“All right, well, I just thought I’d ask and not assume,” Cherry said. “Likesomepeople do.”
“Now, don’t mind Cherry,” Orbra put in as she set a three-tier tray on the table next to Ethan. It was laden with small triangular sandwiches made from paper-thin bread, and spread with cucumber and cream cheese, sundried tomato and spinach, egg salad, ham and Gouda, and chicken salad. “She’s still getting over that lady who tried to corner her after one of her hot yoga classes a few weeks back.”
“She thought just because I have short hair and am very toned and slender that I was a lesbian,” Cherry said, scooping up one of the tomato sandwiches. “And I’m not.” She sighed. “Sadly. Because it would probably make life easier.”
“Over two years at your current employer?” Ethan commented after he plowed through four little sandwiches. “Maybe you are ready to settle down, then, Fi. Either way, you’re going to be tied down for at least that long with this new venture. You won’t be able to leave when you get bored. Unless you want to sell it. It’s a big commitment—and one you didn’t even ask for.”
“Yeah. The C word does give me the willies.” Fiona laughed. Her brother’s honest words spoken like a lecture in public could have bothered her, but they didn’t. He was right. “I come by it honestly, I guess, with our mother being the same way.”
Despite the fear building inside her—from the fact that she would soonownsomething, that she would beresponsiblefor a business—Fiona already had the sense that she wouldn’t give up the shop. She hadn’t even seen it; didn’t even know the details, but there was something about it…
This was an unexpected, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. There were a lot of unknowns, but something about it felt right…as if she’d been waiting all her life for something tohappen.
Of course, once she looked at the books and balance sheets and got into the nitty-gritty of the business, she might feel differently…but how could one look at gift horse in the mouth when she hadn’t even met the horse?
Three
Four weeksto the day after he’d first met with Fiona Murphy, she flowed back into his office, sweeping into the chair he offered her at his work table.
She was once again dressed like an escapee from a Renaissance festival, in a long dress made from some soft, shiny material that looked like layers of gauze. The material glinted with bits of gold, and was edged with some intricate embroidery, and fitted her enough around the bodice and torso to show off some lovely curves.
Her lush red hair was pinned up loosely at the back of her head, and looked as if it might tumble into a spill of corkscrew curls at any given moment. She wore multiple rings on each finger, long, busy earrings, and one wide metal cuff on her wrist. As before, she carried a massive bag that he thought was a purse, but might be a knitting bag or some hobo version of a briefcase.
He hoped for the latter—after all, this was a business meeting.
“So probate went off without anyone contesting my inheritance?” asked Ms. Murphy as she folded her beringed hands on the table in front of her. “I have to admit, I am a little shocked.”
Gideon wasn’t about to admit that he had been mildly surprised as well. Having gotten to know the extended Valente family over the last two months, he’d expected them to scrabble after every bit of wealth they could squeeze from their deceased relative.
His response to his client, however, was professional and nonplussed. “As you likely recall from the reading of the will, the other family members inherited other, much larger and more lucrative portions of Valente’s great wealth. The antiques shop was a relatively small piece of his estate.”
“Very well, then. I guess it belongs to me—if I want it. And that brings up a bigger issue. Before we go any further and before I sign anything, I’d like to see just what it is I have to work with.”
Ms. Murphy’s smile was engaging, but there was shrewdness—and something like apprehension—in her eyes. “I want to know what I’m getting into before I actually get into it. I thought we might have done this even before probate, but here we are.”
She caught him by surprise, which, he admitted, didn’t happen often. Gideon set down the papers he was holding and reached for another folder. “Of course we can go through all that in as much details as you like, and I apologize if you were expecting to review the documents prior to today. I simply presumed you’d want to wait until everything was final before spending time on it.”
Actually, he’d assumed she hadn’t a clue in her lovely head about running a business, and that ledgers and accounting would be the last thing she’d worry about. When she spoke again, she surprised him further.
“I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know much about running a retail store, but I do know something about business. I’m one hell of an office manager. And I get along very well with people.” She gave him a warm smile that inexplicably seemed to have an edge of teasing to it. “However, since I’ve never had my own business, it’s hard to know whether I have a head for the big picture. I’m certain you’ll be able to easily answer the biggest question: is the shop financially viable? From what you’ve said, I get the impression that Valente left me the dog, and everyone else the diamonds. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
He found himself nodding in agreement while trying not to smile at her bluntness. “Absolutely, Ms. Murphy, I—”
“And,” she said, giving him a smile that warmed him like a sip of the twelve-year-old single malt Scotch his grandfather liked, “I think you can stop calling me Ms. Murphy. Fiona is fine. Now,” she continued, rummaging in that huge bag of hers, “please, tell me about the whole picture here.” She extracted a piece of paper with what appeared to be a list—of questions most likely—followed by the brightly patterned cheaters she’d worn last time.
“Well, Ms. Mur—ah, Fiona,” he corrected himself and firmly directed his attention back to the matter at hand, “in a nutshell, you’re right—though it isn’t adog, to use your term, the shop isn’t going to make you a wealthy woman either. But it’s not in the red—partly because you now own the building—or will, when and if,” he glanced at her meaningfully, “you sign the paperwork. There’s a bit of healthy income from rent for the place next door—I believe it’s a clothing boutique—and an empty apartment above—from which you could also collect rent should you so desire. Although the shop hasn’t been open regularly or staffed for—well, it appears at least five years, possibly longer—the inventory of the shop did bring in some profit, both from walk-in and online sales. You won’t find yourself on the street—at least right away.”
He pulled the information out of a folder and for the next thirty minutes, went through the property in detail as Fiona fired her questions at him, ticking down her list while looking at him from over the tops of her glasses.
“So I should be able to make a living off the shop and rent,” she said at the end. “And potentially live above it if I wanted.” Her voice held enthusiasm, but trepidation still hung on her face. “All right then—when do I get the keys?”
Gideon almost laughed, but caught himself in time. It was amazing how she’d gone from appearing so scatterbrained the first time he’d met her, to a serious, business-executive mode, shooting off questions with little pause—and now to guarded enthusiasm. “As soon as you sign these title papers, I’ll be happy to relinquish the keys.”
It was another thirty minutes before the title work and other papers transferring ownership to Fiona were completed.
“I think we’re about finished, and I can give you those keys.”
“Excellent.” She stood just as he did, and her ankle-length, gauzy dress settled in fluid folds around her. “Oh drat.”
