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I give up and move to the recliner, though I have no intention of reclining the chair. This does have a lot more padding. Why had I chosen an uncomfortable seat? Maybe I'm slightly flustered being around Errol after what we did last night. I need to get over that right now.
So I set my portfolio on my lap and clasp my hands atop it. "Rule number one. We will never have sex again."
Errol drops onto the sofa, in the exact center of it, and spreads his arms across the back. Then he grins. "Won't we? Ye donnae seem able to control yourself around me."
"Last night was…temporary insanity. Now that we're business partners, our relationship must remain professional. No flirting. No kissing. No 'pokes.' Understand?"
"Aye. But we'll see if you stick to your own rules."
Of course I will. But I refuse to respond to his insinuation. "Now, we need to discuss the logistics of the expedition."
Errol sighs with no small measure of sarcasm. "If you insist, Miss Hartman. I assume you'll want to be businesslike and have me use your surname."
"That won't be necessary. Business partners can be on a first-name basis."
"Glad to hear it, Ashley." He hooks one ankle over the other knee, still seeming far too pleased with himself. "Since you told me rule number one, I assume you have more rules to share with me."
"Yes, I do." I wriggle a little in my seat, though I have no idea why. It's a stupid impulse. "Rule number two. I'm in charge of this expedition."
"Afraid I can't agree to that. You brought me in on this barmy mission because I'm the expert on treasure hunting. Either trust me to be in charge, or find someone else."
I want to balk at his demand, but I stop myself just shy of doing that. As much as I dislike the idea, I know he's right. I spent months trying to convince him to do this with me because he's the only man on earth who might actually find the Grand Canyon hoard. That means I need to relinquish a bit of control—to him.
Well, this will hardly be the first time. I surrendered my body and my self-control to him last night.
"Fine," I say. "You will be the boss, but I reserve the right to argue with you if I think you're doing something wrong."
"Argue all ye like, lass. Passionate disagreement can lead to other sorts of passion."
"Stop trying to turn everything into a come-on. This is strictly—"
"Business. Aye, you already told me that."
I take a breath to calm myself, then open up my portfolio. "I've collected quite a bit of information about the Grand Canyon treasure, and I'd like to show you the most interesting items."
Errol sits forward, hands on his knees, as if he's waiting for me to provide the information.
I shouldn't assume that means he'll believe any of it. The first time we met, he told me the Grand Canyon treasure was "bollocks" and a myth. But some legends turn out to be real, and I need to convince Errol this one has both merit and enough excitement to trigger his swashbuckling nature. From my research, I know he loves a good adventure. Now I need to convince him once and for all that my plan is worthy of his skills and commitment.
"You must remember thePhoenix Gazettearticle," I say. "You've probably read the whole article, so you know it mentions two specific people—G.E. Kincaid, who supposedly found the 'great underground citadel,' and S.A. Jordon who was allegedly an archaeologist with the Smithsonian Institution. The story also alleges that the Smithsonian funded multiple expeditions to the 'mysterious cavern.' The discoveries were said to include hieroglyphic inscriptions which might have been Egyptian in origin and might date back to the Nineteenth Dynasty."
"Why do you assume it's the Nineteenth Dynasty?" Errol asks. "There were several pharaohs called Ramses, and the article doesn't specify which one."
"I know. But Ramses the Second is the most famous, and the one referred to as the Great. It seems reasonable to assume the article refers to him."
He rests his elbows on his knees and links his hands. "Go on. Tell me more things I already know."
My first instinct is to say something smart to him, but his lips have a slight curl at the corners that suggests he's teasing me. I'll assume that's the case and keep going. "I acknowledge the fact that ninety-nine percent of the information about the Grand Canyon treasure comes from conspiracy websites, and I acknowledge that thePhoenix Gazettearticle isn't a completely reliable source."
"Good. Then we can forget about this barmy quest and have a poke on the sofa instead."
"No sex, Errol." I clutch my open portfolio to my chest and struggle to get up so I can sit down on the coffee table in front of Errol. My knee sideswipes his, but he just keeps watching me with a neutral expression. I lay the portfolio down and fan its contents across the table. "Look at all the evidence I've collected. It took me two years, but I found some things that no one else has ever mentioned."
He tilts his head to the side a touch, and I swear I see a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "I'm listening."
"First, a brief recap of what is publicly said about this treasure." I pluck up the printout of the newspaper article. "I think it's important to remind ourselves of the details. The man calling himself G.E. Kincaid claimed to have found a massive network of caves in the Grand Canyon, and he described numerous passageways and chambers that contained various kinds of artifacts—weapons, copper implements, idols, pottery, a gray metal that resembles platinum, cat's eye stones littering the floor, stone tablets, urns made of copper and gold, and even prehistoric items."
"Aye, and there were allegedly granaries, a storehouse, and even mummies. Kincaid believed fifty thousand people could have occupied those caves. If Kincaid himself ever existed."
