The Beaumont Brothers. Sarah M. Anderson
that blends the cachet of a traditional art auction house with the power of social media. I have some partners who are handling the more technical aspects of building our platform, while I’m bringing the family name and my extensive connections to the deal.” She turned back to Chadwick. “It’s going to be a success. This is your chance to get in on the ground floor. And we could use the Chadwick Beaumont Seal of Approval. It’d go a long way to help secure additional funding. Think of it. A Beaumont business that has nothing to do with beer!”
“I like beer,” Chadwick said. His tone was probably supposed to be flat, but it actually came out sounding slightly wounded, as if Frances had just told him his life’s work was worthless.
“Oh, you know what I mean.”
“You always do this, Frannie—investing in the ‘next big idea’ without doing your homework. An exclusive art auction site? In this market? It’s not a good idea. If I were you, I’d get out now before you lose everything. Again.”
Frances stiffened. “I haven’t lost everything, thank you very much.”
Chadwick gave her a look that was surprisingly paternal. “And yet, I’ve had to bail you out how many times?” Frances glared at him. Serena braced for another cutting remark, but then Chadwick said, “I’m sorry. Maybe this one will be a success. I wish you the best of luck.”
“Of course you do. You’re a good brother.” Instantly, her droll humor was back, but Serena could see a shadow of disappointment in her eyes. “We’re Beaumonts. You’re the only one of us who behaves—well, you and maybe Matthew.” She waved her hand in his general direction. “All respectable, while the rest of us are desperately trying to be dissolute wastrels.” Her gaze cut between Chadwick and Serena. “Speaking of, there’s Phillip now.”
Before Serena could turn, she felt a touch slide down her bare arm. Then Phillip Beaumont walked around her, his fingers never leaving her skin. He was quite the golden boy. Only an inch shorter than his brother, he wore a tux without a bow tie. It made him look disheveled and carefree—which, according to all reports, he was. Where Chadwick was more of a sandy blond, Phillip’s coloring was brighter, as if he’d been born for people to look at him.
Phillip took her hand in his and bent low over it. “Mademoiselle,” he said as he held the back of her hand against his lips.
An uncontrollable shiver raced through her body. She did not particularly like Phillip—he caused Chadwick no end of grief—but Frances was one-hundred-percent right. He was exceedingly charming.
He looked up at Serena, his lips curled into the kind of grin that pronounced him fully aware of the effect he was having on her. “Where did you come from, enchantress? And, perhaps more importantly, why are you on his arm?”
Enchantress? That was a new one. And also a testament to Mario’s superpowers. Phillip stopped by the office on a semi-regular basis to have meetings with Chadwick and Matthew about his position as head of special promotions for the brewery. She’d talked to him face-to-face dozens, if not hundreds, of times.
Chadwick made a sound that was somewhere between clearing his throat and growling. “Phillip, you remember Serena Chase, my executive assistant.”
If Phillip was embarrassed that he hadn’t recognized her, he gave no sign of it. He didn’t even break eye contact with her. Instead, he favored her with the kind of smile that probably made the average woman melt into his bed. As it was, she was feeling a little dazzled by his sheer animal magnetism.
“How could I forget Ms. Chase? You are,” he went on, leaning into her, “unforgettable.”
Desperate, she looked at Frances, who gave a small shrug.
“That’s enough.” No mistaking it this time—that was nothing but a growl from Chadwick.
If Chadwick had growled at anyone else like that, he would have sent them diving for cover. But not Phillip. Good heavens, he didn’t even look ruffled. He did give her a sly little wink before he touched her hand to his lips again. Chadwick tensed next to her and she wondered if a brawl was about to break out.
But then he released his grip on her hand and turned his full attention to his brother. Serena heaved a sigh of relief. No wonder Phillip had such a reputation as a ladies’ man.
“So, news,” he said in a tone that was only slightly less sultry than the one he’d been using on her. “I bought a horse!”
“Another one?” Frances and Chadwick said at the same time. Clearly, this was something that happened often.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Chadwick looked...murderous. There really was no other way to describe it. He looked like he was going to throttle his brother in the middle of the Art Museum. “I don’t suppose this one was only a few thousand?”
“Chad—hear me out.” At this use of his shortened name, Chadwick flinched. Serena had never heard anyone call him that but Phillip. “This is an Akhal-Teke horse.”
“Gesundheit,” Frances murmured.
“A what?” Chadwick was now clutching her fingers against his arm in an almost desperate way. “How much?”
“This breed is extremely rare,” Phillip went on. “Only about five thousand in the world. From Turkmenistan!”
Serena felt like she was at a tennis match, her head was turning back and forth between the two brothers so quickly. “Isn’t that in Asia, next to Afghanistan?”
Phillip shot her another white-hot look and matching smile. “Beautiful and smart? Chadwick, you lucky dog.”
“I swear to God,” Chadwick growled.
“People are staring,” Frances added in a light, singsong tone. Then, looking at Serena for assistance, she laughed as if this were a great joke.
Serena laughed as well. She’d heard Chadwick and Phillip argue before, but that was usually behind Chadwick’s closed office door. Never in front of her. Or in front of anyone else, for that matter.
For once, Phillip seemed to register the threat. He took an easy step back and held out his hands in surrender. “Like I was saying—this Akhal-Teke. They’re most likely the breed that sired the Arabians. Very rare. Only about five hundred in this country, and most of those come from Russian stock. Kandar’s Golden Sun isn’t a Russian Akhal-Teke.”
“Gesundheit,” Frances murmured again. She looked at Serena with a touch of desperation, so they both laughed again.
“He’s from Turkmenistan. An incredible horse. One to truly found a stable on.”
Chadwick pinched the bridge of his nose. “How much?”
“Only seven.” Phillip stuck out his chest, as if he were proud of this number.
Chadwick cracked open one eye. “Thousand, or hundred thousand?”
Serena tried not to gape. Seven thousand for a horse wasn’t too much, she guessed. But seven hundred thousand? That was a lot of money.
Phillip didn’t say anything. He took a step back, though, and his smile seemed more...forced.
Chadwick took a step forward. “Seven what?”
“You know, one Akhal-Teke went for fifty million—and that was in 1986 dollars. The most expensive horse ever. Kandar’s Golden Sun—”
That was as far as he got. Chadwick cut him off with a shout. “You spent seven million on a horse while I’m working my ass off to keep the company from being sold to the wolves?”
Everything about the party stopped—the music, the conversations, the movement of waiters carrying trays of champagne.
Someone hurried toward them. It was Matthew Beaumont. “Gentlemen,” he hissed under his breath. “We are having a charity event here.”
Serena put her hand