God my life is boring. I'm young, people tell me that with my black hair, hazel eyes and pale skin that a good looking guy; so why don't I have a life?

  I walked around the desolate art gallery. I always thought that being the manager of a high class art gallery in the middle of Albany would be really exciting. I got it so fucking wrong!
  I haven't even met any gorgoeus sophisticated Albany art buffs to invite back to my loft. Male ones that is, considering I'm gay.

  The soft trill of the door buzzer brought m out of my rather disturbing mental rant. Isn't talking to yourself like the first sign of madness? If I keep going, I'll be in the fucking nuthouse before I'm 30. I took a quick look at Susan, my receptionist; and turned to see who was at the door.
  The guy at the door came strolling in, hands in pockets. Not bad, not bad. Quite good looking in fact. Not from around here though, I don't recognise him.
 "Morning!" I chirped, putting on my best 'reel in prospective customers' smile. Susan smirked at me slighlty and turned back to her computer.
 "Hey." He drawled, glancing in my direction.
  Boston accent. Interesting. What the hell's he doing one state over in Albany then?
 "My name's Gerard, I'm the manager. This is Susan the receptionist. If you need any help, just let me know." I practically simpered (another smirk from Susan. Damn that girl!)
 "Ok, cool. I'm Frank by the way, Frank Iero."
  Italian. Wow. Maybe he's from some old money family, wanting to invest. I guess I should find out. The more information I have, the easier it'll be to get him to buy something.
 "Anything in particular you were looking at Mr Iero?" I asked, checking out his arse sneakily. I couldn't help myself.
 "Not in particular. I work as a Gofer at Sotherbey's. So, I'm just doing some scouting while I'm out here."
  I sauntered across to my desk and picked up the book of provinences for the current collection.
 "Here you are then. A bit of light reading." I joked, handing it to him.

  I watched him - intently but not obviously - as he leant over the binder, flicking through the pages slowly. There was something about him, he didn't look like a gofer with his tight jeans and casual black shirt showing off some tattoos. He looked more like a member of a rock band. However, it was cutr the way his raven hair curled at the base of his neck.
 "So..." I began. "What brings you to Albany? Is it just work or do you have acquaintences here?"
 "No, just work. We heard there were some good galleries here so I was sent to check out the rumors."
 "And? Do you like what you see?" Oh my fucking God! Did I just flirt with him? I did. Oh crap! Shit, I'm talking to myself again, bad Gerard! Bugger, there I go again. Ok, calm, find a happy place, breathe. Think happy thoughts.
 "I'm not sure yet." He said, somewhat confused at my obviously strange behaviour. Trying to find your zen isn't exactly inconspicuous. I need to change the subject.
"How did you get into the art business?" I inquired.
 "My dad got it for me as a summer job when I was 18 and still trying to make it as a rock star, and I liked it so I just never left. Been at it three years now. How did you become an art gallery manager? No offence, but you look pretty young and the position needs experience."
 "Well - my mom and dad owned an antiques dealership before they retired and moved to New Jersey. I got most of my experience from there. They got me this job."
 "Cool beans. Sounds like you've got it made. From here the only way is up." He gave a small genuinely friendly smile. I couldn't help but smile back. He seemed like a really nice guy. The fact that he was short helped too. I love short men. It's quite surprising I like him really, considering how stuck up some people from auction houses are. Especially big money places like Sotherbey's. 
"This Monet? How long have you had it here?" He said suddenly, looking at me with seriousness gracing his soft features.
 "About three months. We're having trouble shifting it because of the amount the current owner wants for it. It doesn't actually belong to the gallery but the woman that owns it is one of our sponsers so we're displaying it for free."
  Why did I tell him that? Was it relevant? Answer to that stupid question - no. I guess he's just easy to talk to. And there I go, talking to myself again. This is becoming a serious problem.
 "My boss may be interested in this. We've been looking for pieces for a specialised fine art sale next month, and a high profile piece would be good for bringing in big money buyers. How much does your sponser want for it?"
 "She's not willing to go below $1.7 million or any other equivilent currency." I said, checking it against the sale leger.
 "Right. It's a bit steep but my boss might go got it. He'll want a piece like this and we'd probably get more than that from a museum or private collector at auction. Can I have the provenances and some pictures? Maybe I'll see you again Gerard." I handed them to him with a small smile.
 
  With that he just walked out, as quickly as he'd walked in. As I walked back to Susan, she looked me up and down and said,
 "Someone's interested." I made a face at her and she started to giggle but secretly I knew she was right. I hope he comes back...