“So why now?” I put my soup spoon down.
Kieren’s distracted. Not that I know him well, but he keeps looking at the door, like he expects someone to burst through it. “What? ‘Why now’ what?” He’s got that handsome smart boy vibe to him. And I have to look away, studying the china on the table while I gather my thoughts. “Oh, excuse me. Why hire someone to look into the collection now? Do you think it doesn’t need it?”
I laugh. Three stewards clear our bowls with one hand and place another course in front of us with the other. I’m eating as much as the two giants at the table. I’m going to need another set of clothes. The food here is so amazing. But I also didn’t have lunch. “Merci,” I say to the retreating man. “Oh, I’m not trying to talk you out of my job. The collection definitely needs it. Just why now? Was it the Dutch master paintings?” The ones in the boxes at the back of the room.
“The Renaissance pieces. You’ll have to forgive me. I lovelooking at art, I see the value, but I’m not well-versed in it,” Kieren says.
I stare at him. And when I look at Evander, he smirks and silently picks up his goblet. Kieren has no idea what he bought. Someone else is doing the buying for him. Which isn’t odd. Lots of people see masterpieces as investments first and art second. They have scouts who watch for rising stars in the industry, trends and the like, and then buy low so—unlike the collection at the Cloud Rift—they can sell at the right time. The works are commodities to be traded, bought, and sold without emotion.
“The new acquisition for the collection from the Dubai gallery back in May. They’re not unpacked yet. It will take me some time, and I might need to borrow another staff member or two when I do. From the outside, they’re packaged well, but crowbars and priceless works of art together make me nervous. I’m surprised whoever ordered it hasn’t unboxed it yet.”
“We can get you any help you need.”
“Thank you, but it won’t be for some time. I’ll have to clear out enough space around it first. But I’ll be grateful for the help when the time comes.”
He nods. I’m not sure who Kieren Alder is. Is he the quick-to-rush-to-judgement man who told Leo to get rid of me? The kind man who wouldn’t let me sign an NDA when I was tipsy? The cautious man I overheard in the hall? Or the man who clearly has somewhere else to be and doesn’t care at all about a report of what I’ve found?
The door from the hallway opens and Roark thunders in. He’s changed, wearing a shirt since I last saw him, and tight-fitting dress pants. His white shirtsleeves are rolled up, showing off the impressive array of ink on his arms.
I’ve always loved tattoos. They say they’re like candy.Once you get one, you can’t stop. So far, I only have one. I’m cautious. If my body is my canvas, I only have so much space. What I get has to be important. And I’m weird. I want to see it. As of yet, I’ve only come across one thing that was important enough for me to get it on my upper right thigh. And no, my mother doesn’t know about it. She likes to be in control . . . so she would freak out.
Thinking of the tattoo and my mother reminds me I haven’t checked my phone. After I got it back from Roark, I raced through a shower. He’d turned my phone off. I figured I didn’t have time to be distracted by it and left it off. And on the way to the dining room, I didn’t want to hear the endless chimes of whatever nonsense Jeff was sending. Off it stayed.
“There are some things that would be useful to keep the collection safe.”
“We don’t need locks. No one will steal from a dragon,” Roark says as he passes me. The back of his hand brushes my hair.Not on purpose, my brain says.Men like Roark don’t do things accidentally, a voice echoes in reply. He takes the seat at the end of the table. He waves off the steward when they try to put soup in front of him for the first course.
“It’s not a thief but the elements I’m worried about. Light, heat, moisture from the floor. You need shelving, light protective boxes that are acid-free. Plywood’s great for shipping, but if the wood is new, it has moisture in it that can harm paintings over time.”
“That’s not a problem. Order whatever you want.”
“And how would I order them?”
“I’ll give you my credit card. Order what you need.” Kieren raises his head to a steward near the butler’s pantry as he leaves via the foyer door, then he gives me a smile, and heat boils in my chest.
I need to stop it. He’s my boss. I focus back on my plate. “Okay, thank you.”
“Tell us about the other things you found.” Evander stares at me across the table. I feel my skin heating.
“Yes. Did you find anything interesting?” Roark’s tone drops to an almost growl, and Evander narrows his eyes at him. I swear, the silence in the room is deafening at times. It’s like the three of them are talking telepathically.
“Please,” Evander says, lighter this time, leaning back in his chair.
I’ve never been interested in gregarious men before. I’ve always figured they were so far out of my league, it would only hurt when they ignored me. Now that I’ve got two or three men paying overly close attention to me, it’s weird. There’s no way they feel the same sort of attraction that I’m trying to deny, is there?
The one thing that articles inShifterTodayrepeated over and over was how shifters can smell when you’re turned on and excited. I shift my attention back to the mushroom and pastry-covered meat in front of me, focusing all of my attention on it for a brief second before lifting my head and turning back to Evander. His eyes are still on me, but it’s less intense, light, normal.
I let my shoulders drop. “I’m looking forward to seeing the new works. But the collection is quite expansive. Do you use one specific buyer or many?”
“Buyer? Like an agency? No, Leopold has ordered things for us for a long time.”
“Oh . . . that’s good to know.”
The steward returns with a small silver tray and gives it to Kieren.
He removes a black card and hands it to me. “Buy what you need.”
“Okay, is there someone I should send the receipts to?”
