swung back. A balding man glared at them with undisguised annoyance. “Yes?”
“Hi! I’m Ben Kiran.” He thrust out his hand.
The man looked at it as if it had come directly from a toxic landfill.
“This is my wife — I mean my ex-wife, Rhea Kiran. We’re here to see Hale.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“What? Well, not exactly. He just hired me to photograph the spring catalogue for IAI.”
“I see.” The man peered at them distantly. “He never mentioned it to me.”
“And you would be?” Ben’s smile remained at high beam.
“Charles Squire. Hale Micklenberg’s personal assistant.”
“Of course.” Ben gave Rhea an amused nod. “May we come in?”
“Hale isn’t here.”
“He’s not?” The smile faded slightly. “Well, perhaps we could come in and wait for him.”
“He won’t be back for several hours.”
“Look, I need to get an idea of what I’m supposed to photograph. It’s important.”
“What did you say your name was?”
“Kiran. Ben Kiran.”
“Hmm. Well, I suppose you might as well take a look.” He stepped back and allowed them to enter.
Rhea was immediately struck by the size of the first-floor gallery. From the outside, the gate house looked tiny. Inside, the high ceilings and light cream walls made it appear quite spacious. She also noticed the bars on the windows. Not a welcoming sight. “These are wonderful,” she said, stepping to a series of Japanese prints.
“Yes, aren’t they?” Charles said the words with his usual ennui. After closing and locking the door behind them, he stood butlerlike next to the stairs.
Ben took this as his cue to begin examining the artwork. He strolled around the room as if he owned the place, a finger pressed to his cheek. Rhea could tell he was enjoying himself.
After a few minutes, Charles said, “I don’t recall seeing your signature on a contract.”
Ben turned. “Oh, Hale said it wasn’t necessary.”
“I’m afraid, my dear sir, that it is. Have you agreed to do this based on an hourly rate?”
Ben looked confused. “Hale said to just mail him the bill.”
“Well, as I am the one who
pays
the bills, I suggest you nail it down a bit better. Otherwise,” he said, biting the cuticle on his right index finger, “you’re going to be as disappointed as our last photographer.”
Rhea watched a frown form on Ben’s face.
“I see. Well, then, why don’t you show me one of your contracts?” Ben was trying to keep his voice light. No use antagonizing the man closest to the checkbook.
“I suppose I could do that.” Charles headed up the stairs. “Please. Follow me,” he called after him.
Ben held out his hand for Rhea and together they climbed to the top.
The second-floor office was lavishly appointed. Hale Micklenberg was a man who spared no expense making himself comfortable. An entertainment center sat directly across from a massive oak desk, complete with huge TV screen and stereo speakers. Charles had apparently been listening to some music before they’d arrived. A Bach fugue was just ending.
Switching off the CD with the remote, Charles sat down behind the desk and opened one of the side drawers. He removed a contract and handed it to Ben. “I assume you’ll want a few moments to look it over.”
Ben nodded, sitting in one of two leather chairs.
Rhea crossed to the window and looked down at the street. “You’re about to have more visitors.”
“What?” With an annoyed growl, Charles leapt to his feet and peered over a filing cabinet. “Oh, drat. Not the Kingfields. Hale’s supposed to handle them.” He shot an irritated glance at Ben. “If you’ll excuse me for a few moments?”
“Of course.” Ben didn’t look up, he merely waved a dismissive hand and flipped to the second page. After Charles was gone, he quickly finished the rest and
“Hi! I’m Ben Kiran.” He thrust out his hand.
The man looked at it as if it had come directly from a toxic landfill.
“This is my wife — I mean my ex-wife, Rhea Kiran. We’re here to see Hale.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“What? Well, not exactly. He just hired me to photograph the spring catalogue for IAI.”
“I see.” The man peered at them distantly. “He never mentioned it to me.”
“And you would be?” Ben’s smile remained at high beam.
“Charles Squire. Hale Micklenberg’s personal assistant.”
“Of course.” Ben gave Rhea an amused nod. “May we come in?”
“Hale isn’t here.”
“He’s not?” The smile faded slightly. “Well, perhaps we could come in and wait for him.”
“He won’t be back for several hours.”
“Look, I need to get an idea of what I’m supposed to photograph. It’s important.”
“What did you say your name was?”
“Kiran. Ben Kiran.”
“Hmm. Well, I suppose you might as well take a look.” He stepped back and allowed them to enter.
Rhea was immediately struck by the size of the first-floor gallery. From the outside, the gate house looked tiny. Inside, the high ceilings and light cream walls made it appear quite spacious. She also noticed the bars on the windows. Not a welcoming sight. “These are wonderful,” she said, stepping to a series of Japanese prints.
“Yes, aren’t they?” Charles said the words with his usual ennui. After closing and locking the door behind them, he stood butlerlike next to the stairs.
Ben took this as his cue to begin examining the artwork. He strolled around the room as if he owned the place, a finger pressed to his cheek. Rhea could tell he was enjoying himself.
After a few minutes, Charles said, “I don’t recall seeing your signature on a contract.”
Ben turned. “Oh, Hale said it wasn’t necessary.”
“I’m afraid, my dear sir, that it is. Have you agreed to do this based on an hourly rate?”
Ben looked confused. “Hale said to just mail him the bill.”
“Well, as I am the one who
pays
the bills, I suggest you nail it down a bit better. Otherwise,” he said, biting the cuticle on his right index finger, “you’re going to be as disappointed as our last photographer.”
Rhea watched a frown form on Ben’s face.
“I see. Well, then, why don’t you show me one of your contracts?” Ben was trying to keep his voice light. No use antagonizing the man closest to the checkbook.
“I suppose I could do that.” Charles headed up the stairs. “Please. Follow me,” he called after him.
Ben held out his hand for Rhea and together they climbed to the top.
The second-floor office was lavishly appointed. Hale Micklenberg was a man who spared no expense making himself comfortable. An entertainment center sat directly across from a massive oak desk, complete with huge TV screen and stereo speakers. Charles had apparently been listening to some music before they’d arrived. A Bach fugue was just ending.
Switching off the CD with the remote, Charles sat down behind the desk and opened one of the side drawers. He removed a contract and handed it to Ben. “I assume you’ll want a few moments to look it over.”
Ben nodded, sitting in one of two leather chairs.
Rhea crossed to the window and looked down at the street. “You’re about to have more visitors.”
“What?” With an annoyed growl, Charles leapt to his feet and peered over a filing cabinet. “Oh, drat. Not the Kingfields. Hale’s supposed to handle them.” He shot an irritated glance at Ben. “If you’ll excuse me for a few moments?”
“Of course.” Ben didn’t look up, he merely waved a dismissive hand and flipped to the second page. After Charles was gone, he quickly finished the rest and
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