Dark Art Ch 08

note:

thank you so much for sticking with this story and the random update schedule...i'm working on both

--

Episode 8: Acting as an Art Form

After school, Serafine pored over the pictures she'd taken until she came across an Italian phone number with 11 digits.

Locking herself in her bedroom all evening, she did research on her phone until it was a little past 3AM and she could summon the courage to call the number.

The ringtone sounded different, and it instantly made her dig her fingernails into her palms with anxiety.

So, I'm really going through with this?

Waiting up until the dead of night in Chicago for the timezone in Italy to switch over to morning, so she could make a secret phone call to some guy named Paul Haggin, whose name and number she'd found on the letterhead of a lengthy lawsuit stored in the digital archives.

"Pronto?"

said a female voice on the other end of the line, making Serafine's heart skitter with doubt.

Pronto? What does that even mean? Is it like hello? You know what... Never mind. This whole thing was a bad idea from the start,

she thought, and was on the verge of hanging up, when she swallowed her feelings and forced out words.

"Um. Hi. Hello?"

"Hallo,"

the woman said slowly, making Serafine desperately wish she'd rehearsed this.

"Um, hi, yes. I'm calling for. Uh. Mister Paul Haggin?"

A pause. "Who is calling?"

"My name is Serafine Irae- um I'm- I'm, calling on behalf of Ivan Masters." When there was no response at the other end of the line, she added. "From the Medici Bank."

"

Banco de Medici?

" said the woman under her breath, her tone suddenly confidential, like she was trying not to be heard saying the name out loud. "Mister Haggin is busy at the moment, but I can take a message-"

"Would it be possible to schedule a meeting? I don't mean to seem so rushed, but it's so hard to find time with Ivan's schedule," Serafine intervened quickly, unwilling to be turned away, if not a little surprised at herself by how quickly she was able to make up the details required to keep the call going.

Just set the meeting,

she thought, reminding herself that if she couldn't even get this part done, then it meant everything she'd already been through would have been for nothing, and Ivan would likely just replace her with someone else and keep moving forward anyway.

The secretary made a small, impatient noise. "Well, Mister Haggin finds himself, how to say?

Preoccupato..

At the Galleria Borghese this year. I do not believe he is leaving the Lazio region until after summer."

"We could meet there," offered Serafine.

"In Rome?"

"Um," Serafine wasn't expecting this, but tried to sound casual. "Sure, I mean yeah, yeah. I'm sure it won't be a problem. Where, exactly did you say?"

A trip to Italy should be nothing to Ivan, right? Serafine thought. If it meant the Haggin's would buy back the painting on his sudden timeline, he'd probably be willing to do damn near anything.

She was surprised at how easily things were progressing, and before she knew it, she was writing down an address and available time slots as Haggin's secretary read them off.

"Thank you," said Serafine finally. "I'll be in touch very soon to confirm."

"Mm,

grazi,

" said the woman. "

Ciao

."

After she clicked the button on the side of her phone, Serafine slid down the wall of her bedroom, letting out a sigh of relief, followed by a few muted giggles.

"I can't believe..." she said quietly, trailing off as the realization of what she'd accomplished fully washed over her, a smile spreading across her face. "I can't believe I just did that."

When Tuesday arrived, a few days later, her roommate commented that she'd been really quiet all weekend while Serafine sat at the small counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, staring intently at her phone.

"What?" she said, looking up with a few distracted blinks.

"You've barely said a word to me since last week," Elizabeth hazarded. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh," Serafine hadn't realized, but she was known for getting quiet when she was stressed. "Sorry, I've just been busy lately...I uh..."

I have to tell her something.

Elizabeth was weirdly perceptive, and Serafine knew that if she didn't invent a believable story for her, she'd only keep asking, so she improvised. A skill that was becoming more useful to her by the day.

"...I...I might have found a job."

It was partially true.

"Really?" Elizabeth brightened. "How much does it pay?"

"Uhh, like three hundred thousand dollars. Maybe more, if I can get him to go up on the three percent," Serafine said, enjoying the concerned crease of her roommates eyebrows before allowing the corner of her own lip to lift into a half-smile.

"I'm kidding," she lied. "It's nineteen an hour."

"I was about to say, yeah right," Liz laughed in response. "So what is it? What's the job?"

"Just an office thing," she shrugged. "Nothings guaranteed yet but they're cool with part time and just need help with, like, filing papers and stuff. So."

"When do you know for sure?"

"I have an interview today," said Serafine, her eyes flitting to the corner of her phone. "In like an hour."

"Wearing that?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at her choice of outfit, her usual ripped jeans and oversized shirt not exactly screaming 'job interview'.

"Yeah, why not? Why pretend I give a shit about their rules when I'm on my own time?"

"I wouldn't say an interview is your own time-" Elizabeth started, but then seemed to decide it was better not to argue. "Nevermind, you know what," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Good luck, I'm rooting for you. Let me know how it goes."

"You'll be the first," said Serafine, going back to her phone as their conversation fizzled.

She had to go soon, anyway, and after a couple of minutes, slid off the barstool to go pack her backpack for her impending meeting with Ivan Masters.

Over the past few days, she'd learned as much about him and his family's situation as she could, printing out papers off-campus at a library computer to be extra sure no one saw her.

Into her backpack, she put a stack of papers from the lawsuit, detailing the Haggin family's art restitution case. Pages of their repeated offers, incrementing from ten, to eleven, to thirteen million dollars, as well as a stack of complicated-looking insurance documents, underwritten by the bank itself. She thought about taking her pocket knife, but then shook her head; she was meeting Ivan in a public restaurant, there was absolutely nothing to worry about. Besides, it wasn't like he was a murderer or something.

Whether or not it was yet clear to him, the relationship of all these entities were beginning to click in her mind. The bank providing insurance and while the museum acted like an enormous storage unit, complete with free maintenance provided by students from the adjoining college. A process which allowed the art to appreciate in value for centuries.

All so a bunch of rich people could keep selling it back and forth to each other and getting richer.

The whole system was quite ingenious, and there was still the matter of the bank itself, its existence going back more than seven hundred years. How much did Ivan even know of his own family's history? Everyone said he was an outsider, and she was starting to believe it was true.

She wondered if she could use any of this information to compel him to give her a higher percentage of the final sale later. After all, she was really the one holding all the cards in the situation currently. He may have thought she couldn't do this without him, but the way she saw it, it was actually the other way around.

That Haggin guy was an old aristocrat like Ivan's late father. He really knew art. There was no way Ivan stood a chance at even having a conversation with him, let alone negotiating a fair deal. He'd be better off trying to hawk the painting on Facebook Marketplace.

Serafine felt a strange surge of exhilaration at the thought of being able to outmaneuver him.

And he thinks he's so tough,

she smiled.

She knew his family was making things difficult for him behind the scenes, and that he wasn't as rich as he liked to pretend he was on social media. At least, not yet. She didn't yet know when this information would come in handy, but for the first time in what felt like forever, she was glad that the art world was filled with so much gossip.

Taking the train across town to the restaurant he'd mentioned last week, she felt more confident and in control than she had in a while. Porn had rotted men's minds into thinking women could do nothing but fuck and suck dick... but she didn't mind using that to her advantage.

Most people couldn't guess this by looking at her, but she really didn't mind using anything, or anyone to her advantage at all, if it meant she got what she wanted out of a situation.

The restaurant was in a tiny sliver of a building with a matte gray door, easily missed unless you were looking for it. Inside, the building turned immediately into a staircase, so that the restaurant itself couldn't be seen from the ground level.

Serafine took a few tentative steps up the stairs, and when she reached the landing, poked her head around the corner for just a second before leaning quickly back, out of sight.

It was a fancy looking place, an indoor-outdoor rooftop terrace with only a few seats and a sleek bar in the middle set with vases of fresh lilacs, but it wasn't the restaurant that made her shirk back, it was the group of guys she'd briefly spotted sitting by the balcony.

She had a good eye, as an artist, and could still see the scene in her mind even though she wasn't looking directly at them anymore. It was unmistakably Ivan, but to her surprise, he wasn't alone. He was with three other guys, sitting at a table spread with an array of drinks and

hors d'oeuvres

, like they'd already been there for hours.

"No, no, fuck the house," Ivan was saying loudly. "Listen to me, it's not worth it, bro. Turns out it's a historic building or some shit? So there's zero comps, and we'll be dealing with the city for months to even list it. Forget I even brought it up. I got more important things to focus on right now, anyway."

"Oh yeah," said a familiar voice. "How's the family business?"

"Brutal, bro," Ivan replied.

He says bro a lot when he's with his friends,

Serafine reflected with a wrinkle of her nose as she listened to their conversation from the safety of the stairwell.

"You've met my uncle," Ivan continued. "The seven foot tall Lurch-looking motherfucker?"

"Joseph?"

"

Seth,

Jo-

Seth

," Ivan corrected. "Ssssss. Like snake."

"Okay," his friend chuckled. It sounded like that guy from Instagram, the one Ivan had been sparring with at the gym. What was his name? Tonio. Tone for short. "Yeah, I remember him."

The hair on Serafine's arms went up as she realized things were already not going to plan. He was supposed to be alone.

What happened to complete secrecy, no other involvement, just the two of them?

Maybe he really trusted his friends...but still. This wasn't what he'd promised.

"Excuse me?" a voice from behind her made Serafine startle and turn around to find a pretty blond waitress coming up the stairs with a tray of food balanced on one shoulder, her long hair slicked back into ponytail. She took one look at Serafine's ripped jeans and shoes practically coming apart at the sole and shot her a sympathetic smile. "Are you here for the busser position?"

"What?" said Serafine. "No- I'm-"

Shit.

White, electric panic shot through her as the waitress's kind expression began to shift to one of veiled annoyance. "I'm meeting someone."

"Really? Here? Are you sure? Well, you shouldn't stand here, we have to use this hallway to get to the kitchen, you know."

"Sorry," Serafine mumbled, but just then, Ivan's voice bellowed out over the restaurant. "Honey!"

Serafine thought he was talking to her, but to her surprise the waitress muttered, "This fucking asshole better tip," before she made a shooing motion with her free hand that forced Serafine to walk ahead of her, right into the restaurant.

No going back now.

At the door, the waitress swept ahead of her, a fake smile already plastered to her face as she brought the tray of appetizers she was carrying over to Ivan's table. They were the only group there, although whether it was because they'd rented the whole place out, or because it was already past the lunch rush downtown and their group had gotten lucky, it was impossible to say.

The emptiness certainly made Serafine stand out while she lingered awkwardly in the doorway, making the bartender snap his fingers and shout, with an East-coast accent.

"Aye! You! DoorDash! Pick-ups are downstairs. Read the fucken signs, why don't cha?"

Serafine raised both eyebrows in surprise, and when she looked instinctively to Ivan's table, she found him clearly suppressing a smile.

"She's with me," he called out, managing to put on a serious expression for just a moment as he summoned her over with a snap, then a wave of one finger.

Serafine's heart was pounding.

So, what, I'm just supposed to be okay with being called over like a dog now?

she thought irritably, then bit her tongue a bit to distract herself.

Better than standing over here, pretending I didn't hear him.

You came here,

she reminded herself, forcing one foot in front of the other toward his table, trying to ignore the way his friends eyes all raked over her body. She was glad for the baggy clothes now. The less they could see, the better.

"Meet my new replacement at the brokerage," Ivan beamed when she was a few steps away, making Tonio elbow him deep in the bicep.

"Get the fuck outta here," he laughed, while Serafine stood before them uncomfortably. Their group seemed oddly tight-knit, all of them similarly built, similarly dressed, and smelling of spiced cologne.

Standing in front of them, she could feel her own confidence rapidly spiraling as their comments got more crass.

"Where the fuck did you find her?"

"She got some ID?"

"Fuck an ID, let's see that OnlyFans!"

As they laughed, Ivan looked at her through the gap in their shoulders, observing her reaction. She tried not to give him one, but he must've read her body language clearly enough, because a moment later, he raised a hand dismissively at his friends. "Alright, well, we've got a couple things to talk about, so you can all fuck off."

"You working with the girl scouts now?" said Tone.

Ivan smirked. "What can I say. My family is deeply fond of humanitarian issues."

"Oh yeah, I bet you're getting really, deeply fond of this one,

Ivaughn

," his other friend joked, making a thrusting motion with his hips as he stood up that made Serafine look away, it was so rude.

"Watch your back around him, sweetheart," called one of them helpfully as they departed, Ivan shooting them a cheery wave before his eyes cut back to her, and he patted his lap.

"Come, take a seat," he said.

She pulled out the chair across from him, shrugging out of her backpack as she shot him a terse, "Thanks. Here is fine."

"Your friends are all very... tall," she continued, trying to make conversation as she unzipped her backpack.

Tall? Really?

Was that all she could think of to say?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Coworkers," he shrugged. "Well, former coworkers."

"After your inheritance is settled," Serafine hazarded.

"You remembered," he smiled, but there was an edge to the look he gave her, like he was suspicious of her for remembering in the first place.

Serafine pulled out a stack of papers and set them on the table, immediately catching his attention.

"What are those?"

"Secret documents," she said wryly, acting much more confident than she felt when she slid the papers out of range at the same moment he reached for them. "Obviously."

He arched an eyebrow at her, his mistrust giving way to something like amusement as he leaned back his chair.

"Okay. So you did your homework. This is why I love working with students."

A flicker of a smile crossed her face, before she explained to him the call she'd made to Haggin's secretary, and the meeting times he had available over the next few weeks.

"You're saying he's ready to buy?" Ivan said. "At what price?"

"Well, no," Serafine admitted. "I don't think anyone's going to just come out and name a price on the phone like that... that's not how it works in the art world. But..." she paused, knowing she was about to give him vitally valuable information. "The last price they offered to get Greek Slave back was thirteen million dollars."

She slid the papers over the table, pointing to the offer in writing. After wiping his hands on a silk napkin, Ivan took the stack and read in silence. It was a carefully curated assortment of documents, presented so that he could easily see all the biggest numbers right up front.

"Well, I have to admit, I don't know why anyone in their right fucking mind would pay thirteen million dollars for a piece of paper, but I'm impressed," he said after a pause, reading again. "Finally, someone in my life is able to get some fucking work done. Good job, honey. Really."

She smiled faintly, but inside, she was of all things... glowing.

Was it weird how little effort it took for her to want to grin like an idiot around him? Literally everyone in her life was telling her he was a dangerous asshole. Even, at this point, his own friends, but these warnings somehow didn't change her feelings. Nobody in her life had ever trusted her with something so important before, except for him.

"Thank you," she said, and truly meant it.

"Did you eat? You've got to try the Ravioli Puffs," he said congenially, pointing to a steaming bowl of toasted ravioli's in dark red marinara sauce.

It was surprisingly normal eating with him.

Well, what else was it supposed to be like?

she wondered. Just because her stomach turned to liquid in his presence didn't mean he felt even remotely similar. To him, extravagant lunches and conversations about millions of dollars were completely normal activities for a Tuesday afternoon.

To her, it was like being in an alternate reality. One where she was finally becoming part of the wealthy upper-class which, up until now, she'd only ever been adjacent to. This restaurant was far nicer than the ones she ever ate at, and the food was amazing. If she was being honest with herself, she didn't really want it the evening to end.

"So...what? Now you're going to expect me to fly you out to Italy, huh?" said Ivan as they ate.

"Well, I just want to make sure I really earn my six percent, Mister Masters," she said with a coquettish little lilt creeping into her voice.

"When did it become six percent?"

"Oh, right. I've been meaning to talk to you about that. After thinking about it, I feel like your original offer was a little low," she admitted.

"A little low," he coughed into a napkin to hide the look of incredulity on his face.

She was telling the truth, whether he liked hearing it or not. For fine art brokers, the standard commissions were in the range of twenty percent, and given this was such a once in a lifetime opportunity, she was willing to go out on a limb to make things even better for herself. Besides, there was the whole secret-keeping element of their relationship that she was certain Ivan was aware would have a price attached.

When he stood up suddenly, she worried for a few panicked seconds, that he would simply walk out. Now that he had everything he needed, there was technically nothing stopping him. An image of the mean bartender flashed into her mind as she stressed about being left with the bill -- but he only came to sit beside her, one arm looping automatically around her shoulder.