A man Max didn’t recognize had followed his manager into her inner sanctum. And Max saw red.
Chapter Five
Colleen strode past her sitting room and stopped dead. Leaning backwards, she peered inside. The jungle of gowns and mountains of slippers had disappeared, leaving the room as tidy as her office desk. She ran to her bedchambers and pulled open the door of the first wardrobe she came to. Neat rows of gowns, organized by color, hung inside, matching footwear lined up beneath. She opened all the wardrobes, all crammed full of impractical nonsense.
She pressed her lips together. The baron was absurd, thinking she would ever wear one of these concoctions let alone thirty of them. And if he thought a roomful of clothes made up for his oath-breaking, the man was sorely mistaken.
She traced a finger down the bodice of a silk evening gown, the fabric as soft as a rose’s petal and about the same color. What would such a gown feel like against her skin? Would she look pretty in it, or like a fool playing dress-up? She glanced one last time at the dress and closed the wardrobe door. The wife of a clock repair- and salesman didn’t wear silk. She couldn’t think of anything more absurd.
Trudging to her office, she flopped onto her chair and kicked off her threadbare slippers. She couldn’t let the daft man throw away all those clothes. The wastefulness of that would be a sin. She sniffed. There must be some way for her to fashion something practical from that abundance of fabric. And all those lovely shoes …
She shook herself. Attractive footwear was no substitute for hard work. If she wanted to ensure a way to support herself for the rest of her life, she needed to convince Mr. Ridley to wait to sell his business until she had the blunt to buy it. Pulling out a crisp sheet of paper from a drawer, she started a new budget.
A scuffing sound made her look up. A man with a cap of dark curls stood at her door. His mouth was pressed into a hard line, and his right hand disappeared into his coat pocket.
A trickle of unease rolled down her spine. “Yes? Can I help you?”
“You’re Mrs. Bonner? The proprietress of The Black Rose?”
The man’s accent was twangy, crashing over her like a brass instrument. She couldn’t place it.
“Yes. And you are?” Pushing to her feet, Colleen rested her palms on the desk. “Are you here as a guest of one of our members?”
The man snorted. “Not hardly. Even if I had the coin, I’m not one of your loose screws.” He looked down his nose at her, like the peculiarities of people’s desires were her fault.
She rolled up onto her toes, wishing she wore her boots. “If you aren’t interested in joining, then why are you here? In my private rooms?”
“We have a business matter to discuss.” Striding to her guest chair, he pulled out a pocket square and swiped at the seat.
Colleen narrowed her eyes. “This is my office, not a den of iniquity. Nothing inappropriate happens here.” And really, what call did some foreigner have to come into her establishment and insult the clientele? And they weren’t all loose screws. Most just wanted to have a bit of amusement in this harsh world. There was nothing wrong with that.
She poked her tongue into her cheek. She was starting to sound like the baron, defending this lot and their predilections. What was happening to her?
The man seated himself, and Colleen followed suit. Resting her elbows on the desk, she asked, “So, what can I do for you?”
“I’m here to arrange a mutually-beneficial agreement between two parties.” He flicked a piece of lint from his trousers. “I believe you have received some correspondence indicating a desire to enter into a business arrangement?”
Colleen sat back. “You’re Zed.” Finally, the snake had revealed himself and she could get this business over with. She glanced at the open doorway. But where was that blasted baron? For the past week he’d been underfoot so much she’d tripped over him. Now, when she needed the man, Sutton was nowhere to be found.
“Who I am isn’t important,” the man said. “It’s what I can do for you that is.” Pulling a cheroot from an inside pocket, he looked to her fireplace and started to his feet.
“I don’t allow smoking in my office.” That rule was as recent as her last breath, but it seemed like a fine one. And it was always an advantage to put an opponent in his place in a business negotiation. And that’s what this was to her. A business matter to be resolved. The sooner she could obtain the evidence implicating this Zed and deliver it to Lord Sutton, the sooner she would receive her premium, and her flower shop.
With his bum hovering over the chair’s seat, the man looked at his cheroot like it was a dying friend. He dropped back down. “Fine. This isn’t a social call in any event.” He tucked the cheroot back in his pocket. “Zed is interested in coming to terms with you. You have access to information he’d find interesting. He has access to money you’d find useful. It seems like a fair trade. He’s willing to pay you from ten to one hundred pounds per communication, depending on how valuable your information is.”
“How generous.” Extraordinarily so. Enough to pay off all her debts and more. Colleen laced her fingers together. “And what will he pay me to betray my customers and my morals? Surely there must be an extra reward for that.”
He blinked. “That cost is embedded in the price.”
“And how much are you paid to deliver this message.” Pulling a piece of parchment towards her, she picked up a quill and dipped it in her inkwell. “If I’m to go into business with someone, I must know all the numbers. Only by having a full picture can I make a decision about whether to partner with that business.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t be a partner. Are you cracked? You’d be a very small cog on the wheel.”
“How many cogs are on this wheel?” Picking up a pen knife, Colleen shaved the end of her quill. This investigation business wasn’t so hard. A few more questions and she’d have the information Sutton needed. And then her premium would be as good as in the bank.
“Look, lady, I don’t think you’re understanding how things work.” Pulling out his cheroot, he rolled it between his fingers. “You see a tasty tidbit you think might be worth money, you tell me. I give you coin. But you don’t ask questions. And you don’t tell anyone else about this deal. Got it?”
“What happens if I tell someone else about the deal?” Sutton already knew about it. And she supposed he’d told others. Really, this Zed should know better than to buy a pig in a poke.
