“Good,” I said quickly, forcing composure. “I’ve already built a routine.”
“Anything in particular catch your attention or spark questions?”
“Not yet. Your collection is extraordinary. I’m especially drawn to the Egyptian relics. They were my focus during my degree.”
“Excellent. Insight matters—both for understanding history and for recognizing value.” His tone sharpened slightly, testing me. “Tell me, how would you catalog an artifact whose origin was still uncertain?”
“First, I’d assess its condition and record every visible feature—size, weight, material, damage, anything distinguishing. Then I’d begin the research, drawing on academic references and scientific methods to trace its origin and place it in its proper time.”
“That sounds thorough. Most antiques I acquire come with a known provenance, period, and value, but there are always a few whose origins remain uncertain. If you’d put your eye on them, it would be a great help.”
“Of course. Where do the unknown pieces usually come from?” Curiosity cut through my voice.
“Some come from incomplete collections I’ve purchased, others are heirlooms or donations without records.” His hand brushed over his chin—slow, thoughtful. “And a few are from auctions that still need closer examination.” For a moment, he seemed far away, lost in calculation. “I’ll send you the list with the documentation.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“I noticed some dates in the database have been updated. Every change gets flagged for me. Was that you, or Beatrice?”
“Yes, that was me. I double-check entries when I can. A few dates didn’t match up, so I corrected them.”
“I reviewed your changes. They were right.” His praise landed sharp and unreal. “Good work, Miss Elfhorn.”
“Thank you,” I breathed, barely able to keep the smile tugging at my lips. Heat rose in my cheeks—but not the kind you welcome.It burned like a warning flare, my body reacting before my mind caught up.
“This shop means a great deal to me.” His voice deepened, calm but heavier now, carrying something that pressed closer. “My parents left it to me. They valued art and history as much as I do.”
The words blurred, fading to the background. My body caught something else—an unsteady flutter in my stomach, a restless beat in my throat. My heart surged without reason.
It wasn’t thought. It was instinct. A reaction to him.
He moved closer. Slowly. Deliberately. With each step, the air thickened. There was something in the way he carried himself—unhurried, assured. Not threatening. Not kind. A man who’d never needed permission. Someone who came to take.
His gaze found mine and held. Not curious. Not warm. Just still. Too still. It pressed down on me like invisible fingers at my throat. I told myself it couldn’t be, but I felt it all the same. Dark. Unnamable. Indelible.
Then his hand lifted. Slowly, purposefully. I didn’t flinch. I couldn’t. His fingers passed before my face, close enough to stir the air against my skin. The faintest whisper of movement—and it still sent a shiver racing down my spine.
For one heartbeat, I thought he would touch me. Worse—I realized how much I wanted him to.
God. I had known this man for barely ten minutes.
Instead, he pulled a book from the shelf.
“For example, this one,” he said quietly. His voice wasn’t just heard—it was felt, reverberating low in my chest. He opened thebook, fingers gliding over the pages, his jaw tightening as if something heavy coiled inside him.
“It was a gift from my parents. The last one before…” The words faltered, unfinished. Too costly to release.
Almost ceremoniously, he closed the book and stepped back. I exhaled, as if for the first time, though tension lingered. His nearness had stirred something inside me—like a fire that didn’t burn but reshaped.
What the hell was wrong with me?
He slid the book into its place. Said nothing more. Didn’t look at me. But the silence was enough—I knew something had shifted, and nothing would return to what it had been.
“Ms. Stonfeld will be leaving us in the middle of next week,” he said coolly.
“That’s right,” I answered softly.
“I’ll leave you a card with my email and phone number in case questions come up. I can’t always reply quickly, but I’ll do my best.”
