by Amelia Wilde
Then he turns on his heel, heading back for the front door.
He’s on the threshold when he turns back, centering me in that molten gaze again. “Good luck with the sale. And give me a call when you realize you need me.”
Then he’s gone, his people filing out after him.
My heart is in my throat, my mouth hanging open.
I snap it shut, glancing down at the card, trembling along with my hands. Levi Blake and a number. That’s all.
“Ruby.” Edward’s voice breaks into the thud of my heartbeats. “Are you all right?”
“I’m going upstairs,” I snap, and then I turn on my heel and go, heading as quickly as I can for the grand staircase. “And Edward?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t negotiate with a single one of these assholes. The prices are what they are. Not a dollar less.”
Screw all of these people. Screw everyone who’s on the way to the sale right now. I’m not going to be taken advantage of like this.
Especially by Levi Blake.
I hate him.
I thunder up the stairs and his gray eyes flash into my mind again, sending a shiver of something down my spine.
I hate him.
I hate him...
2
Levi
“Nobody warned me.”
My driver, Phillip, turns around and raises his eyebrows as I slide into the back seat of the town car. “Warned you about what?”
“That Ruby Ashworth is a knockout.” I laugh out loud, as if it’s some kind of joke, but it’s not. The burst of energy I got from looking at her is still thrumming through my veins, and goose bumps run from the tops of my shoulders all the way down to my wrists. I pull out my phone and swipe mindlessly through the screen to keep Phillip from noticing that I’m finding it difficult to keep my shit together.
“Is she?”
“Phil, there aren’t words to describe it.”
He turns around, back toward the steering wheel, and chuckles. “Was it love at first sight?”
I scoff. “Hardly. She hates me.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “You can be a little—”
“Intimidating?”
“I was going to say dickish, but I don’t want to get fired.”
“Good man.” Phillip is the only member of my staff—ever—that could get away with saying anything like that to me. He’s lucky that I love him. I’m also lucky that he puts up with me. He drove me away from more than one party, blackout drunk, during the college days. And, if I’m honest, some of the boarding school days. That kind of thing is behind me now, but Phillip—I’m stuck with him.
“Back to the office?”
The last place I want to go is back to the Blake Building, which is much more than an office. It houses my showroom, my inventory warehouse, and my workshops—not to mention my penthouse. On almost every other day of my life, it’s where I want to be, but not now.
What I want to do is run back inside the Ashworth’s estate sale and find the woman who made me so hard with one glance of those huge blue eyes that my cock is straining against the fabric of my pants. The way her pretty lips parted when she saw me, and the color that rose to her cheeks when I made my initial offer—it all makes me want to take her upstairs to what I’m sure is a ridiculous number of bedrooms, pin her arms above her head, and make her come so hard her head spins.
I don’t know why the urge is so powerful, only that it is. She looked timid when I first walked in, timid and shocked and vulnerable, but I saw a hint of a spitfire underneath. The questions she raised by breathing, full breasts rising and falling underneath a navy blue sweater with the kind of demure neckline that’s begging to get tossed onto the floor alongside the rest of her clothes—god, they’re endless, circling around in my mind. Questions like: Why is she so heartbroken about most of these things? Why is she so desperate to avoid the easy way out? What would I have to do to get her to come with me right now?
“Back to the office, Phillip.”
The day is warming up, and by the time Phillip parks in front of the Blake Building the heat is radiating off the sidewalk. Item one on my agenda: get my suit jacket off. Item two: get my mind off Ruby Ashworth. If I’d known she was going to shake me to the core like this, I might have gone for a different introduction.
But I didn’t. All I knew this morning was that the Ashworth estate was up for grabs, and I wanted the first shot at it.
“She’ll call,” I mutter to myself as I cruise through the front entrance, into the smaller showroom that serves as a kind of airlock. Only serious customers come through to the much larger displays in back and the auction room.
An old woman stands at the reception desk, looking anxiously from side to side. Where the hell is the receptionist? Kathy never takes a break unless she’s covered.
It’s a good thing I walked in at this moment. If you’re smart about buying and selling—and you have to be, if you’re like me and you want to sift through the entire world and find the most valuable items you possibly can—you never turn down a sale. And this woman clearly has something on her hands. Probably in the massive purse she’s got a death grip on.
I put on my most charming smile. “Good morning, ma’am. Can I help you with anything?”
She looks up into my face. “Young man, I’m waiting to meet with the appraiser.”
“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
She tilts her head to one side, then the other. “A little while.”
I extend my hand. “My name is Levi Blake, and I own this little enterprise. I’d be happy to take a look at anything you’ve brought in.”
The woman’s hand tightens on the handle of her bag, and she looks me up and down. She must like what she sees because she gives a firm nod and then shuffles closer to the desk. I step up to her side.
From the purse, she pulls out a faded armband wrapped in a tissue. I recognize it instantly—anyone who’s ever heard of World War II would—but I also know, the moment I see it, that it’s not authentic. The originals were made from heavy cotton or wool, and this one—though it looks old—has a shine to it that signals its polyester origins.
With shaking hands, she puts the tissue in mine, careful not to touch the fabric of the armband with her fingers. “It was my husband’s. He brought it back from the war.” Her jaw quivers. “I don’t—” She breaks off abruptly, raising a hand to her mouth. “I hate what it stands for.” She drops her voice like someone might be listening in. “And I hate giving up his things. If I didn’t need the money...” Her voice hitches, but then she lifts her chin. “What might an artifact like this be worth?”
My instinct is to tell her the truth—that it’s worthless. But her eyes are a startling blue under a sheen of tears. It reminds me of Ruby Ashworth.
I pretend to examine the armband in great detail, and then I level the most serious gaze I can at the old woman. “I can offer you...two thousand dollars.”
Her mouth drops open and her shoulders sag with relief. “You can?” Over her head, I see Kathy, followed by one of my appraisers, Sean, start to rush back in from the main display room. I give them a shake of my head, and they turn around, disappearing immediately from the scene. “Oh, my—” She shakes her head. “I never hoped...” Tears spill from her eyes, and she pulls a handkerchief from her purse and dabs at her face.
It’s a quick transaction—she leaves with a check in twenty minutes, thanks to my skill at expediting matters like this—and I’m left standing in the outer display room, a fake piece of memorabilia in my hand and Ruby Ashworth on my mind. Another jolt of heat runs down my spine.
I should forget about her right now, before I make any other stupid business decisions.
I drop the armband into the garbage bin behind the reception desk and head for the main showroom.
I should push her right out of my head.
I should.
3
Ruby
The front door closes with a so
ft click, and I brace myself.
This hasn’t been anything like what I was picturing. I’d imagined myself standing downstairs in the foyer, greeting people and even directing them toward items they might be interested in—even though that’s hardly my job. I’d imagined standing guard over my family’s precious items until the right people came to claim each one. I imagined, probably foolishly, that I’d have some sort of influence over it all.
I imagined, at least, that I’d be able to face it.
The first two hours of the sale went on beneath me while I sat in the window seat of an upstairs bedroom that had been cleared to give a person—namely me—a place to step away during the sale.
I sat there until I was so disgusted with myself that I leaped up and stormed back downstairs, calm only at the last step. What are you doing, Ruby? Sulking in a bedroom? No wonder the entire family’s being dragged down into this ridiculously horrible situation. You can’t even handle an estate sale.
I’d tried to make myself useful for the last three hours, but mainly ended up showing Edward’s staff to the bathrooms and wandering through the rooms.
Nobody needed my help.
Nobody needed much of our stuff, either.
By the time Edward closes the door, my heart is pounding furiously. Now, instead of being afraid to sell this mountain of antiques, I’m afraid that nobody’s bought anything—that I’ve ruined the entire enterprise for all of us with my stupid desire to keep it all with me. One of his staff, a tall man with a baby face and broad shoulders, steps up beside him, pressing a tablet into his hand and murmuring something into his ear.
This is the moment of truth.
Edward frowns, and my heart plummets into my toes. This is not good.
The staff members disappear, fading into different corners of the house, as Edward approaches me. I’m not going to cry about this. I’m not going to do a thing other than accept the results of the sale gracefully. We could always have another one, although I’m not sure anyone would be especially attracted to the leftovers.
Maybe I should have taken that deal from Levi Blake.
No. I shouldn’t have accepted the deal out of hand. I should have gotten a grip and negotiated with him.
Stop.
I command the circular arguments in my mind to cease until I hear from Edward.
“Ruby,” he says softly, “is there somewhere you’d like to sit to discuss this?”
My mouth goes dry. “The living room is fine.”
We cross the foyer and go into the formal living room at the front of the house, the furniture a mix of antique pieces and modern touches. All of it still has tags on it. I can’t locate anything missing from the room at all. My pulse thuds in my temples. Is it relief or panic?
We perch on a Victorian sofa—imposing, overstuffed, and wildly uncomfortable. Edward doesn’t show it in his face, but I can’t help shifting on the rock-hard cushions. No wonder we never spent any time in this room when I was growing up. In a way, though, I’m glad it’s still here. Nobody snatched it out from under me.
Edward considers the tablet in front of him, like he’s searching for the perfect frame to display the information in, but then he presses his lips together and hands it over.
I take it in my hands, forcing myself not to tremble. I am not going to lose it. I am not.
The instant the numbers register, they blur before my eyes, and before Edward can speak I’m blinking hard, swallowing down the painful ache that’s risen in my throat.
“This is a list of the inventory that we’ve sold today,” Edward says, drawing a graceful finger down the too-short list on the screen of the tablet. “And this is the total.”
The number at the bottom of the list is hardly enough to make a dent in my brother’s medical bills, much less find my parents a more permanent place to live. A sickening shame blooms in my chest. It’s not even as much as the number Levi Blake threw in my face this morning. It’s not that much by about half.
And it’s my fault.
Edward doesn’t say it out loud—he doesn’t have to. I can see from the columns next to the list—the tagged prices neatly in a row next to the sale prices—that he followed my instructions to the letter. They didn’t negotiate at all. That’s why the list is so small—there’s plenty here that’s worth a fortune. If I walked through the house right now, I could pick out the more valuable ones. Those were the pieces my mother wouldn’t let us touch. I can hear her now, her voice gentle but firm as she pulled our hands away. Not this, Ruby. Not this.
“All right.” I look over the tablet one more time, but the letters run together. I don’t recognize any of the items by these descriptions, anyway—antique rug with rose and lily pattern means nothing. I would do better with something like rug Ruby spilled hot chocolate on during Christmas when she was nine and gave her mother seven heart attacks. “I’m assuming you’ll be sending a copy of this?”
“It’s in your inbox right now.”
“That’s great. That’s—that’s really great.” I force myself to meet Edward’s eyes, even if the pity there—more pronounced than before—turns my stomach. I stand up from the sofa.
Edward follows my lead. “About the tags…”
At first, I don’t know what he’s talking about, and then I catch a glimpse of one of the small blue tags, big enough to read but not so large that it ruins the look of any of the pieces. “What about them?”
“Did you want us to go through and remove them, or leave them in case of—”
“Leave them.”
A desperate energy is thrumming in my veins. I have to get out of here, and I want Edward and the rest of his people out, too.
They’re gone in a matter of minutes, Edward promising to check back with me to see if I want to run a second sale, and I gather up my things. My purse. My keys. When I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, something shiny and black flutters to the floor.
Levi Blake’s card.
My mouth twists into a scowl. No. Not Levi Blake. No matter how desperate I get.
I toss his card into the nearest bin and head out into the evening, head held high.
4
Levi
I can’t get Ruby Ashworth out of my head.
I spend the rest of the day in the display rooms, going through the setups and reviewing whether these pieces are absolutely the ones that should be presented to buyers. I want them sold, not sitting here. They’re worthless to me if they’re only in this room to take up space. A few I have moved back to the warehouse for the auction next month—I want it to be curated flawlessly—and a few others I have brought down and put out.
I pull one of my associates, Clarissa, to tweak the lighting on a pair of Japanese vases in bronze. I’m not particularly taken with the vases, but there’s something in the curve of one of the decorative cranes worked onto the surface of the vases in silver that reminds me of the curve of Ruby’s neck sloping into her shoulder under the boatneck sweater she wore. That creamy skin, exposed by her blonde hair twisted back behind her head, fills my thoughts, replacing the cranes, replacing the vases, replacing the entire showroom.
I want to run one of my fingers down that slope, then hook it underneath her neckline to feel the warmth caught between the fabric and her naked skin. I want to curl my fingers underneath the hem of that shirt and tug it off over her head, freeing her pert breasts from cover. She looked so innocent that it’s like staring at a blank canvas. Who wouldn’t want to rough up the surface with a little paint?
And those lips, those big blue eyes…maybe they were flashing with hate, but if I’m not mistaken, there was something more there, too. I saw those nipples rising through what must have been a bra with forgiving fabric. Or no bra at all.
“Are you getting ready to have intercourse with these vases?”
The voice that breaks into my thoughts is a familiar one, and I’m laughing before I turn around. “What do you want, you greedy bastard?”
Jasper
Pace’s blue eyes twinkle with his own laughter. “I’m only half as greedy as I was last year. And you didn’t answer my question.”
I clap him on the shoulder like we’re a pair of old men and incline my head sagely. “A man’s thoughts are not always centered on the things before his eyes.”
He chuckles. “Tone it down, Romeo. You’re giving the old ladies a fit.” Jasper nods his head to the side, where a pair of ancient women are looking at me from the corners of their eyes. The rosy color in their faces tells me that there’s probably an outward…indication that I’ve been thinking about Ruby. I give them a roguish grin, and one turns away, tittering something to her friend.
“Thanks for the heads-up, buddy.” I discreetly adjust myself, dragging my mind away from what lies underneath Ruby Ashworth’s clothes. “What did you come in here for, anyway?”
Jasper rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing, looking for something priceless from a guy like you.”
“I recognize value in many different forms. Are you looking for something specific?”
His eyes travel around the pieces in our immediate vicinity but his gaze doesn’t settle on anything. “I’m converting one of the rooms at my place in the Hamptons into a kind of studio for Isabella. Somewhere she can work on her designs when we’re not in the city.”
“That woman never slows down.” Isabella Gabriel’s profile has risen considerably since their wedding in the spring, but she still works like a madwoman—at least, that’s what I hear from Jasper when I see him around town. Isabella isn’t usually with him when he’s out during the day. She wants a worldwide empire to rival Pace, Inc., and I think Jasper loves that about her. “She’s a perfect match for you.”