(between my lives)
Heathrow Airport is basically a marathon designed to make you regret traveling. By the time I cleared customs, my "first class" glow had been replaced by a light sheen of panic sweat. I was hauling my bags toward the exit, trying to look like a high powered Art Director, when I spotted the duo from hell.
Suzette and Renee were standing near the arrivals gate, looking like they were ready to bite the head off anyone who dared to breathe near them. They weren't there for me, obviously. They were waiting for Claire, who had arrived on an earlier flight and was probably already judging the architectural integrity of the airport.
"Ana! Finally," Suzette snapped, barely glancing up from her phone. "You took the late flight, so you're behind. Grab the luggage and find the shuttle. Claire is already at the office meeting with Gerard Abel. If the inventory lists aren't on his desk by noon, don't bother coming in."
"I'm on it," I muttered, my shoulders slumped.
Just as I was about to head toward the bus terminal like the true peasant I was, a black Town Car pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down, and there was William. He looked even better on solid ground, no cap.
"Ana! Fancy meeting you at the baggage claim," he said, flashing that dangerous grin. "My driver is here to take me to my mother's place. It's right near the gallery district. Can we give you a lift?"
My heart did a literal backflip. I looked at the crowded bus station, then at the sleek leather interior of the car. If I got in that car, the lie stayed alive. If I walked away, I was just the girl with the oversized suitcases.
"Actually, my car service is running late," I said, sliding into the back seat next to him. "I'd love a lift."
The Art of the Hustle
The car ride was a blur of London streets and Will's smooth voice, but all I could think about was the ticking clock. Will dropped me off a block away from the gallery...I couldn't risk him seeing me enter through the service entrance.
The London office of Erwin's was a vibe. High ceilings, minimalist furniture, and a tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a palette knife. I rushed in, trying to hide the fact that I'd just stepped out of a luxury vehicle.
Amy, my bestie back in New York, was already blowing up my phone.
"Tell me you're alive. Did Claire eat you yet?"
"Not yet," I texted back. "But I'm currently living a double life. Keep the info coming."
I found the main gallery floor where the big players were gathering. Julian Marx was there, looking exactly like the legendary art dealer he was—all tailored suits and a gaze that could tell a fake Picasso from a mile away. He was talking to Arnold Grant, a billionaire who looked like he'd never smiled a day in his life lol
"The provenance on the de Kooning is questionable, Julian," Arnold was saying, his voice like gravel. "If Erwin's wants my collection, I need certainty."
I stood in the corner, holding a stack of catalogs and four different coffee orders, feeling completely invisible. Then, Claire walked in. She didn't walk; she commanded the air around her to move.
"Ana," Claire snapped, her eyes scanning the room without landing on me. "The catalog for the Grant collection. Why is the lighting in the photos so... aggressive? It looks like a high school yearbook. Fix it with the printers."
"I'll handle it, Claire," I said, trying to sound like a professional while balancing a scalding latte.
"See that you do. And Julian is expecting a full briefing on the auction order. Don't let me down, or you'll be on the first flight back to the futon."
The Point of No Return
I spent the next six hours in the basement of the gallery, doing the work that Suzette and Renee were "too busy" to touch. My back ached, my eyes were stinging, and I was starting to wonder if the First Class flight was just a fever dream.
Then, my phone buzzed. A DM from Will.
"My mother, Catherine, is hosting a small gathering at her estate tonight. She's a huge fan of Julian Marx's work, and when I told her I met the New York Director of Erwin's, she insisted you come. Please say yes. I need a friendly face."
I looked at the mountain of paperwork. I looked at Suzette, who was currently mocking my outfit to Renee.
I messaged Vivian, my sister's roommate who had a closet full of "stealing the spotlight" dresses.
"Viv, I'm using the black silk dress. I'll pay you back for the dry cleaning, I swear."
Three hours later, I was standing in front of a massive estate that looked like something out of a period drama. I walked in, head high, pretending the dress wasn't held together by two safety pins and a prayer.
And then I met her. Catherine.
She was elegant, sharp, and had the kind of presence that made Claire look like a beginner. She was Will's mom, but she was also a powerhouse socialite.
"So, you're the brilliant Ana Santos," Catherine said, taking my hand. Her rings were larger than my future. "Will hasn't stopped talking about your 'vision.' Tell me, what do you think of the current state of the auction house? Julian tells me it's becoming quite... commercial."
I thought about the hours I'd spent studying art history while my sister watched reality TV. I thought about the passion I actually had for the pieces, not just the commissions.
"Tbh, Catherine," I said, leaning in. "I think the art world has forgotten that it's about the soul, not just the price tag. We're selling history, not just decor."
Catherine's eyes lit up. She turned to the room. "Julian! Arnold! Come meet this girl. Finally, someone at Erwin's who actually likes art."
By the end of the night, Catherine was introducing me to everyone as the "New York Director." Even Gerard Abel, the London head, was watching me from across the room with a look of pure confusion. He knew I was an intern, but with Catherine's arm around my shoulder, he didn't dare say a word.
I saw Will watching me, his eyes full of something that made my stomach do flip-flops. He was proud of me. The problem? He was proud of a version of me that didn't exist.
I was Ana the Intern by day, and Ana the Director by night. The paint was fresh, but I could feel the cracks starting to form.
Tbh, I'm not just in trouble. I'm cooked.