“Do I have twenty thousand?” the auctioneer asks, and paddles pop into the air as bids are called. It rises to thirty. Then forty. Then forty-five.

All the blood must have drained from my head, because I feel like I’m going to pass out. The bids slow and the auctioneer calls it.

“Sold . . . to bidder number thirty-seven for $50,000. Congratulations, sir. Next up, we have—”

My ears tune out the rest of what he’s saying as I search the crowd for number thirty-seven, but I don’t see the paddle anymore, or people congratulating the victorious bidder.

Who in the world would pay fifty thousand for my sculpture? This can’t be happening.

My stomach tumbles like it’s full of hopping bullfrogs, but I push forward through the crowd to find Keira. She’s standing off to the side of the stage, and her tall, dark, and handsome husband stands behind her.

When she sees me, her expression is pained.

Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Now I’m going to get fired.

“I don’t know what happened,” I whisper as soon as I get closer. “Standish called, and I was trying to track him down, and . . . I have no idea how that got up there.”

Instead of giving me a disapproving stare, Keira winces. “I am so, so sorry.”

“What?”

“It’s my fault. The auctioneer told me we were missing the first auction item, so I told the crew to get the last sculpture, whether Standish was here or not. They brought up the one from your office, and I didn’t realize their mistake until it was already onstage and the auctioneer launched into bidding. Maybe we can get it back? Explain the situation and cancel the bid?”

“Are you joking? If someone wants to pay fifty thousand dollars for that, do you really think I’m going to stop them? Especially when it goes to such a good cause?”

“Are you sure? I’ll pay to replace it for you. I swear.”

My head jerks back in shock, but before I can reply to Keira’s offer, a gorgeous woman with long black hair taps her on the shoulder.

“You’ve got to tell me who the artist was for that piece. I got outbid, but I know for a fact that was not a Gregor Standish.”

And here it comes. Because there’s no way anyone could mistake my reclaimed metal art for a Gregor Standish.

“There’s no way in hell I would’ve bid that high for one of his melted-crayon-looking things.”

Shock bubbles up inside me, and I’m speechless.

Keira glances from the woman to me. “You’ll have to ask Temperance. She coordinated the auction, and that piece was a last-minute swap that went out mislabeled. We’re going to inform the buyer and let him know about the mistake to see if he wants to cancel his bid.”

The woman extends a hand and I shake it automatically. “I’m Valentina Hendrix. I own Noble Art, and if the winner cancels his bid, I’ll match it. I want the piece and the artist’s name.”

Somehow, I keep my jaw from dropping at her declaration. Noble Art is one of the top galleries in the Quarter, and so prestigious and expensive, I’ve never done more than peer through the windows from the sidewalk.

“Temperance?” Keira prompts me when I don’t say anything in reply.

I find my tongue and ability to lie. “I believe the artist was anonymous. I don’t have a name to give you.”

One of Valentina’s perfect dark eyebrows goes up. “Anonymous. Hmm.” She surveys me with a look I can’t interpret. “I’ve heard that story before.”

Shit. She knows I’m lying. “Excuse me, but I need to go find the buyer and explain that there’s been a mistake.”

“Keep me posted, Temperance. My offer stands.”

Shell-shocked, I weave through the crowd again, mumbling excuse me over and over because I don’t know what else to say.

Tonight couldn’t have gone more differently than I expected if the entire building had disappeared into a sinkhole.

I slide around the side of the stage we set up for the auction and try to catch the attention of an auctioneer’s assistant who’s in charge of moving the items. He holds up a finger before carrying out the third piece.

When he returns, he steps off the stage as the auctioneer begins his spiel. “Can I help you?”

“Who bought the first piece? I need to speak with him or her.”

The guy shrugs. “It was a man, but I’m not sure who. We’ve got the payment table set up in the corner. Maybe you can catch him there.”

Duh. Why didn’t I think of that?

Probably because my brain is already fried tonight from too many curveballs.

“Thanks.”

I make my way to the opposite corner of the room where a table is set up for the payment of donations. The man sitting there glances up at me from a stack of paperwork.

“I need to speak to whomever bought the first piece before he pays.”

“Too late. Already got his payment.”

“His? What did he look like?”

The man blinks behind glasses as thick as Coke bottles. “Well, I can’t exactly say. It was a man.”

“Older than you? Younger? Gray hair? Purple?”

His expression turns disapproving. “I’m afraid I didn’t catalog his attributes, but I do have a check if that helps.”

He opens a folder and pulls it out. I snatch it out of his hand.

“Nunya Holdings LLC?”

“Yes, and he’s sending someone to pick up the item tomorrow morning. Said he couldn’t take it this evening.”

“Thank you.”

As I turn away from the table, my phone vibrates again and I look down.

Gregor Standish.

Oh good Lord. I wonder if he heard a sculpture that wasn’t his was auctioned in his place. He’s going to want my head on a platter.

I send the call to voice mail.

He can wait until tomorrow.