“This would be so much more pleasant if you’d simply accept my decision and take your leave.”
When Arthur remained firmly in his seat, Eunice moved back to her chair and settled into it. “Fine, since you’re obviously going to be persistent about the matter, the main reason behind my decision is this. You and I are already at odds with each other.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
She gave a flick of a black-gloved hand. “It has everything to do with my decision because we believe in working closely with our clients, something I’m convinced I’m not going to enjoy doing with you.”
“You don’t need to enjoy me to take on my case.”
“Oh, but I’m afraid I do expect to enjoy being in the company of clients.” She brushed a piece of lint from her sleeve. “I imagine that’s because I’m a woman. Women, I’m sure you’ll agree, tend to dissolve into unexpected fits of pique, or worse yet, fits of the vapors, when our tender sensibilities are roused. That would certainly happen if I had to frequently encounter your less-than-progressive attitude.”
“Business has no room for tender sensibilities.”
“Yet another reason our agency isnotthe agency to take on your case.”
Eunice swallowed a laugh when Arthur’s eyes turned darker than ever, a clear sign he was becoming frustrated with what he had to realize was a valid argument voiced on her part.
Her amusement disappeared in a flash, though, when his gaze sharpened on her. “I’ll pay you triple your normal rate.”
It took a great deal of effort to hold back a snort.
Arthur had once remarked to her, after he’d lectured her about the inadvisability of traveling into town in trousers, and after she’d changed the subject and launched into how Mr. Jasper Green was reluctant to consider her grandfather’s offer to purchase the man’s farm, that he firmly believed anything could be bought ifthe price was right. He’d then said that if Eunice’s grandfather upped his offer to where it was downright irresistible, Mr. Green would eventually sell his farm. Annoyingly enough, Arthur had been right about that, as her grandfather had purchased the farm not long after that discussion. But Arthur was sadly mistaken if he thought she’d take on his case simply because of his irresistible offer, because she wasn’t motivated by money.
Yet even without that type of motivation, and even though she’d presented a valid reason why she didn’t believe working with him was a good idea, she was coming to the realization that she might need to tread carefully. Arthur was obviously determined to hire the Bleeker Street Inquiry Agency to find his missing person, and a determined Arthur was not a man to tangle with if at all possible. He hadn’t made an impressive fortune because he lacked intelligence, nor because he gave up easily. Clearly, if she dismissed him too rapidly or overplayed the flighty, feminine role too dramatically, his pesky curiosity assuredly would be further aroused. A curious Arthur was not something she wanted to deal with either, because it could very well lead to the rapid end of the comfortable life she’d built for herself in New York if he caused her to slip up again and say something she shouldn’t say or, worse yet, inadvertently disclose something that would lead him to realize exactly who she was.
Her mind whirled with possible responses, and she settled on the one that seemed the least likely to arouse his suspicions. “That’s an intriguing proposition, Mr. Livingston, but you see, I’m not the only one at the agency who decides what cases we take on. I have two partners and will need to consult with at least one of them before any determination about your case is made. With that said, I believe this is where we discontinue our conversation. You may then return at some point during the week to set up an actual appointment with the agency. I’d suggest you set up that appointment now, but you’d have to go through Judith and that could very well see her hounding you to agree to sit for your portrait.”
Arthur leaned back in his chair, causing it to squeak again. “I’mafraid leaving doesn’t work for me, Mrs. Holbrooke. Time is of the essence. I have a week at the most to complete my objective, but besides that, I get the feeling that if I were to leave now, I may very well find no appointment times are available when I return to set one up.”
“What an interesting conclusion you’ve derived from my suggestion.”
“And accurate, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Perhaps.”
He blinked. “I wasn’t expecting you to be quite so blunt about the matter, but with all of that out in the open now, where do you suggest we go from here?”
Eunice was spared a response she didn’t have readily available when there was a hard rap on her office door before it opened and Daphne Beekman Henderson breezed into the room in a flutter of expensive fabric, her delightful afternoon gown designed by their very good friend Monsieur Phillip Villard. Daphne’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes were sparkling, a direct result, no doubt, of spending the morning at the literary salon she attended with her husband, fellow author Herman Henderson.
The sparkling disappeared in a flash when Daphne’s gaze settled on Arthur, and she came to an abrupt stop.
Large gentlemen had always made Daphne uncomfortable. And even though she’d married a gentleman who was larger than most men, and even though she’d been seeing some success with keeping her nerves under control when it came to large gentlemen in general, the sight of Arthur Livingston, who’d risen to his feet, left Daphne frozen on the spot, her green eyes enormous behind the thick lenses of her spectacles.
“I beg your pardon, Eunice,” Daphne began. “I was unaware you were interviewing a client.” She began backing her way toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me...”
Realizing that Daphne was about to make a speedy exit because the sight of Arthur could very well lead her to a fit of the vapors, Eunice rose from her chair. A sliver of remorse slid over her at whatshe was about to do, but she really had no choice in the matter. Daphne was the interruption she desperately needed, and if she allowed her friend to flee, well, there was a good possibility that Arthur would uncover her secret—one that would see his missing person case solved without her doing so much as lifting a finger to get to the bottom of the matter.
She bustled to Daphne’s side and took hold of her arm. “What a timely arrival on your part, Daphne,” she began, pretending not to notice that Daphne was still trying to edge her way toward the door. “I was just telling Mr. Arthur Livingston that I always consult with one of my partners before the agency agrees to take on a case, and here you are ... one of my partners.”
Daphne stilled. “You rarely—”
“Mr. Livingston and I have already had a discussion about you,” Eunice interrupted before Daphne could blurt out the fact that Eunice rarely consulted with Daphne or their other partner, Gabriella Goodhue Quinn, about what cases the agency took on. “I’m certain you’ll be delighted to learn he’s an admirer of your Montague Moreland books.”
It was not a surprise when Daphne went from trepidatious to remarkably delighted in the blink of an eye as she cast a smile Arthur’s way. “How lovely to learn you enjoy my work.”
Arthur returned the smile. “Indeed I do, and I was just telling Mrs. Holbrooke that I believe your work compares favorably with notable male authors of the day.”
Daphne’s eyes flashed with temper as she turned to Eunice. “I’m getting an inkling as to why you wanted to consult about this case with me.”
