The first one arrived by courier at my house. It was a box. It was marked fragile. The doorman said it had been dropped off by a courier, but he wasn’t sure of the sender. The doorman, Victor, had signed for me a few times; I had asked him to. I bought my art supplies online sometimes, and he had offered, seeing how late I got home from the office sometimes.

It was heavy when I tried to lift it, so I dragged it into the apartment. It had been delivered a couple of nights before. I hadn’t been in the last couple nights. I hadn’t trusted Levi not to come over. I had made myself as clear as possible the last time we saw each other, but he wasn’t the most receptive to refusal. I couldn’t do it anymore, though. I couldn’t be scared out of my own home because of him. Zahira’s couch was comfy, but she lived in Oakland. Trying to cross that bridge at rush hour was a fucking joke.

My cat sitter had charged me extra for the short notice, but I couldn’t leave them alone that long. They greeted me at the door, probably mad that my clothes didn’t smell like them anymore. The box was full of Styrofoam chips. I’d have fun cleaning those up once I got whatever was in there out. I brushed some chips off the top. I saw black wood. I could probably lift it if I tried, but I didn’t want to try. I got a knife out of the kitchen and sliced the box down two edges so the Styrofoam chips flooded out of it and the front of the box opened out.

The cats played in the mess, making it worse. Whatever, as long as they didn’t eat it. I finally saw what it was. It was about forty inches tall and slightly shorter across. It was a glass display case, full of taxidermy butterflies.

The wood was black—ebony. The case mocked a reptile’s terrarium, with a tree, dried flowers, and leaves. The butterflies were mounted on the tree, over its trunk and branches and the floor of the case as well—all kinds. Large, small, white, black, colorful. Nineteenth century, Great British origin. I already knew where I wanted to display it.

Who had sent it? Someone who knew I liked antique taxidermy. How many people was that? Brandon probably had never noticed over the two years we had dated, besides it was way out of his price range. Max knew. He had seen me covet his father’s butterfly dome when I’d been at the house. That object was already being shown; it was going to be auctioned off.

There was one other person who knew, but I didn’t want to think about him. I’d talked Zahira’s ear off about him already the couple of nights I’d spent in her house. She’d let me, but that didn’t mean I should just continue since I was alone then. I rifled through the chips for a note. There was a single piece of card taped to the back of the case. Handwritten.

For you. I know it’s not enough. I’m sorry.

It was signed L. Strickland. Like there were a lot of guys who bought me antiques. His handwriting was nice. Print, not cursive. It was written in red ink.

It was from Levi. What could have prompted this? Guilt? Or was it earnest? Was he just making good on his pussy payments?

I know it’s not enough. He was right. Not even close. Not even a little. I didn’t need him to buy me anything. I didn’t want him to spend his money on me. Spending money on me was apparently easier than opening up, however.

If I were more unhinged, I would have thrown it out the window. I knew, however, that it had had to have cost him at least three thousand dollars, so I hefted it across the room. I wanted it in my spare bedroom, the one I used to work on my calligraphy. I had a flat and raised desk in there, and if my estimates were accurate, it would just about fit across the flat desk, against the wall. I, however, left it by the door where I would figure out some way to return it to him at a later date.

I needed to get the fuck to sleep. Zahira’s couch was fine, but I’d been more tired than usual. Must have been the stress of work, compounded with the mindfuck that was Levi Strickland. His arrival in my life had just caused all sorts of upheaval, hadn’t it? Did he like me or didn’t he? How could he kiss me like he did then treat me like he didn’t? Why would he talk like he did, and send me gifts like he did, but basically fuck me from the other side of the room?

I hadn’t talked to Levi since the fight. Just a few days, but you had to take things a day at a time, right? This was my after period. I was coming back from the most disastrous rebound experience ever had. Well, this was my pre-after period. I wouldn’t feel like the after period really began until the auction was over and Levi Strickland was safely back in another time zone.

The public showings had begun. The auction was next Thursday and would end Sunday. The online auction would continue slightly longer. The lots that were not displayed were shown in the catalog; the collection was that big.

He hadn’t been back at Strickland’s after the blowout in the showing gallery. A good thing. The best thing. My life had to regain its past normalcy. Work, art, fraternizing with people I liked—things like that. Not being hounded by a bored billionaire. That was what he was, right? Had to be boredom. Why else would he try punching so far outside his weight class?

The next one, because there was another, was on my desk the morning the auction began. It was a small box. Smaller than the last one. Flatter. A gift box with a bow at the top. It was not my birthday. I opened it up sitting at my desk, pretending not to see some of my colleagues watching me.

The card, handwritten with the same message, sat on top of a platinum print of a photograph. I smiled recognizing it. Eugene de Salignac’s ‘Painters on the Brooklyn Bridge.’

I refused to feel touched, closing the box and stashing it under my desk. He was trying… something. I didn’t know what. I also didn’t care… didn’t want to care. Was going to pretend I didn’t till it was true. He was getting this one back as well. He was a captain of industry and insanely wealthy, so, obviously a psychopath. You couldn’t be if you weren’t, right? Powerful men are always dead behind the eyes. His eyes were almost intimidating to look into. Everything about him was overwhelming. It wasn’t even a question. I was doing the right thing.

The auction marked the beginning of the end; the end of the involvement I would have with the Strickland family. Except Celeste. During our lunch, I’d managed to do some shameless self-promotion. She was going to get in contact with me to put together her wedding invitations. Score. If there was anyone out of the three I wanted to keep around; it was her. She was so great.

Levi was a yes too, but the sort of yes that should have been a no. He was a no. A yes in my head and in other places, but a no in reality. For my sanity and the sake of the man out there who was truly the one I’ve been waiting for. The one who would open up and connect to me instead of making me feel every time we had sex was a fucking transaction.

Somewhere during the hours before we broke for lunch, I got a phone call. Checking who it was, I saw that it was Max Strickland. Levi had never had the courtesy to call before trying to see me before. I hadn’t thought it was him, but I did chastise myself a little for sort of wishing that it was.

“Hey, how are you?” I asked him picking up.

“I’m great, how are you?”

“Good. The auction’s finally begun. Your dad’s collection is amazing, but I won’t be sad to see it all go,” I said. He laughed.

“You’ve done an amazing job. I came to one of the showings.”

“And you didn’t drop by to say hi?” I accused jokingly.

“I wanted to. I couldn’t find you. I wanted to ask you this in person.” My eyebrows raised. What could Max Strickland possibly have to ask me that he’d preferred to say in person?

“What?”

“I’m hosting a dinner. Tonight. It’s for the third-party guarantors that bid on different pieces.”

My eyes widened. The third-party guarantors? The ghost buyers? Oh, this was exciting. We never got to know who the third-party guaranteed buyers were. Their identities were always kept secret.

“Really? Can I ask why?”

“The proceeds are going to charity. They’re basically making private donations to the Strickland Foundation through their purchases. I think it’s important to appreciate them.”

I said I understood, but I didn’t. He was talking rich person; I couldn’t relate. Was he rewarding them for their charity or was I misunderstanding him? Had I been doing charity wrong my whole life?

“What can I do to help?” I offered.

“You could accompany me. Be my date.”

“Hm, your date?” I asked.

“No pressure. People usually attend these things accompanied. If I could choose anyone I wanted to go with, I’d choose you,” he said. I smiled. Charming, he was that. He was choosing me. I felt like the most special Pokémon.

“You said this was tonight?”

“Yeah. I’m hosting it at my house.” His house. Hadn’t been there before.

“Notice is a little short,” I quipped.

“I know. I’m sorry. Will you forgive me this next indiscretion?” he asked.

“What?”

“I got you a dress. It should be delivered to you at work by this afternoon.” I stifled a laugh. It was like when you were rich; you didn’t have to have shame anymore. Why would he get me a dress before asking me whether I was even coming? He obviously thought I was going to say yes. He assumed he already had an in. Presumption. That’s not attractive, Mr. Strickland.

“My God, Max. Anyone would think I had said yes already,” I challenged him.

“If I’m honest, I was hoping to reduce the chances that you might say no,” he said.

I smiled. If nothing else I admired his tenacity.

“What are your expectations of a plus one?” I asked him.

“Impress people. Dazzle them with your knowledge and beauty. Make every guy in there jealous of me.” I sighed.

“I’m not comfortable dating you, Max,” I said honestly.

“Don’t call it a date then. I just want you to come with me. You have been such a large part of the auction; people would love to meet you. You might even be able to network.”

It wasn’t like I would be busy doing something else. I hadn’t talked to Zahira, but who knew whether she would be free. It was not a date. It was just dinner with the sort of people who could afford to collect art and antiques like they were stamps or baseball cards. Basically, the person I would be given a bank account boost of several billion dollars. It could be fun. What the heck.

“I’ll come. What time is it?”

“Eight o’clock. Tell me where you live. I’ll send a car for you.”

How was this different from the lunch I had had with Celeste and Levi? It wasn’t different. It was the same, meaning it was casual. It wasn’t a date. It was like when celebrities took their parents or siblings with them to red carpet events. Alright, it wasn’t the same as that, but it was still not a date. I wouldn’t have agreed to go on a date with him. I didn’t want to lead him on. I also wasn’t going to have sex with him after. Definitely not. I’d learned my lesson.

Work that day was a lot of private appraisals that I had had to put off because of the Strickland collection. The Strickland auction wasn’t going to be the last one we ever had. There were catalogs to put together. Research to do. The dress came when he said it would. I didn’t actually see it until I got home, though. My first question was how the hell he knew what size to get? The next question was what criteria had he used to choose it? Had he even chosen it?

It was red. Floor length. It was a gown. What the hell kind of dinner party warranted wearing something like that? I saw the name on the label and hoped to God the designer had loaned it to him—that he hadn’t bought it.

Zahira called me asking whether she could come over. I told her she was out of luck that night. I was heading out. My dealings with Max were harmless; she hadn’t been hearing his name as much as Levi’s. I didn’t consider the brothers to be in any sort of competition for my affection. Both of them were off the table. I was waiting for my prince to come and his last name was not Strickland.

I should have known Max would live in Marin. Back again to the scene of the crime. This whole mess had started in Marin, and I was returning as the dust settled. It suddenly hit me that I might see Levi at the dinner. It hit me; then it terrified me. I was not ready for that confrontation. He had no boundaries; there was no telling what he would do, regardless of who was around.

Instead of a mansion, Max lived in a penthouse apartment. He was waiting for me in the foyer when a man led me inside. How fancy. The space was large and open. There were a few people there already. I was handed champagne and after all the guests had arrived and we were being seated for dinner, and none was a tall man with a shaved, tattooed head.

I could finally breathe.