Alexander

I spotted James approaching through the crowd, his usual confident smirk firmly in place. No doubt coming to gloat about winning the Basquiat sketch.

"Alexander," he greeted with practiced ease, champagne glass in hand. "Quite the evening. Though I must say, it's rare to see you lose a bidding war."

I extended my hand, forcing a pleasant smile. "James. Congratulations on the sketch. You certainly wanted it badly."

"Not as badly as you did, ...