“Are you all right, Mr. Stewart,” Megan asked.
“Yes, I’m just a little… overwhelmed. I can’t believe they’re here.” He lied.
Deborah noticed the flushes of pink in his cheeks were gone. He looked a little sick. Continuing her task, she lifted the lid off a box. “This one contains six leather-bound, hand-stitched Catholic prayer books. They’re quite beautiful. Two of them have Father Willem’s initials on them.”
“May I see one?”
“Of course.” She gave him a pair of white gloves before handing him a book.
He gently opened its cover and delicately flipped through a few pages. Deborah watched his brow furrow with each page. It was as if he was searching for something.
“Is it what you expected?” she asked.
“It’s a simple prayer book.”
She couldn’t be sure, but it sounded as if he was disappointed. “Yes, it is. Some have notes scribbled in the margins, but there’s so much more in each box. It’s going to take at least a year to properly go through them. Depending on what I find, it could be more time if additional research or cross-referencing is required.”
“A year?”
“There are ten boxes. Only two have books, the rest are papers. A visual estimate suggests at least two to five hundred individual pieces of paper in each box. And we have no idea what’s in the crates.”
Whatever was repelling him was coming from those damn crates.
“What’s inside them?” he asked
“We have no idea. Both are sealed with some type of adhesive.”
“I see.” He was becoming agitated and wanted to leave. “Thank you both. I’m afraid I’ve underestimated the impact of the cold.”
Deborah replaced the lid on the box and followed Megan and Ben out. Securing the freezer, she hung the parka on the hook. The walk back to the Reading Room included Megan’s standard explanations about the corpus of the larger collection and what work scholars were doing with them.
Ben interrupted her, “I’m curious… why will it take a year to process the Collection?”
“Our procedures are quite thorough.” Megan offered. “And Deborah doesn’t miss a beat!”
“I do have other projects I’m responsible for processing. I also guide the work of our interns… not to mention research queries coming in almost daily,” Deborah said.
“Surely the financial gift provides funding for additional personnel.”
“It will, but we have to prepare a proposal to the President’s Office requesting a budget allocation. It’s only been two days, so there’re no returns on the investment yet,” Megan added. “Plus it takes time to hire the right people.”
His strikingly handsome face grew taut. “How much would it cost to get the additional staffing support now?”
“I can’t say.”
Turning to Deborah, he asked, “What’s your salary?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll double it to have your focus on this. In addition, I’ll provide two hundred thousand for project archivists to work on your other duties so you are freed to work with me.”
“I don’t…”
“Mr. Stewart, that’s very generous but… I’ll need authorization from Dr. Bertram,” Megan said.
His eyes became stern. “I’m sure Dr. Bertram will be more than willing to provide it. There could be substantially more funding available.”
Regardless of how generous his offer was, Deborah didn’t like it. He was essentially buying what he wanted rather than respecting their process.
“Ben, we have a…”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Megan interrupted knowing what Deborah was going to say.
“It’s appreciated,” he said.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“You’ve been most gracious with your time. Thank you… both.” Speaking to the guard still standing in the entry, he said, “You can have the car brought around.”
“Of course, Mr. Stewart.”
“Thank you. We appreciate everything you’ve done for us,” Megan said. “I’ll walk you out.”
“That won’t be necessary. However, if I can have a moment of your time, Ms. Brooks?” he said with a penetrating gaze and inviting smile.
Completely taken by surprise, all she could say was, “Sure.”
Walking down the main corridor toward the building entry, the emotional unsteadiness returned.
What is wrong with me? And what the hell does he want?
“It seems as if I offended you with my offer to double your salary. I’m sorry.” He stopped walking and turned to her.
“I’m sure you’re accustomed to getting what you want by stroking a check.” Shit! Did I just say that!
“Now, I’m offended,” he said with a slight grin.
“I didn’t mean…”
“It’s fine because it happens to be true. But the larger issue is, the Collection is very important to me. I’m eager to learn more about it as soon as possible. Your expertise will be invaluable to me.”
“You’ve made that clear, Mr. Stewart.”
The conversation wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. Gazing upon her, he couldn’t get over how lovely she was… and strong-willed. Who is this extraordinary creature?
“Deborah, it may seem terribly inappropriate, but will you join me for dinner?”
“It is inappropriate because I have a feeling by the end of the day, I’ll be working for you.”
“I doubt it will take the end of the day,” he said with equal measures of charm and hubris.
Admittedly, she liked his swagger and self-confidence, even if she was equally offended by his sense of entitlement. What is it with rich people?
“Then I definitely have to say, no thank you,” she said peering into those damn eyes.
Little could have prepared her when he stepped closer. Leaning toward her, he whispered, “Reconsider.”
The warmth of his breath on her cheek and the subtle hint of his expensive cologne sent a shiver of desire down her spine.
“Why should I?” she whispered back.
“Because you want to.” He smirked. He backed away from her saying, “I presume your workday ends at five-thirty. I’ll have a car come for you.”
She was speechless but couldn’t stop smiling watching him walk out the door. Damn!
CHAPTER 7
When the car pulled up to the valet entry of the Detroit Athletic Club, Deborah was a bit underdressed. Her simple skirt and blouse didn’t seem sufficient. The driver came around and opened the door for her. Taking her hand and helping her step out of the sedan, he walked her to the door. The club’s valet took it from there.
“Good evening,” he said while opening the door for her.
“Thank you.” Stepping inside, she saw Ben standing in the foyer waiting for her. Still in his suit, he looked as handsome as ever, if not more so. He smiled before approaching her.
“Hello, Deborah.”
“Hello, Mr. Stewart.”
“I prefer Ben.”
She smiled. “Do I work for you yet?”
He chuckled. “Technically, no.”
“But?”
“Let’s discuss it over dinner.” He smiled.
Extending his hand to her, he took hers placing it in the bend of his elbow. Leading her up the steps, the Maître’ D’ politely took them to their table. The dining room was lovely. It’s wood-paneled walls with well-lit paintings and small sculptures accented a room some would consider ostentatious. Fine oriental carpeting adorned the floors in a room full of white linen covered tables, preset with fine china, stem, and silverware. Its elegance made her self-conscious.
Looking around, there were few couples. Most of the diners were men engaged in conversation. A few looked up as Ben placed his hand delicately on the small of her back as they followed the Maître’ D’ to their table. Most were white, but she was pleased to see several black businessmen as well.
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��This is lovely,” she said as Ben pulled out the chair for her to sit.
“I take it this is your first time dining here?”
“Yes. I highly doubt an archivist’s salary could cover the dues.”
“Likely not.” Rather than sit opposite to her, he took the seat adjacent to hers. “Perhaps if you hadn’t rejected my offer to double yours,” he teased.
“I have a feeling that’s not the end of it.”
“I told Dr. Bertram how impressed I was with the staff. However, you all seem overwhelmed and short staffed.”
“And?”
“I offered to cover costs of hiring four more archivists… assuming, of course, you’ll work exclusively on the Dubois Collection.”
“You assume I want to.”
“You’re not the least bit curious?”
“Of course, but…”
Leaning toward her, he said, “I want your time and attention, Deborah.”
The way he said it made her squirm and a tingle rushed throughout her body. Ben’s statement was unquestionably personal and professional.
They continued making small talk until the waiter interrupted their conversation. “Good evening. Would you care for cocktails before dinner, sir?”
“Yes. I’ll have a dry Martini with olives. Deborah?”
“A nice chardonnay, please.”
“We have quite a selection. Do you have a preference?”
She hadn’t bothered to look at the wine list, not that it would have mattered. Usually, she purchased her wine at a liquor or grocery store. She was certain those labels weren’t on the DAC wine list.
“Um…”
“The lady will have the Eileen Hardy.”
“Lovely selection, sir!” The waiter disappeared as quickly as he came.
“Thank you,” she said sheepishly.
“My pleasure.“
Trying to save face she said, “I’m more familiar with varieties, not makers.”
She’s delightful, he thought. She wasn’t the least bit affected by the environment. Along with strength, she seemed to possess genuine humility, a trait he rarely observed in most humans. Yet, the more she talked, there was warmth and openness about her he found utterly refreshing.
“Why don’t you take a look at the menu? If there’s something you’re less familiar with, I’ll be happy to assist. Or if you prefer, I can order for you.”
Perusing the menu, the majority of items were in French. Fortunately, she understood them all. Thinking she’d make up for the wine snafu, she hoped to appear less provincial in Ben’s eyes. Why? She wasn’t sure.
“Je pense que je vais avoir le Coq Au Vin.”
“You speak French?”
“Oui, Monsieur.” She smiled.
“Impressive. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“No more than you.” She smirked.
The dutiful waiter returned to the table with their cocktails. “Are you ready to order, sir?”
Keeping his eyes on her, he said, “I’ve been so taken by my lovely dinner companion, I haven’t made a selection.”
Deborah couldn’t contain her flush. She reached for the wine glass taking a sip hoping Ben didn’t notice. But, of course, he did.
“The lady has selected the stewed chicken in red wine. I’ll have the… chateaubriand.”
“Very good choices, sir. Would either of you care for an appetizer?”
“Deborah?”
“No, thank you.”
“That will be all,” Ben said as the waiter nodded and departed.
She continued sipping her wine doing her level best to avoid extended eye contact with him. He was intelligent, refined, and genuinely nice. Every effort to maintain whatever emotional distance she hoped to enforce seemed futile. My God! He’s so… delicious!
He watched every subtle move she made, each making her even more enticing. Ben watched the way her soft, full lips pursed with each sip. The slight touch of her finger across the rim of the glass had him captivated. Even with his focus on the Collection, the diversion she provided was more than welcome.
“What?” she asked coquettishly.
“You’re truly lovely… but I’m sure you’ve heard that before.”
“You’re flirting.”
“Not at all. I believe in a more direct approach.”
“I’m sure you do.”
He chuckled before taking a sip of his Martini. “Tell me something about you, Ms. Brooks.”
“We’re back to formalities, Mr. Stewart?”
“I’m merely affording you the distance you seek to navigate this… intriguing situation.”
“And what situation is that?”
“There is an undeniable attraction between us.”
“Is that so?”
“Don’t be coy, it only makes you more attractive.”
“You are a flirt!”
“You deny the obvious.”
They both laughed, but the smirk on his face was beyond naughty. His eyes continued taking her in slowly and with appreciation. In a flash, she imagined his hands on her body and the feel of his lips on hers… among other things.
“I thought this was a dinner meeting,” she said looking back at him.
“You’re so much smarter than that.”
“So what is this?”
“That remains to be seen.”
Once again he’d left her speechless. Casting her eyes toward her glass, she needed a moment. Nothing about this was logical. She wasn’t usually attracted to white men. Experience taught her most who approached her were often fetishizing or worse. But no internal warnings were blaring about this charming, engaging, and sexy man sitting in front of her. In fact, the more he asserted his intentions, the more turned on she was… and that never happened.
Without looking at him, she asked softly, “What do you want from me?”
“I told you. I want your time and attention. More specifically, your time to work on the Collection… and your attention toward me.”
“I’m sure there’re women all over the world who’d be more than happy to spend time with you. Hell, Detroit is full of incredibly beautiful women of every type who’d do everything you want and more.”
“And yet, I want you.”
“Why?”
“I can’t explain it to myself, let alone you.”
She couldn’t explain it either. Her entire body warmed. Whether he noticed or not, her arousal became evident in her quickened breath and the twitch between her thighs. She had to stop this. It made no sense.
“You can pay for my time with the Collection, but not me.”
His jaw twitched, and his eyes grew dark. For a split second, he seemed angry, but then his eyes began to sparkle, and he chuckled. He picked up his Martini, took a long sip and said, “That’s trite and not at all reflective of what you really think or want, Deborah.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you want to be in my bed as much as I want you there. So let’s dispense with any pretenses, shall we?”
“And if I refuse your advances?”
He knew exactly what she was implying. “I’m not an arse. The work on the Collection is paramount. However, my profound attraction to you is an unexpected but entirely welcomed surprise.”
“Fine. But here’s the thing. I’m not the kind of woman who jumps into bed with a man she just met.”
“And why is that? Especially if it’s what you want?”
“Because it’s…”
“Sinful? Indecent? I won’t respect you when it’s over? Are those your concerns?”
What the hell? Sleeping with him was out of the question for all the reasons he gave and more. Raised a strict Catholic, she prayed the Rosary for weeks after losing her virginity. But the truth was, none of her religious training made any sense anymore. She wasn’t sure it ever really did. If God was real, he had a lot to explain given the condition of the world and the people He made in his image.
&
nbsp; “It’s dangerous… in more ways than one,” she said.
“Yes, it is. For both of us. This is dangerous because neither of us has experienced anything quite like this. The difference is I admit it… and it doesn’t frighten me.”
“Ben, I… I don’t know what to do with any of this.”
“What do you want, Deborah?” he whispered placing his hand gently on hers.
“Let’s just slow this down, okay?”
Regardless of what she said, her thoughts were clouding thinking of nothing other than being with him. Touching him, feeling every conceivable inch of him… if only for one night. Before she could comment further, the waiter approached with their dinner. She welcomed the reprieve, no matter how brief.
“I won’t press any further. We’ll enjoy this luscious dinner, have more wine, and go from there,” Ben said.
“I appreciate that.”
Over dinner, they laughed occasionally sharing cursory information about each other’s backgrounds. Ben learned Deborah was abandoned at a young age and raised in the care of a Catholic orphanage before venturing off to college. He learned why she chose a career in archival management. Hanging on her every word, he quickly surmised she wasn’t just smart but brilliant, truly an introvert, but far from shy or off-putting. In fact, she had a quick wit and a lovely sense of humor. He laughed heartily at several of her quips.
All he chose to share with her was he was an only child of a wealthy financier. He explained his father passed away only five short years ago leaving Ben a considerable fortune. Carefully stewarding his inheritance, he also pursued his own business and collecting interests. The more they talked, Deborah realized how much she genuinely liked him. He was certainly charming, but far from shallow. He was intelligent and refined, but he was also remarkably down-to-earth. But there was an edge she assumed gave him clarity and focus in whatever he pursued, including her.
“Would you care for dessert?” the waiter asked.
The lurking grin returned to Ben’s face, but this time, Deborah wasn’t afraid of it. In fact, she relished in it raising her brow seductively in response.
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