If he isn’t the smartest man alive, he doesn’t know who is. He set it up, waited for it to happen, and voilà, it did. There he is, at another one of Gertrude Stein’s parties, perfecting his Ashton King persona as wealthy Australian collector and businessman, when whom does he spy? Little Paulien Mertens, a.k.a. Vivienne Gregsby. With her sleek hair and chiseled cheekbones, she’s looking even better than when he last spied her in Philadelphia. Much better than in London. Losing that baby fat did her a world of good.
He didn’t notice her at first. It’s a typical evening at 27, noisy and crowded, replete with all manner of self-satisfied “talent” and their awestruck sycophants. Sycophants with lots of money whom he’s spent the past six months charming, turning them into dear and trusting friends—potential investors all. Some of the talent also, but only those with money. There aren’t many.
The party is a celebration for some new book about Henri Matisse, and he figured it would be the perfect place to begin the next step of his current project: the investment phase. The first stage of King & Associates, Inc., went just as planned, and the second will also. Intelligence, planning, and patience: three of his greatest strengths, the key to his continuous string of triumphs.
He’s bought a number of authentic artworks by old masters as well as some by the current crop of artists touted to be the next old masters: Monet, Manet, Cézanne, Matisse, Renoir, and Picasso. He rented a warehouse, studios, and office space, set up the required company, and hired half a dozen artists who have begun forging the four hundred or so paintings he needs. Once he finds more forgers, he’ll be on his way.
He’s busy brewing up interest by whispering—to a select few—about the profits he’s going to make buying quality art from those hurt by the current economic situation and holding it until the markets correct. When two of these men ask if he would consider taking on minor partners, he reluctantly refuses.
“It’s just not profitable enough yet,” he tells them sadly. “I wouldn’t dream of bringing anyone in as a partner until I can guarantee at least a twenty or twenty-five percent return. But maybe when the earnings get more consistent . . .” He pauses as they wait, greed shining on their faces. He taps his forefinger to his chin as if he were just struck by an idea.
“Yes?” one of the men prods.
“Maybe if that happens, I might consider selling shares of the business. Not as a partnership per se, more like buying stock.” He looks at them with wide, innocent eyes. “Would that kind of investment be of interest to you?”
Needless to say, it would.
In fact, he’s so engrossed in one of these conversations that he barely hears the first round of toasts Gertrude offers to Matisse. But when she mentions that one of the authors is Vivienne Gregsby, he abandons the German nobleman he’s speaking with and hurries to the dining room.
He feels a pleasant stirring as he eyes Paulien, remembering the months he courted her, her enthusiasm once he bedded her. She lusted for him then, and she lusts for him now. Your first is always your first.
He didn’t know she was a virgin when he approached her that day in London. All he knew was that the Mertens family was one of the wealthiest in Belgium, with social and financial connections all over the world—and that a Mertens daughter was on her own in the city, ripe for the picking. The fact that she had never had sex before was an added bonus.
Even though he has a full beard, unstylishly long hair, a deep tan, and is wearing eyeglasses, he moves off into the shadows. This isn’t the right moment to let his presence be known.
Aside from feigned spontaneity when it suits his needs, he never makes a move without prior thought and planning. Now that he fully understands Paulien’s current situation and its resulting dilemmas, he knows precisely how he’s going to turn it to his advantage. In a week, maybe two, he’ll take his first step toward convincing her that what he wants is exactly what she wants.