by Jaye Wells
Luckily, Syd had learned the woman’s weakness early on and used it to her advantage at times like these.
“I apologize. I appreciate you letting me know. Next time I will remember to staple them,” Syd responded, trying to sound sincere.
“Look, this is the fourth time—”
“By the way, I saw you in the galleries this morning. That suit you’re wearing is fabulous,” Syd cut in, trying to head off the tirade.
Geraldine’s tone went from disapproving to giddy in a heartbeat. “Oh! It’s new. Don’t you just love Ann Taylor?”
“Who doesn’t?” Syd said. Of course, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had the money even to set foot in the store. “And the olive color really brings out the highlights in your hair.”
“My stylist, Pierre, is wonderful. I can give you his number,” the woman enthused. Syd grimaced. Was she implying Sydney needed help with her hair? She self-consciously lifted a hand to smooth it back from her face.
“Uh, thanks. So, you’ll take care of the expense report?”
“Well, I really shouldn’t ... But, I’ll let it go this time. Just try to remember next time.”
“Thanks, Geraldine. I really appreciate that.”
“Let’s do lunch later this week. We can go to Saks and try out Laura Mercier’s new eye cream. It’s never too early to hydrate, Sydney.”
“Uh, let me get back to you, okay? I might be out of the office for a while working on a special project,” she said and quickly ended the phone call.
Geraldine was an attractive fifty-ish woman whose looks had begun to loose their luster. Syd had seen Geraldine one day in the restroom reapplying her makeup. The woman carried a mind-boggling array of beauty products in a purse larger than a small elephant.
A lot of museum employees couldn’t stand the woman for her nitpicking about every minor infraction. But Syd supposed Geraldine’s anal tendencies came from a need to control her environment since she had no control over the march of time. Syd might have laughed at how easily Geraldine was manipulated by a few well-placed compliments, but in reality, she pitied the woman.
Less than five minutes after her conversation with Sydney, the intercom on Geraldine’s desk buzzed. She finished applying her new lip-plumping serum before pushing the button on her phone.
“I need to see you in my office, Miss Stern,” Stiggler commanded.
She checked her reflection once more in the mirror she kept in her desk drawer. She sighed when she saw the serum hadn’t reduced the fine lines around her lips. She closed the drawer with a thud and went to see what the bane of her existence needed now.
Stiggler sat behind a massive mahogany desk with his hands steepled beneath his chin.
“Yes, sir?” she said, trying to sound respectful.
“Sit down. We have a problem,” he said without preamble. “I had a visit today from a man who claims his family has rights to the portrait of the Scot.”
“But that’s impossible. The law firm that handled the donation verified everything was legal.”
“I talked to the lawyers. If what Murdoch says is true, and the painting was stolen from his family, it would nullify our legal right to it,” Stiggler explained.
“Murdoch?” Geraldine asked. Excitement raced through her limbs.
“Yes, Logan Murdoch. His family owns Murdoch Biotech.”
“I’ve heard of him,” she said thoughtfully. “So what’s going to happen?”
“We have reached an agreement to assist him. Miss Worth will be doing the research herself. “Normally I would not let her near this, but Murdoch insisted she be involved. Besides, it could work to my benefit. After all, when the proof is found—and I believe it will be—we will find some way to pin it on Miss Worth and finally be rid of her,” Stiggler said. “Plus, I am counting on Murdoch to show his appreciation for our help with a generous donation.”
The glee in his expression would have been distasteful to Geraldine if the development didn’t serve her own purposes as well. In fact she felt a bit giddy herself. After all, Stiggler didn’t know it, but he had just handed her information that would be very valuable to a certain party. A party Geraldine wanted very much to impress.
“What can I do to help?” she asked, playing up her role of indispensable assistant. In reality, Stiggler was such an incompetent fool the museum would run itself into the ground without her there to keep things running smoothly. But if she had her way, she would soon leave it all behind to fulfill her destiny.
“Just keep an eye on Miss Worth and that assistant of hers. Any additional evidence we can gather to make her look bad to the board the better,” Stiggler said.
“Yes, sir.” She ruthlessly tamped down the guilt that niggled at her over the idea of spying on Sydney, but sometimes a girl just had to squeeze a few limes to make a good margarita.
“Miss Stern, what would I do without you?” Stiggler asked with a smirk.
You’ll soon find out, you pompous ass.
Geraldine waited until Stiggler left for the day to make the call. At four in the afternoon, it was still too early for Raven to be awake, but she needed to get a message to her mistress.
She grimaced. Sleeping during the day would be the biggest drawback once she was immortal. Honestly, a person couldn’t be very productive at night. But she supposed the benefits outweighed the drawbacks.
She smiled. She was so close. For months she had worked her way up in the minion ranks of the Sanguinarian sect. As a neophyte her duties consisted of mundane chores like doing laundry. But as she proved herself loyal and resourceful, she was given more important duties. In fact, instead of the normal year it took most minions to attain acolyte status, it had taken Geraldine only six months. The quick rise through the ranks was especially important given her age. Most of her fellow minions were teenagers, while she was already fifty.
The Murdoch information would guarantee her advancement to the next stage of minionhood—the Turning. And not a moment too soon. Just the other day she had noticed a few extra crow’s feet around her hazel eyes. She was eager to kiss the wrinkles and grey hairs of midlife good-bye and finally feel young again.
Yes, Raven would be very pleased with the information. Just last week the mistress began planning to sabotage Murdoch’s latest breakthrough. While Geraldine thought synthetic blood sounded like an efficient solution to one of the less desirable aspects of vampire life, the mistress lectured about the importance of keeping to the old ways.
She shrugged. If passing on the tip guaranteed an end to sagging breasts, she would put up with feeding off the hoof, so to speak.
She picked up the phone and dialed.
“This is minion Stern. I need you to pass an urgent message on to Mistress Raven.”
Sydney closed the cover of her laptop with a thud. She had hoped to be able to find enough information on her own about the painting without having to use the Murdoch archives. She knew when she started it was a long shot, but she had to try. Unfortunately, none of her usual web-based resources provided any clues about the origins of the portrait.
She couldn’t believe no one seemed to know either the artist or the original owners of the painting. Usually she could gather enough clues from the art itself to know where to find the right information. But since the portrait arrived with none of the usual provenance paperwork, she had little to go on.
She had dated the portrait from some time in the late eighteenth century using clues like the kilt and the style of painting. However, portraiture was so common in England and Scotland during that period that trying to track down the painter would be impossible without more clues.
Mr. Murdoch said the name of his ancestor was Royce Murdoch. A search on the name had resulted in twenty-two thousand hits. When she narrowed it down to results from the correct time period in Scotland, she hit a dead end. In addition, Jorge returned from the museum library an hour ago empty-handed after four hours of research. As much as she hated to admit it, it
seemed working with Logan Murdoch was the only way to solve this mystery.
She tried to tell herself it was the threat to her job that had her so anxious. But her disloyal conscience pointed out part of her worry resulted from her physical reaction Logan and the fact she would have to see him every day until this was all over. She still had trouble wrapping her mind around her attraction to him. She had heard about sexual chemistry in romance novels and in chick flicks, but had never experienced it first hand.
Until now.
Sure, she had been attracted to men before, including her ex-fiancé. But Cole had never made her feel a primal urge to mate. Looking back, she knew his personality defects were to blame for her lukewarm interest in sex with him. But she barely knew Logan Murdoch, and she’d wanted to rip his pants off with her teeth the moment she looked at him.
Luckily, the professional concerns surrounding their interaction precluded any further lustful thoughts from her corner. She had given up too much to pursue her dream of being a curator to let another man mess it up for her. After all, a man, Cole, was to blame for her almost not pursuing the dream to begin with. While she regretted the pain it had caused everyone involved, she knew she had made the right decision. If Cole had really loved her, he never would have insisted that once they were married she forget her art history studies and focus instead on playing hostess for his law firm partners.
A stab of regret hit Sydney as the memories of that time resurfaced. She would never get over her parent’s callous disregard for her feelings. Sure, she shouldn’t have waited for the wedding day to reveal her misgivings. But Cole and her parents railroaded her from the beginning. Her mother and father were so determined that Syd make the perfect society match that they never considered her wishes.
Granted, back then she was so caught up in trying to live up to the Worth family expectations she almost didn’t understand what was happening until it was too late. Her parents would never forgive her for publicly humiliating them. Their rejection still ached three years later and probably always would. But if they couldn’t understand her need to be happy, then she didn’t need them. She was proud of her achievements. If she felt a little lonely sometimes, it was a small price to pay for living life on her own terms.
Syd shook the gloomy thoughts away. She needed to focus on the present. Having abandoned research for the day, she decided to focus on clearing her schedule for the next week. She wouldn’t let herself think any more about men, especially the one who made her hormones stand up and cheer. And she didn’t mean Jorge.
Chapter Four
“Hey watch out! You almost made me spill my venti, nonfat, no-whip caramel macchiato!” Jorge said after Syd belatedly slammed the brakes at a red light. “What’s your deal today anyway?” he demanded with narrowed eyes. “You’re driving like a lunatic, and you’re looking way hot. Something’s up.”
Syd glanced down at herself. The lightweight black V-neck sweater had already been in her closet but had coordinated perfectly with her new knee-length tan suede skirt and midcalf black boots. The outfit shouted confidence. Too bad she didn’t feel that way.
“I just felt like trying something new. And I am not driving like a lunatic—that yellow light was way too short,” she insisted.
“Nuh-uh, not buying it. You’re actually wearing red lipstick and kick-ass boots. And in the last ten minutes you have bumped two curbs, and that old woman flipped you the bird when you cut her off,” he said and then raised an eyebrow. “Nervous about seeing someone?”
“If I am nervous, it is because my job is on the line. Mr. Murdoch has nothing to do with it.”
“Liar. Sydney has a crush,” he said in a singsong voice.
“Jorge, I am not sixteen years old. Now drop it,” she demanded, knowing she sounded bitchy but not caring. “I need you to promise me you’ll be on your best behavior today. No flirting and no dirty jokes.”
“Who me?” he asked innocently. “If anyone is going to be flirting, it’s you.”
“I will not!”
“Will too.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. The last thing she needed this morning was to get in a childish argument with Jorge. She had bigger fish to fry. In less than two minutes, she would be at Murdoch’s house. She knew he intended to be there all day because of their phone conversation yesterday.
Just thinking about that call made her nervous all over again. Their talk had been professional and brief, but she’d still found herself rattled afterward. It was bad enough he looked like a sin waiting to happen, but to sound like one too? The combination of the deep timbre and the slight Scottish accent sent shivers down her spine. He should be illegal.
What was she doing getting all weak in the knees over that man? Sydney Ellen Worth was a professional. She would not let the embodiment of masculine perfection sway her from her duties. Hopefully, Murdoch would stay out of her way today and let her get the job done without taunting her with his gorgeous self. She was suddenly glad Jorge would be there to run interference.
“Jorge, can we just agree our behavior needs to be courteous and professional?” she asked as she turned into the driveway of Murdoch’s house. The heavily wooded lot and long drive prevented Syd from getting a view of the house.
“Lady, I don’t know what you’re implying. My middle name is ‘Professional,’” he countered.
“Yeah, but your last name is ‘Flirt,’” she joked.
“Very funny, but also true,” he said with a chuckle. “Don’t worry; I know how much is riding on this. Don’t forget, if Stiggler gives you the boot, I will be right behind you in the unemployment line.”
“I’m sorry. I know I am being difficult this morning. Maybe you’re right. I am a little nervous,” she admitted.
“Honey buns, don’t you worry. It’s gonna be easy peasy. You’ll see,” he promised.
She rolled to a stop in the circular drive in front of the house. Built in the conservative Georgian Revival style, the house towered three stories above them with ornate dormers crowning the roof. Black shutters and white cornices neatly accented the red brick. The morning sun sparkled against the numerous windows lining the façade.
Jorge let out a low whistle. “Nice digs.”
She studied the place. The residence looked perfect for a well-to-do family who preferred the privacy afforded by living farther from the city, not for the home of a bachelor. She’d pegged Murdoch as one of the types who preferred the low maintenance, trendy condo developments that were so popular among the upwardly mobile single set of Raleigh. The man just continued to confound her.
“Guess we better go in,” she said without enthusiasm.
They got out of the car and climbed the wide steps to the front door. She lifted the heavy brass lion’s head doorknocker.
“This guy must be loaded. Do you think he’d consider being my sugar daddy?” asked Jorge.
Syd didn’t have time to reiterate her “no hitting on the client” lecture before the door swung open to reveal Logan Murdoch.
Logan stood in the open doorway, but before he could greet his visitors, a man in tight khaki pants and a lavender polo shirt rushed forward and shook his hand vigorously.
“Mr. Murdoch, I am so excited to finally meet you in person. Wow, your house is gorgeous. Almost as gorgeous as its owner,” the man said. Logan focused on his face. Was that lip gloss? He looked at Sydney for help.
“Jorge, you can stop shaking his hand now. Mr. Murdoch, this is Jorge Smith, my assistant. Forgive his enthusiasm. We don’t let him out of the museum very often,” she joked.
“No, that’s quite all right. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Smith,” Logan said.
“Honey, you can call me Jorge,” he said with a leer.
Logan didn’t need his vampire mind skills to know for which team Jorge batted. But the flirting didn’t faze him. A person didn’t live for four centuries without developing an open mind about things.
“Jorge it is then,” he said amicably. �
��Miss Worth, it is good to see you again. Please come in. I am sure you are both eager to get to work.”
They entered the large foyer. Logan tried not to stare at Sydney. He had appreciated her beauty when they first met, but today she took his breath away. Lipstick the color of ripe berries made her lips fuller and inviting, and the subtle smokiness of her eye shadow made her hazel gaze more seductive. Her outfit accentuated her curves, especially the V-neck of her sweater. He quickly averted his gaze lest she catch him admiring her assets.
“So do we get a tour?” Jorge asked, dashing Logan’s hopes he could just deposit them in the library and get back to the lab.
He was eager to finish Lifeblood now that he was so close. Plus he really didn’t want to be more involved with Sydney than necessary. His mother’s predictions about Sydney being his soul mate left him nervous to spend too much time with her. Not that he believed in that nonsense. As a scientist he knew there had to be a more rational explanation for his inability to read her mind. He just hadn’t thought of it yet. In the meantime, he couldn’t let anything distract him from his work.
“Jorge, I am sure Mr. Murdoch has other things to do than play tour guide. Besides, we really do need to get to work,” Sydney said. She met his look almost shyly. He wondered suddenly if she felt the tension between them too.
“As you wish. The library is down this hall,” Logan said, leading the way.
“You should have plenty of space to work in here,” he explained as they walked in.
“I should say so,” Sydney said, looking around. When Logan said library, she thought it would be a cozy little space with a desk, not a room almost as big as one of the galleries at the museum.
“Did you read all of these?” Jorge asked, motioning to the two long walls covered floor to ceiling with books.