Billionaire Art Collector Novels & Stories

Liliana: “Irene, seriously, Nathan is not bad at all. If he became your boyfriend, he’d be a thousand times better than Perry.” Liliana obviously wanted me to get over my breakup, so she started putting “dangerous ideas” in my head. I weakly shook my head and sighed. She had it all wrong. Other than that one night, there was nothing between me and Nathan—and there never would be. We came from two different worlds. What kind of man was Nathan Spence? With a flick of his wrist, he could shake the entire Milshire. He owned properties and businesses all over the country. He kept a low profile, but everyone knew he was a billionaire.

I ask stuffing French fries in my mouth. "Well, the clients called and postponed the meeting for tomorrow. So technically I could have taken a day off but I decided to stay and do some inventory." She says and I nod. "Nina do you know about Mr. Karter Allan?" I ask out of the blue. She's worked here for three years now, she probably knows about him. "Well duh! Who doesn't? He's the owner of our company and not just that he's the youngest billionaire in America! Everyone knows him Marie" She says.

Though she still faced struggles, she was faring better than many who had failed in their artistic pursuits. I had always assured her that if she ever needed a break, there would be a place for her as my assistant. Penelope chimed in excitedly, "The entire art world is going crazy over that damn rich art collector." My gaze shifted from Tracy to Penelope. "What are you two talking about? Who is this art collector?" I asked curiously. "Oh, she must be referring to the mysterious lady Sheinkaih. She's a well-known art collector who specializes in rare and unique pieces worth a fortune. She's from Dubai, that's all I know," Tracy informed me.

I straightened my back with pride as I gripped the glass that held my champagne tight as I walked through the room, trying to blend in. My eyes ran through the room, looking for a savior who would save me from the impending doom that lurked around the corner. My art gallery was on its last thread. The legacy left behind by my father was just days away from being closed up, with an eviction notice and unsettled debts. This gala was my only chance to find some rich and caring enough to help or invest in my dream. That's when I spotted him— Graham Forster, a famous art collector and a lover of anything art.

Knowing that Raymond wouldn't be inside, he asked the trio, "Are you guys here to buy or sell? If you're selling, I must advise you to be careful since Mr. Cole's judgment is quite poor, and his items won't be that ideal." Naturally, Trippy wasn't aware that the trio were the ones who had driven to Aurous Hill from Eastcliff in the night. The leader was the collector, whose personal net worth was valued up to one billion. The other two were his chauffeur and the expert appraiser he had invited from Eastcliff, and they were here early to purchase the bronze sculpture first thing this morning.

Jacopo coughed, and my eyes searched him out, "That much money for old paper?" I nodded excitedly, "Yes. He's one of the greats. You can ask anybody who he was, and they'd say an artist. These are almost impossible to price. The right collector would be willing to sell their soul for them. We need to have them locked away in a climate-controlled room. I'm not sure what you plan to do with them, Mr. Rossi, but you don't want them to deteriorate any further."

I never want to go to the days where we would be in the middle of the grocery store to her screaming 'hey mom there are those fucking watermelons. "I know. Some anonymous collector loved my oceanic collection. He bought one several months ago but when he came in today, the curator told him that I happen to be in. He's a Russian businessman that says my paintings remind him of his late mothers. He wants me to do more and message him to see if he is interested." "That's incredible Lisa. I'm so proud of you." I hug my sister with such enthusiasm that my panic and heartache from earlier nearly vanish.

She had an expectant look, waiting for an explanation as to how one person could gather such. “I am a collector.” He started. “I always had an eye for history, just like you. The artifacts, the ruins, the treasures and so on. But I lacked the most essential thing.” “Money.” She helped him finish. He nodded “Exactly. Money. So I thought, since I came from a place where people loved arts, why not venture into it. Get them something in high demand which they could easily buy. I made a deal with some artists who didn’t have a market but had good works. They paint, I frame them and sell at a good price. Victor was working on a merchant ship then. The captain loved him and let him bring a certain

A sudden wave of desire washed over him. Damn it! What is wrong with me? He denied the image's effect on his senses, then blinked his eyes hard and looked at the portrait again. Her hair was as dark as night, long and wavy that fell in graceful curves to her waist. She was wearing a set of diamond earrings and a crucifix necklace that settled between her firm breasts. She looked like an innocent princess from a fairy tale movie. Her mouth twisted unpleasantly. This image was a hoax. Everyone knew she wasn't innocent. Camila Cavalcanti was reckless, a spoiled brat, a socialite. She was lucky to be the sole heir of billionaire Fernando Cavalcanti, who was the biggest agribusiness exporter in B

Holden knew exactly the kind of man Louis was—wealthy, refined, and likely to invest in art the way others invested in real estate. When someone like that bought a painting, it wasn’t uncommon to drop five figures without blinking. He’d be a fool not to make the connection. Louis accepted the card and glanced at it, one brow lifting in mild surprise. “So, you’re Holden Piers?” A name with weight in the art world. Renowned collector. A key figure in the gallery scene. Holden smiled modestly. “I am. Honored to be recognized.” Louis tucked the business card away, casting a glance at Adora, his eyes narrowing with a flicker of suspicion.