by Downs,Adele
Victoria knew better than to be fooled by veneer because she’d been practicing façade her entire life. Some people were better than others at pretending. Some were better at spotting the fakes.
She blinked and continued watching Steve. His manner and expression became utterly relaxed when he returned to his desk and lifted his glass in a silent toast before taking a sip. None of the jealousy or calculated sociability she was used to finding in James’s circle was present in his look or behavior. He seemed like…a regular guy.
She decided to trust him—for the moment.
Victoria lifted her glass in return, sipped her wine, and explained the purpose of her visit. “James kept the receipts for the antiques he and his first wife bought over the years. That’s how I found out about your store.”
She’d only heard James refer to the Carlsons in passing. His son, Jimmy, hadn’t told her about their long-standing relationship and she wondered why. It didn’t make sense that Jimmy wanted to sell the Van Orr heirlooms with Pinnacle Antiques Auctions, a competitor, when his father had a lifelong friend in the antiques business.
When she’d questioned Jimmy about this, he’d become agitated and hostile and refused further discussion. His reaction seemed way out of proportion to her question, which only made her more curious. It infuriated Jimmy that she had spousal rights and would receive a portion of the inheritance. He wanted her gone and would be happy to see her penniless and homeless if that were possible.
She’d be damned if she’d let a man do that to her again.
“James and my father managed to stay friends while doing business. That’s rare these days,” Steve said.
“And exactly why I’m here.” Painful as it was, she’d finally buckled under the pressure to sell the contents of their house and move on with her life.
Given the choice between dealing with strangers and doing business with men who’d been family friends, she’d chosen the latter. “I’m planning to sell the estate goods before I put the house up for sale. But certain conditions must be met before I’ll part with James’s belongings. I’m hoping you’ll meet my terms.”
Steve held out his company brochure. “Have you considered an auction?”
Victoria shook her head. “I discussed that option with the owners of Pinnacle Antiques Auctions late last year.” She left out the phrase, at Jimmy’s insistence. “I was still an emotional wreck at the time and couldn’t decide what to do. Jimmy made the appointment.”
“I know the owners well.”
She tried to force a smile but failed. “I’m afraid I made a scene the day they came to the house.” Scene was code for unwanted emotion, and she’d been horrified by her tearful outburst.
“Bruce Mitchell and Carlos Vega are professionals, Mrs. Van Orr. They understand sensitive negotiations like these.”
She noted he hadn’t taken the opportunity to malign his competition. Another point in his favor. The man was a war veteran, and beneath his bad-boy appearance, he seemed to have character. James wouldn’t have done business with Gregory Carlson otherwise, and Gregory wouldn’t have trusted his son to handle his appointment with her if he wasn’t dependable.
“Please. Call me Victoria.” She took another sip of wine.
The cold, clean taste nudged more tension from her body. “I’m feeling better now, and stronger, since my meeting with Pinnacle. And I’ve come to a decision about how I want things handled.”
Her gaze rested on Steve’s intent expression. Sensing she had his full attention, she pressed on. “It seems cold and disrespectful to send James’s collections to an auction house or hold a public sale at our home. The thought of having strangers haul James’s belongings away like trash makes me feel sick to my stomach. I realize they’re only things, but they are also objects of artistic beauty that once brought great pleasure to my husband’s life. I can’t discard them as if they meant nothing.”
She placed her wineglass on the desktop. “I want to take a hands-on approach to the sale by hosting art shows and museum parties and by scheduling private appointments. Afterwards, we can plan an auction, but only if it’s small and tastefully done. A percentage of the profits will go to the charitable organization of my choice.”
Steve rested his elbows on the desk. His fingers stroked the clean edge of his jaw and his eyes shone with undisguised interest while he seemed to reassess her. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one with preconceived notions.
He titled his head without breaking eye contact. “How can I help?”
“I’d like your advice and guidance. My husband trusted you and your father. If we can sell the Van Orr heirlooms the way I envision, I’ll know I’ve done right by my husband’s memory.”
And I can let him go, a little at a time, until I’m ready to say good-bye.
She could tell by Steve’s body language and the curl of his lip that he’d need convincing. He was probably used to doing things his own way, and she certainly had no right to tell him how to manage his operation.
Victoria plowed ahead with her pitch. “I have extensive sales experience. After working my way through college, I landed a management position in the cosmetics division of Max’s department store.”
Steve smiled, and the dimple in his cheek almost made her forget what she planned to say next. “The place in the mall with all the glass and chrome and beautiful women offering perfume samples and makeovers?”
“That’s the one.” She registered the compliment but focused on his forehead to avoid another dimple distraction. “There’s good money to be made in cosmetics sales and lots of opportunity for those willing to work hard. My background could be applied to any industry. I know how to handle customers. Whether pitching lipstick or an antique chair, the sales techniques are the same.”
“True.” Steve unfolded his arms and sat back in his seat. He was warming to her now, she could tell.
“I don’t know enough about antiques to set prices. I’m looking for a partner to offer expertise, write a catalogue, and find the right venues to broker the items.”
Victoria was in her element now and her body relaxed. She loved talking sales and marketing. She picked up her wineglass and watched the liquid spin. Though her spirit had taken a beating after James’s death, her survival instincts remained sharp. Years on the streets had honed them to fine points.
She watched Steve Carlson from beneath her lashes, wondering if he might be a kindred spirit. She took another sip of wine. Lipstick smudged the rim of her crystal glass. When she looked up, her eyes locked with his. “Interested?”
Chapter Two
Steve Carlson watched the woman opposite him and tracked her tongue on the rim of her glass. The pink tip slid between her incredible lips, sending a flash of heat low in his belly. That mouth could cause a ten-mile pileup. That face could launch a thousand ships.
Or snag an aging billionaire.
No wonder James had gone half out of his mind. Steve had heard the rumors. James had fallen hopelessly, irrevocably in love with a beautiful woman half his age outside his social standing. Or beneath it, as some liked to say. And they did say—often.
Though his father had never uttered a word against James’s marriage or his new wife, Steve had overheard enough gossip from the socialites who shopped in the store to expect a meeting with the Ice Queen.
The moment she arrived for their appointment, he knew he’d been wrong. When he first laid eyes on Victoria, he’d almost fallen off his ladder. To cover his reaction, he’d teased her to compensate for his clumsiness, like a tongue-tied fifteen-year-old. Afterward, he’d felt like a jerk.
Though her shoulders had been squared and her back held straight in her expensive suit, the uncertain look in her eyes had exposed her vulnerability. She’d made her way through his store with an air of confidence he’d pegged as fragile the moment she reached his ladder. Clearly, jealousy and spite had fueled the gossip about her. He should have known. The eyes didn’t lie.
When he’d fir
st heard about James’s young second wife, he assumed, like everyone else, that the bride was a gold-digger who’d lured a vulnerable older man into marriage for money. The compassion he found in Victoria’s deep brown eyes made him sorry he’d prejudged her. Her manner was straightforward, her intentions sounded honorable, and her sincerity appeared genuine. She was smart, savvy, and seemed capable. Everything about her was appealing.
Victoria Van Orr was the sexiest, most beautiful woman he’d ever met. She’d knocked him completely off balance in every sense, but he had to keep it together and remain professional.
Her prim, tailored suit and silk blouse made him want to pull off her jacket and slide the buttons of her blouse between his fingers. He wanted to unbind the bun at the nape of her neck and let her hair down.
Her dark hair was tied in a fancy twist and she wore demure pink lipstick that couldn’t diminish the pout of her kissable lips. Only the beauty mark at the tip of a perfectly arched brow hinted at the exotic. He imagined her long waves of black hair caressing her shoulders. Red lipstick. White lingerie. The way James must have seen her at night by candlelight.
Steve shook away the images before he embarrassed himself.
Victoria appeared poised, but there was an undercurrent of something he couldn’t name beneath her polished, upscale exterior. Yet there was nothing calculated about her, either. She seemed too…bruised. And not just because her husband had died. There was more to the mystery than that.
What deeper qualities, he wondered, had led the proper billionaire to marry outside his social circle? If James Van Orr had made a successful marriage to Victoria there had to be more to her than her looks. James was a stickler for loyalty and character and was never wrong in his assessments.
Steve got down to business. “Your terms are unusual. Typically, our consignments are contracted on a commission basis and we handle all the details.” His business sense told him to dismiss her proposal out of hand. Carlson’s had never arranged liquidation the way Victoria proposed. Hands-on sales with emotional strings presented a minefield of obstacles.
It could be done, but working too closely with a client could get sticky. Disagreements over pricing might cause friction, as could anemic sales or accidental damage. He’d be blamed if anything went wrong, and he’d already screwed up the dynamics between their families years ago. If Victoria weren’t a Van Orr, and he and his father hadn’t had lifelong ties with her late husband, Steve wouldn’t even consider her suggestion.
There were other, more serious hurdles to her proposition. Like Jimmy Van Orr. Aligning with Victoria would be like throwing fireworks at a hornet nest. Clearly, she had no idea the junior Van Orr wanted Steve dead. Or that they’d once been like brothers. Despite his repeated attempts to make amends, his former best friend continued to shut him down.
Steve let out an involuntary groan when he shifted in his seat, asking the question to which he already knew the answer. “Has Jimmy agreed to a business arrangement with Carlson’s?”
The renewed tension around Victoria’s mouth told him all he needed to know. “It’s what James would have wanted. Jimmy is free to offer his opinion.”
Steve knew how Jimmy could turn an opinion into a battle, but kept that part to himself. He cleared his throat. “I need to be straight with you. Jimmy is no fan of mine.”
Hated his guts was more like it.
Victoria waved a hand in dismissal. “That makes two of us.”
Steve still wasn’t convinced. “Jimmy is a respected physician in town. He’s a powerful man who has interests in his father’s estate. Are you sure you want to go head to head with him by choosing Carlson’s? An agreement with Pinnacle will appease Jimmy and I know they’ll bring you fair prices.”
The flash of determination in her eyes let him know he’d stepped on another mine.
She half stood as she leaned forward. “Pinnacle wants to auction a portion of James’s estate at a flea market. Flea market.” Her jaw clenched and high color burst across her cheeks. “Can’t I make you men understand it’s not about the damned money?”
Interesting. The Van Orrs were the oldest money in West Chester. He had to admit, he liked the respect she demanded regarding the dissolution of her husband’s estate.
Correction. Late husband.
Steve could understand not lusting after money, despite having new money of his own. He and a buddy had developed a cell phone app for antiques appraisals that promised to make them a fortune. If he wanted, he could retire at the ripe old age of thirty and join the Van Orrs’ country club. That wouldn’t happen, though. He loved his work and hated golf. Tennis too. Football and basketball were more his style.
Victoria stared back and lifted her exotic brow, clearly waiting for him to stop thinking and start talking.
He couldn’t resist a smile. Why not take the job? If for no other reason, it would be fun to watch Jimmy go ballistic.
“Shall I take that smile as a yes?” she asked. Her beautiful dark eyes lit for the first time since she’d entered his store.
Steve eased back into his chair. It had been years since he’d visited the Van Orr estate. It would be nice to see the old place again. Maybe he could mend fences with that knucklehead Jimmy after the initial, inevitable blowout. He might get it through his old friend’s thick head that he regretted what he’d done. That he wasn’t a screw-up. At least not anymore. He wanted the chance to prove he’d changed.
His actions had caused havoc between the families, and the chance to make things right stared back from the other side of his desk. With careful handling, the Van Orrs and the Carlsons could be reunited. He owed his dad that much and more.
When Steve looked up, he gazed into Victoria Van Orr’s lovely, expectant face. She took another sip of wine and touched her tongue to her bottom lip.
He tracked the movement and knew by the way his pulse raced that he’d do whatever the hell this woman wanted.
*****
Despite his hesitation, Victoria noted the spark of interest behind Steve’s stunning blue eyes. She knew the approximate value of James’s pieces and was offering Carlson the chance to earn huge commissions. His father had turned a profit during the initial antiques sales to her husband, and there was considerable revenue to be made by reselling the same items at their increased value without having to repurchase them. This was a lucrative business opportunity for Mr. Carlson and Victoria knew it.
“I’ll offer you the standard rate of commission, plus bonus opportunities,” she said. Steve Carlson might have fooled her at first glance, but he was clearly a smart businessman beneath his casual tee shirt and mall-store jeans.
He shook his head and held up his hand like a stop sign, surprising her again. “No need for bonuses. And we’ll offer a discount on the commission. We’re glad to help. Dad and I owe James a lot.”
Steve came around his desk to shake her hand. “As long as there are no legal restrictions to a consignment with our store, I’m sure we can make the arrangements you have in mind. You’ll work with me and Beverly, our full-time restoration expert. She’s in her studio. I’ll introduce you.”
He returned to his chair and drummed his fingers on the desktop. “I think we should also sell some of the estate pieces by consignment in the shop. As you probably know, we have an impressive list of clients, including celebrities from those reality TV home-makeover shows everyone seems to watch.”
Victoria stifled a satisfied grin. Odd, though—money didn’t seem to be Carlson’s motivation for helping her. His interest in her family seemed to steer his decision.
She’d obviously made the right choice by coming here.
But what had happened between him and Jimmy? That was something she needed to know. She had to protect the estate from the potential fallout from an old grudge.
*****
Steve snapped his fingers. “Here’s a thought.” The concept struck him like a thunderbolt and his enthusiasm for the deal took a new turn.
; “With my dad and me opening a second store, traveling, and overseeing the day-to-day operations, time is at a premium. Since your priority seems to be hands-on sales, would you consider working with us on a co-op basis? Beverly usually waits on our customers, but with our expanding inventory she’s stretched to her limit with restoration projects. She—we—could really use your help.”
When Victoria didn’t pale at the suggestion, he continued. “I’ll give you floor space inside the store to sell a portion of your estate items, consignment-free, in exchange for managing the place. We can work out a mutually convenient schedule. That’s about as hands-on an offer as you’ll get.”
He stopped talking, suddenly worried he’d insulted her. Why would a wealthy Van Orr want to work in an antiques shop—even one as well-respected as his? It had to be beneath her.
Too late. He’d already made the offer and he could only hope she wouldn’t storm from the room. He’d have two Van Orrs mad at him then.
He cleared his throat. “Does that sound like something you’d consider?”
Victoria hesitated, her furrowed brow creating short double lines above her beautiful nose. She raked her teeth over her bottom lip and Steve found himself staring at her mouth. He glanced away before he looked like a freak.
When she spoke again, her voice held none of the contempt Steve expected. His guard dropped a little.
“To be honest, James’s house seems to grow larger every day. It was hardly built for one.” She nodded to the open doorway, and the shop on the other side. “Your store is wonderful.”
“Thanks.” Its beauty embodied the blood and guts of the Carlson men, earned by endless hours of hard work, sweat, and worry. But he didn’t say so out loud.
Victoria turned back to him. “I assume our conversation will be held in strictest confidence?”