Page 57

“And…Did he agree to sell the manuscript back to you?” The bristles of his beard do little to cover the working of his jaw.

“No. It seems further discussions are necessary.”

I cast another glance toward Ethan. I’m going to need to have several discussions with that man…if my traitorous body will let me. He looks up from his phone, and the connection between us thrums to life. For a moment, all that exists in this room is him. The smile on his face grows wider the longer I look.

An arm snakes through mine, breaking my concentration. Ethan’s eyes lock onto my arm, now intertwined with Lennox. His smile fades; his gaze turns virulent. He takes a step forward, before shaking his head and storming from the lobby. A waitress moves at the last minute to avoid knocking the drinks on her tray. Lennox chuckles as he taps on the glass of an exhibit, unaware of the firestorm he nearly caused.

A few hours later, the auction begins. I’m forced to intervene on several occasions due to Lennox’s competitiveness, failing twice. But he didn’t purchase a pair of Sphynx lamps for a ridiculous price, so I’m calling it a win. Between bidding, Lennox looks at the catalog and asks me if I want to go. If it were any other client, I would never think of bidding at a business auction for a personal item. However, I know he wouldn’t rat me out and the mirror is just too pretty to pass up.

“I wanted to see what the bidding is on that mirror.” He gives me a conspiratorial smile and shifts into his seat.

“Are you bidding for yourself or another client?”

His eyes sparkle with mischievous camaraderie.

“It’s for me,” I whisper in his ear. “Don’t you dare rat me out, old man.”

He raises his hands in surrender.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart. Just be sure you stick it to the cocksuckers trying to outbid you. What message would it send if my personal curator lost?”

The glint in his eyes tells me that he wouldn’t let me lose even if he had to bid for me.

The auctioneer calls the final item—a pair of antique hairpins. I don’t hide the surprise as I turn to Lennox.

As soon as the director calls the end of the auction, I make my way through the crowd to the podium steps. Stopping in his path at the bottom of the stairs, I call up to him.

“Excuse me.”

He turns, as if startled.

“I believe you had a mirror set in carved wood on the floor. Can you tell me why it wasn’t brought up for bidding.”

He thumbs through the binder in his hands, stopping his finger half-way through the documents. Tapping the bottom of the page, he looks at me with a solemn twist of his lips.

“The item you’re talking about was purchased prior to the start of the auction by a private buyer.”

I don’t bother asking; I know exactly who it was. Every time I think I’m ahead in this game, Ethan proves me wrong. I was just starting to feel bad about the dresser comment. Now, I hope it festers.

Lennox’s stern expression speaks volumes when I join him—a silent understanding of what has occurred.

22

Pulling into Ethan’s drive, I let out a sigh. The text I received earlier was sent by a mad man. I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. Well, I do actually. That little brunette. Though, is it really her getting into him, when clearly, he would like to get into her?

Chuckling, I meander up the driveway, stopping at the front door, steeling myself for what is inevitably going to be a therapeutic session. Ethan is capable of many things. Regulating his feelings is rarely one of them. Opening the door, I begin the practiced routine of removing my shoes and placing them in the designated compartment of the ridiculous hidden cabinet. I roll my eyes as I close the cubby door, but a thud from upstairs snags my attention.

“ETHAN?!”

I wait for the reprimand that normally accompanies my shouting. Silence. It’s very unlike him not to yell at me. The scraping of wood from upstairs captures my attention. Taking the first few steps up, the soft grumbles from my brother reach my ear. How very rude of him, to ignore me.

“E-E-T-T-H-H-A⁠—”

“DAMN AND BLAST. I’M HERE, YOU FOOL!”

I’ve rarely ever heard him yell since we were children. Oh, goody! He must be properly mad then. Oh, this shall be fun. Reaching the landing, I follow the sound of thumping and cursing. Turning the corner, I’m met with a sight either hysterical or terribly sad. Possibly both.

A sea of tools surrounds Ethan, who continues to mutter curses as he shakes the hollowed-out remnants of his dresser.