’ve found what
I’m looking for. I haven’t even begun to see all of it yet, but I know I’m on
the right track.”
              Clifford
nodded.
              “But
what have I found at your place?” Annette smiled. “This wasn’t something I was
looking for. You can’t plan to find yourself all of a sudden falling…” Words
failed her, and she kept her attention firmly fixed on the road in front of
them.
              “There
are things you can’t plan for,” Clifford said. “And sometimes the plans you
make turn out to be totally worthless anyway. When I told Madison I’d pick the
advisor, I was planning on picking the most timid, inexperienced person on Feigenbaum’s staff.” He shrugged. “That way I could keep
doing what I wanted to do without anyone cramping my style.”
              Annette
laughed. “Well, that plan worked out.” She thought of Dieter, Walther and the
other appraisers she worked with. “I’m by far the most inexperienced member of
the team. And you know I’m shy.”
              Clifford
laughed. “Yes, you’re very shy.” He shook his head. “Even if you’re
inexperienced, you’re incredibly knowledgeable. And you’re confident in your
knowledge. I wasn’t expecting that.”
              “The
best laid plans of mice and men can go astray,” Annette said. “It’s too bad I
wound up cramping your style.”
              “At
ten million a throw, my style could use a little cramping,” Clifford said. “What’s
really a shame is that I genuinely liked both paintings. I’ve kept the
Magritte, even though it’s a fake.”
              Annette
nodded. “The painter’s got an incredible talent. But it may be one of those
situations where it’s not enough talent to break through. Sometimes people
can’t afford to wait to be recognized on their own merits. They have to make a
living right now.”
              “I
wish we could get a look at Hans’ bank account,” Clifford said. “He’s got to be
paying some serious money to have work of this caliber created for him.”         
              “If
he’s smart, he’s