“So, what are you doing here?”

“I work here,” Vance said, one corner of his mouth lifting.

Brilliant, Charlie. Just brilliant. “Yes, but you usually don’t come to the auctions.”

He shrugged. “I wanted to see you.”

“You see me every day.” Nerves plucked at her insides and Charlie fought to keep from showing them.

“Yeah, but this way’s different,” he said. “We’re not in the office. We’re more like … friends.”

She laughed and took a sip of her water. “Friends?”

“Something wrong with that?”

Oh, if he only knew. They weren’t friends. Friends didn’t make friends feel all hot and flustered and nervous. Friends didn’t inspire dreams that had her waking up in the middle of the night reaching out for him. And friends most certainly didn’t spy on each other—or have the power to fire each other, for that matter.

“I guess not,” she said, because she could hardly repeat everything that had just raced through her mind.

“Good. Because I’d like to take my ‘friend’ out to dinner tonight.”

“What?”

About the Author

MAUREEN CHILD is a California native who loves to travel. Every chance they get, she and her husband take off on another research trip. An author of more than sixty books, Maureen loves a happy ending and still swears that she has the best job in the world. She lives in Southern California with her husband, two children and a Golden Retriever with delusions of grandeur. Visit Maureen’s website: www.maureenchild.com

Recent titles by the same author:

THE KING NEXT DOOR

AN OUTRAGEOUS PROPOSAL

UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Gilded Secrets
Maureen Child

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the five talented, amazing women I was lucky enough to work with on this continuity. Thanks to you all for making the work so much fun!

One

Vance Waverly stood outside the auction house that bore his name and stared up at the impressive facade. The old building had had a face-lift or two over the past 150 years, but the heart of it remained. A structure dedicated to showcasing the beautiful, the historical, the unique.

He smiled to himself, letting his gaze slide across the “lucky” seven stories. At street level, twin cypress trees, trained into spirals, stood silent sentinel at the doorway. Windowpanes glittered in the early-summer light. Black, wrought-iron railings framed a second-story balcony. Gray stone gave the building its aura of dignity and the wide, arched window above the double front doors was etched with a single word—Waverly.

A glimmer of pride rose up inside Vance as he stared at the world his great-great uncle, Windham Waverly, had created. The long-dead man had ensured his own version of immortality by leaving behind the auction house that carried an illustrious reputation around the world.

And Vance was one of the last remaining Waverlys. So he had a proprietary interest in seeing that the auction house remained at the top of its game. As a senior board member, he made certain that he was involved in everything from the layout of the catalog to hunting down pieces worthy of being auctioned at Waverly’s. This place was more his home than his luxury condo overlooking the Hudson River. The condo was where he slept.

Waverly’s was where he lived.

“Yo, buddy!” a voice shouted from behind him. “You gonna be there all day or what?”

Vance turned to see a FedEx driver, packages stacked on the dolly he was balancing, waiting impatiently behind him. Vance stepped out of the way and let the man pass.

Before slipping into Waverly’s, the driver muttered, “People think they own the damn sidewalks.”

“Gotta love New York,” Vance muttered.

“Morning.”

Vance glanced to his right and watched as his half brother walked up to meet him. Rarely in New York, Roark had flown in for a meeting with some of his contacts. He was as tall as Vance, over six feet, with brown hair and green eyes. Not much of a family resemblance, but then, the brothers only shared a father. And until five years ago, when their father, Edward Waverly, died, Vance hadn’t even known Roark existed.

In those five years, they had built up a solid friendship, and Vance was grateful—even though Roark insisted on keeping their family ties a secret. Roark still wasn’t convinced that Edward Waverly had actually been his father. But the connection was enough to keep him at Waverly’s. There was no proof beyond the letter Edward had left with his will. It was enough for Vance, but he could respect his brother’s wishes.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Vance said with a nod.

“Better be important,” Roark said, falling into step beside Vance as they walked past Waverly’s toward a small café on the corner. “Late night and I’m not officially awake yet.”

He was wearing dark glasses against the sunlight, a worn brown leather jacket, T-shirt, jeans and boots. For a second, Vance envied his brother. He’d rather be in jeans himself, but his suit and tie were what was expected at Waverly’s. And Vance always did the right thing.

“Yeah,” he said as they claimed an outside table beneath a cheerfully striped umbrella. “It’s important. Or it could be.”

“Intriguing.” Roark turned his coffee cup over at the same time Vance did and they both waited for the waitress to fill the cups and take their orders before speaking again. “So tell me.”

Vance cupped the heavy porcelain mug between his palms and studied the black surface of his coffee for a long minute while he gathered his thoughts. He wasn’t a man who usually paid attention to gossip or rumor. He had no patience for those who did, either. But when it concerned Waverly’s, he couldn’t take a chance.

“Have you heard any talk about Ann?”

“Ann Richardson?” Roark asked. “Our CEO?”

“Yes, that Ann,” Vance muttered. Seriously, how many Anns did they know?

Roark pulled his sunglasses off and set them onto the table. He took a quick look around, at the people passing on the tree-lined sidewalk, at the other customers sitting at tables. “What kind of talk?”

“Specifically? About her and Dalton Rothschild. You know, the head of Rothschild auction house? Our main competitor?”

Roark just stared at him for a beat or two, then shook his head. “No way.”

“I don’t want to believe it, either,” Vance admitted.

The CEO of Waverly’s, Ann Richardson was brilliant at her job. Smart, capable, she had worked her way up to the top position in the firm, becoming the youngest person ever—male or female—to head an auction house of its size and scope.

Roark sat back in his chair and shook his head firmly. “What have you heard?”

“Tracy called me last night to give me a heads-up about a column that’s appearing in today’s Post.”

“Tracy.” Roark frowned, then nodded. “Tracy Bennett. The reporter you dated last year.”

“Yeah. She says the ‘story’ breaks today.”

“What story?”

“That Ann had an affair with Dalton.”

“Ann’s too smart to fall for Dalton’s line of BS.” Roark dismissed the idea out of hand.

Vance would like to. But in his experience, people made stupid decisions all the time. They usually blamed “love” for those bad choices, but the truth was, love was just the excuse to do whatever the hell they wanted to do. Love was a fable sold by greeting card companies and bridal fairs.

“I agree,” he said. “But if there is something between them—”

Roark whistled. “What can we do about any of it?”

“Not much. I’ll talk to Ann to let her know about this article that’s coming out.”

“And?”

“And,” Vance said, gaze fixed on his brother, “I want you to keep your eyes and ears open. I trust Ann, but I damn sure don’t trust Dalton. Dalton’s always wanted Waverly’s out of the way. If he can’t buy us out, he’ll try a takeover—or try to bury us.” Vance took a sip of his coffee and narrowed his gaze on Roark. “We’re not going to let that happen.”

“Good morning, Mr. Waverly. I’ve got your coffee and the week’s agenda ready for you. Oh! And the invitation to Senator Crane’s garden party arrived by messenger late yesterday after you’d left.”

Vance stopped in the doorway to his office and stared at his new assistant. Charlotte Potter was petite and curvy, with long, wavy blond hair restrained by a ponytail at the base of her neck. She had vivid blue eyes, full lips on a mouth that was rarely quiet and she seemed to be in constant motion.

He’d hired her as a favor to a retiring board member who had developed a fondness for her when she’d been his assistant. But Charlotte had only been with Vance a week now and he knew it wasn’t going to work out.

She was too young, too pretty and too … She turned away to bend down and open the bottom drawer of the wood-grain file cabinet and he shook his head. Vance’s gaze locked on the curve of her behind in the sleek black slacks she wore. Charlotte was too everything.

When she stood up, producing a thick, linen envelope for him, he told himself that he should simply pawn her services off on someone else in the company. He couldn’t exactly fire her for being a distraction, but he sure as hell resented it.

Politically incorrect or not, Vance preferred his assistants to be either matronly or male.

His former assistant, Claire, had retired at sixty-five. She was cool, unflappable and notoriously anal about her workspace. There had never been so much as a pen out of place on her desk. Vance had felt confident that Claire was on top of everything.

Charlotte, on the other hand … He scowled at the ficus tree in the corner, the ferns on the shelf closest to the window and the deep-purple African violets on the corner of her desk. There were framed photos taking up space on her desk as well, though he hadn’t looked at them too closely; he hadn’t taken the time to do much more than notice the clutter.

Her pens were kept in a mug shaped like a New York Jets football helmet and there was a dish of M&M’s beside her phone. Clearly, he never should have done that favor. No good deed goes unpunished, his father had often said. Turned out, the old man was right.

Vance didn’t want distractions in the office under the best of circumstances. And now, with possible trouble looming with Rothschild, he wanted it even less—and if that made him a damn chauvinist, so be it.

As one of the last Waverlys associated with the auction house, Vance liked keeping his business hours devoted to business. And a pretty woman was not conducive to concentration.

“Thanks, Charlotte,” he said, heading for his office. “Hold my calls until after the board meeting.”

“I will. Oh, and call me Charlie,” she said brightly.

Vance stopped, looked back over his shoulder at her and was nearly blinded by her brilliant smile. She went back to her desk and began flipping through the stack of mail. The long sweep of her hair fell over one shoulder and lay across her breast. Something inside him fisted uncomfortably. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but the woman was impossible to ignore.

Scowling to himself, he leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb and sipped at the coffee she’d given him. Watching her, he realized she was humming again as she had all last week. Off-key humming. Tone-deaf off-key.

He shook his head wearily. He had calls to make to Waverly’s London office, to check on upcoming auctions there. A corner of his mind was still working over the rumors about Ann and what that could mean to the auction house. And he was in no mood for the board meeting scheduled for that afternoon.

Charlotte straightened up, turned around and gasped, slapping one hand to her chest as if to hold her heart in place. Then she laughed shortly and shook her head. “You scared me for a second. I thought you had gone to your office.”

He should have. Instead, he’d been “distracted.” Not good. Frowning at his own wayward thoughts, he asked, “Did you have a chance to type up the agenda for today’s meeting? I want to make some new notes before I meet with the board.”

“Of course.” She walked to her desk and plucked a file folder from a stack of similar ones. She handed it to him. “Along with the meeting agenda, I printed out the list you made of the private collections coming up for bid in the next few weeks.”

He opened the folder, noting the neatly presented agenda with his handwritten notes now added in bold typeface. There were a few pages behind the first and he idly flipped through them, stopping at the last one. “What’s this?”

“Oh.” She smiled. “The next catalog layout looked a little crowded, so I adjusted a couple of the pictures and …”

He glanced at the work she’d done and had to admit it looked much better than it had before. The Ming Dynasty vases were each spotlighted now against a softly lit background, rather than lumped into a section that buried their distinctive beauty.

“I know I shouldn’t have, but—”

“You did a good job,” he said, closing the folder and looking up into her soft blue eyes.

“Really?” She gave him a bright smile. “Thank you. That’s great. I was a little nervous about taking that on myself, I can tell you. It’s just that this job is very important to me and I want to do it well.”

An unfamiliar twinge of guilt poked at Vance as he read the eagerness in her gaze. She fairly vibrated with the thrill of her new job. Which only made him feel worse for regretting taking her on in the first place.

So maybe he’d give this a shot. All he had to do was stop noticing Charlotte as a woman.

But one quick look up and down her petite, curvy figure shut down that idea.

The phone rang and she reached for it. “Vance Waverly’s office.”

Her voice was low, seductive. Or maybe that was just his impression, he chided himself.

“Please hold,” she said and hit the button on her phone. When she turned to him, Charlotte said, “It’s Derek Stone, calling from the London office.”

“Oh, good.” Grateful for the excuse to leave Charlotte and get back to work, Vance took the folder and stepped into his office. “Put him through, please, Charlotte. And after this call, hold all the others.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Waverly,” she said.

Vance closed the door then strode across the room to his desk, barely noticing the thud of his footsteps against the gleaming wooden floor. Paintings by undiscovered artists hung alongside a couple of old masters on the ivory walls. A long couch hugged one wall, with a low-slung table and two chairs opposite it. A wall of windows stood behind his desk, offering a view of Madison Avenue and the always-busy city of Manhattan.

Reaching for his phone, he turned his back on the view, dropped into his chair and said, “Derek. Good to talk to you.”

Completely drained, Charlie blew out a relieved breath and practically crawled back to her desk. The bright, cheerful smile on her face felt brittle enough to crack and she hoped to heaven that Vance Waverly hadn’t sensed just how nervous she was around him.

“Does he really have to smell so good?” she muttered as she fell into her chair and propped her elbows on the desk. Cupping her face in her palms, she told herself to get a grip.

Her hormones didn’t listen, sadly, and continued their happy little dance of excitement. This happened every time she got close to Vance Waverly and it was damn humiliating. How could she be so attracted to a boss who terrified half the people in this building?

But there it was. He was tall and broad-shouldered with dark brown hair that always looked a little tousled. His brown eyes had flecks of gold in them and his mouth almost never curved in a smile. He was all business and she had the distinct feeling that he was watching her closely, looking for any excuse he could find to fire her.

Which she was not going to allow to happen.

This job was the most important thing she had going for her. Well, she thought, sliding a glance at the photo of the smiling toddler on her desk, the second most important thing. But professionally, it was no contest. Working for Vance Waverly, a senior board member, was the chance of a lifetime and she wasn’t going to lose it.

Taking a breath, Charlie nodded and sat up straight. She glanced at the photo of her son, Jake, again, and reminded herself that she might have been hired as a favor to an old friend, but she had the qualifications to do this job brilliantly. She was going to stay positive and upbeat and cheerful if it killed her.

When her phone rang, she grabbed it quickly. “Vance Waverly’s office.”

“How’s it going?” a familiar, feminine voice asked in a rush.

Charlie shot a quick look at the closed door to her boss’s office as if to make sure he was locked away and oblivious to this phone call. “So far so good,” she said.

“What did he think of your ideas for the catalog layout?”

“You were right, Katie,” she said, imagining her friend down in Accounting grinning in response. Charlie had worked on the new layout for the catalog in secret, indulging herself with how she would have done things. Katie was the one who suggested she actually show her ideas to Vance. “He said I did a good job.”

“See? Told you.” Katie was typing as she talked; Charlie heard her fingers tapping wildly against the keys. “I knew he’d like what you did. He’s a smart guy. He’s bound to notice that you’re doing a terrific job.”

“In the last week, mostly he’s just been watching me, as if he’s waiting for me to screw up,” Charlie told her, with another glance at her baby son’s smiling face.

“Maybe he’s just watching you because you’re gorgeous.”

“I don’t think so.” Though that thought sent a skittering of something delicious whipping through her. Instantly, though, she poured metaphorical ice water on those feelings. She wasn’t here for a date. She was here to build a better life for her and her son. And this new job with the lovely raise was a big part of her grand plan. All she had to do was convince her new boss that she was indispensable.

“Have you looked in the mirror lately?” Katie countered. “Trust me, if I was playing for the other team, even I would hit on you.”

Charlie laughed at the very idea. Katie was juggling so many men she hardly had a moment to herself. But the truth was, Katie had a point. Most people looked at Charlie—blond hair, big blue eyes and boobs any Barbie doll would be proud of, and immediately came to the conclusion that she didn’t have a brain in her head. She’d spent most of her life proving people wrong.

The one time she had gone with her heart instead of her head …

“He’s not like that,” Charlie said with another look at his closed door.

“Honey, all men are ‘like that.’”

Charlie ignored that and lowered her voice. “I know he only hired me as a favor to Quentin.”

“So what? Who cares why he hired you, Charlie?” The sounds of typing stopped abruptly and Katie’s voice came across the phone loud and clear. “It doesn’t matter how you got there. The point is, the job is yours now. And you’re already proving that you’re perfect for it.”

“Thanks,” Charlie said. “Now, I’m going to do some perfect filing. Talk to you later.”

When she hung up, Charlie was still smiling.

Two

Two hours later, Vance crumpled the newspaper and tossed it aside. Fury rose up inside him but he quickly reined it in. Just as Tracy had promised, the story about a possible affair between Ann Richardson and Dalton Rothschild was on page twenty-six. For a second, Vance told himself that since the so-called story was buried in a small column on a page filled with ads, it might get ignored.

But the chances of that were actually slim to none. There was nothing people liked better than the makings of a good scandal and this one would be talked about for weeks. It wasn’t just the rumors of an affair, but the possibility of collusion that had him worried. He hoped to hell there was nothing to it, because if there was, they were looking at official investigations, charges—possibly even the destruction of Waverly’s.

He snatched up his phone, punched in a number and waited for it to be answered. When it was, he snapped, “Dammit, Tracy.”

“Vance, not my fault,” the woman on the other end said matter-of-factly. “My editor got a tip and we acted on it. At least I gave you a heads-up.”

“Yeah, for all the good that does me.” Tracy had called him late last night. Not much of a warning system, and he had a feeling she had only done it because she wanted to give him a little extra time to stew over it.

He stood up and turned to stare out at the city streets. Manhattan was sweltering under a vicious summer sun. Tourists strolled along Madison Avenue, getting buffeted by the quicker-moving locals who had places to go and didn’t want to linger in the heat.

“Is there any proof of this story?”

“You know I can’t answer that.”

“Fine. But if you have any other ‘tips’ let me know before you go to print, will you?”

“No promises,” she snapped. Then she asked, “Sound familiar?” just before she hung up.

Vance winced, knowing full well she shouldn’t be telling him a damn thing. A year ago, Tracy had been in his bed for a couple of months and when he’d told her it was over, he had reminded her that he’d gone into the affair warning her of “no promises.”

It was the same warning he gave every woman who entered his life. He wasn’t looking for long-term. He’d seen what his mother’s and older sister’s deaths had done to his father. Hell, it had crippled the man, leaving him a broken, empty shell. If love was that powerful, then Vance wanted nothing to do with it. As for having a family of his own? He’d never even been tempted. So, since he had zero interest in finding a wife, for God’s sake, why bother pretending anything different? Wasn’t it better to be honest with a woman up front?

He shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts, since they really had nothing to do with the current situation anyway.

Setting the phone back in its cradle, Vance stuffed his hands into his pockets and shook his head. Waverly’s was all he had and damn if he’d lose it. His family had built this place and, as one of the last Waverlys still standing, he would do whatever was necessary to save it.

Turning, he buzzed the intercom. “Charlie, would you come in here, please?”

A second or two later, his door opened and she was standing in the doorway. Her long blond hair hung over one shoulder and her wide blue eyes were fixed on him. Once again, Vance felt that punch of something hot hit his system and he was forced to deliberately quash it.

“Is there a problem?”

“You could say that,” Vance muttered and waved her inside. He pointed at the couch on the far wall and said, “Have a seat.”

She did and he noticed the wary expression on her face.

“Relax,” he said, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. “I’m not firing you.”

She let out a breath and gave him a smile. “Good to know. What can I do for you, then?”

Bracing his forearms on his knees, Vance looked into her eyes and said, “You can tell me everything you’ve heard lately about Ann Richardson.”

“Excuse me?”

“If there’s been talk, I want to know about it,” he told her flatly. “You must have heard about the article in the paper.”

Her eyes shifted away from him for a second before returning to meet his stare. “The phone’s been ringing for the last half hour with people wanting to talk to you.”

“Perfect,” he muttered. “Who?”

“I’ve got a stack of messages on my desk, but mainly, it’s the other board members and then there were a couple of reporters. Also, a cable business network wants an interview.”

He fell back against the sofa cushion and shook his head again. “This is going to get much worse before it’s over.” He had to talk to Ann. Figure out what was going on and the best way to mount a defense. His gaze speared into Charlie’s.

“I know people are talking about this here in the company. What have you heard?”

She frowned at him. “I don’t listen to gossip.”

“Ordinarily, a good thing. Right now, I need to know what people in the building are saying.”

She took a long, slow breath and looked as if she were having an internal argument with herself on whether or not to answer him. Briefly, Vance considered making that request an order, but discounted that notion. He didn’t want to make her defensive and careful about what she said. He needed as much information as he could get.

She bit into her bottom lip and finally blurted out, “People are worried. They’re afraid Waverly’s will be shut down, that they’re going to lose their jobs. Frankly, I’m a little worried, too. The article mentioned possible collusion—”

“Yeah, I know it did,” he muttered.

“What does Ms. Richardson say?”

Vance scowled. “I haven’t spoken to her about it yet. I got a tip about the article coming out today, but not in time to do anything about it. I expect it will be a topic of conversation during the board meeting, though.”

“What do you think is going on?” she asked and he realized that by asking her opinion on what was happening in Waverly’s, he’d opened a door between them.

A week ago, she would have been too skittish, too nervous to ask him that. Now, though, things had apparently changed. Oddly, he didn’t mind. She was a good listener and it was nice to be able to talk this out with someone who knew what was going on, yet didn’t have a major stake in the outcome.

“I don’t know,” he admitted and that cost him. Vance didn’t like not having the answers. He wasn’t accustomed to being in the dark. He preferred being on top of any given situation. Knowing the answers before the questions were asked. In this case, though, all he had to go on were his gut instincts. “I like Ann. She’s always struck me as a sensible, honest woman. She’s been good for Waverly’s …”

“But?”

One corner of his mouth lifted. Not just a good listener, but insightful, too, hearing the hesitation in his voice.

“But the truth is, I don’t know her very well.” He leaned back against the couch. “No one here does. She does her job, but keeps to herself.”

“There’s a lot of that going around,” she murmured.

Cocking his head, he asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She stiffened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—I only meant that you—Well, you’re pretty much a loner, too, and … Oh, just fire me and get it over with.”

For the first time in longer than he cared to admit, Vance laughed. He saw the surprise on her face and knew it was echoed on his own features. For a week, he’d been regretting hiring Charlotte Potter. Right at that moment, he couldn’t remember why. She was smart, competent and she made him laugh.

If only she didn’t smell so good.

“As I said,” he told her, “I’m not going to fire you.”

Still, irritated by his own thoughts, by the flicker of something hot bristling inside him, Vance shut it all down. He pushed up from the couch and purposely made his voice brisk and businesslike. Back on firm footing, boss to assistant. “If you do hear anything, I want you to tell me immediately.”

Charlie slowly rose to her feet and lifted her chin in a defiant tilt. “I won’t spy on my friends.”

She went up another notch in his estimation. One thing Vance could admire was loyalty. “I’m not asking you to spy,” he pointed out. “Just to listen.”

“I can do that.”

“Good.” He opened the closet door, pulled out his suit coat and slipped it on. “I’m leaving for the board meeting now.” He checked the gold watch on his left wrist. He’d be late if he didn’t leave right away, and Vance Waverly was never late for anything.

“I should be back by four—have those condition reports on the Ming vases ready for me when I get back.”

“Yes, sir.”

He heard her sharp reply, and for a second, regretted the fact that she was doing much as he was—shifting back into business mode. Then the regret dropped away. Better this way. Easier. And far more logical. He didn’t look back as he stalked from his office, headed for the boardroom and the meeting that would no doubt shake up a few things at Waverly’s.

Charlie let out a breath she hadn’t even been aware she was holding. For a few brief moments, she and Vance had actually been talking like … friends. She’d had a chance at a tiny peek at the man behind the cool facade that usually shrouded him.

And that one peek had completely intrigued her and made her want more. So not a good thing, Charlie told herself firmly. Wanting more with Vance Waverly made as much sense as wanting to spend the afternoon in Paris. And had as much chance of happening.

Nope. He was boss. She was assistant. And never the twain would meet or mingle or anything else for that matter. Frowning to herself, Charlie walked back to her desk. She had been completely off men for more than two years. Hadn’t been attracted to one. Hadn’t been so much as tempted by the thought of romance. Ever since she had made the giant mistake of trusting the wrong man.

But now, for the first time in way too long, she had felt that little tingle of … appreciation? Interest?

“And just like before,” she muttered in disgust, “you picked exactly the wrong man.” Wrong for different reasons, of course, but still …

No, she wouldn’t jeopardize her job, her newfound security, for a passing flirtation. No good could come of that. So Charlie reined in her hormones and then tied them down nice and tight. She didn’t need to be indulging in any fantasies about her boss, for heaven’s sake. What she needed to be doing was impressing the hell out of him—as she’d spent the past week doing—so she could keep this job.

Every step up the ladder was a good one. Charlie had plans. She wouldn’t always be an assistant. She was going to keep learning the business, eventually get her master’s in art history and then get a job as curator or an art specialist there at the house. Just as Ann Richardson, their CEO, had done when she was starting out. The higher Charlie climbed the proverbial ladder, the better the life she could provide for herself and her son.

Jake was what mattered, she reminded herself sternly. Her baby boy was counting on her and she wasn’t going to let him down.

With that thought firmly in mind, Charlie dismissed all her earlier notions about Vance Waverly and got back to work. Picking up a file folder from the edge of her desk, she headed for the jewelry salesroom on the second floor. She had the provenances for several pieces to deliver.

Plush carpet muffled her steps as she walked down the long halls toward the elevator. Throughout the floor, she heard typing and quiet phone conversations. It was a rarified atmosphere up on the seventh floor. Here was where the officers of Waverly’s worked, made the decisions that kept the auction house one of the top of its kind in the world. And here she would make her mark, she told herself as she stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the second floor.

The doors slid shut on a whisper and the subtle strains of classical music sighed out around her. She caught her reflection in the polished brass doors and smiled. When the doors opened again, she walked along gleaming wood floors, listening idly to the click of her own heels tapping out a fast beat.

The first two floors of the venerable old building were devoted to the salesrooms. Each of them was different. Each of them beautiful in its own way.

Polished oak floorboards stretched for what seemed like miles. Paintings and sculptures lined the walls and huge vases filled with fresh flowers created a subtle scent that permeated the air.

The hush of this floor was almost churchlike, and why not? Here was where the treasures of the world came to be admired, and then sold to live again with someone new. Charlie walked to the far room and stepped through the wide, double doorway.

“Charlie!” A male voice called her name and she turned.

Justin Dawes was walking toward her. Justin was the head of the precious-gem department at Waverly’s. About forty, he was balding, far too thin and his kind blue eyes were always narrowed in a squint. He had told her once it was the curse of his profession. Too many hours looking through jeweler’s loupes at the stones he loved so much.

Today Justin looked a little harried and less than his urbane self. His tie was loosened and the sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to the elbow. His suit coat had been abandoned and thin wisps of brown hair stood straight up at the crown of his head.

“You have the provenances?”

“Right here,” she said and handed over the file.

“Good. That’s great.” He flipped through them, then shot her a look. “They’ve been verified?”

“Over and over again,” she said, smiling. “Justin, you checked all the stones yourself, remember? Even before the provenances came through. Don’t worry. Everything’s good.”

“It’s an important collection,” he told her, glancing back into the room where an auction would be held in two days. “Want to take a look?”

“I really do.”

He took her arm and guided her into the center of the room.

Lighting was everything in an auction house, and Waverly’s spared no expense in seeing things done right. Around the circumference of the huge, oak-paneled room, glass cases stood beneath spotlights that shone down on the fabulous items inside those cases. Those lights made the precious gems glitter and shine like fallen stars—or pieces of a rainbow.

Charlie couldn’t stop the sigh of appreciation. They turned in a slow circle, admiring the whole setup before Justin said, “Come look at this one piece. It’s amazing.”

“Oh, my,” she whispered as she followed Justin toward a single display case. Beneath the glass lay a swell of black velvet and on that velvet was a necklace unlike anything she’d ever seen before.

Gold wire, as thin and fragile as a single strand of hair, dripped with rubies and diamonds. The stones themselves were wrapped in the gold thread, then left to dangle like dreams from the slender chain that made up the base of the piece. The rubies shone like fresh blood and the diamonds were …

“It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it?” Justin stared at the stones like a man in love. “Worn by the queen of Cadria more than a hundred years ago. It was crafted especially for her—some say, by Fabergé himself.” He sighed a little. “Of course, we can’t prove that, because even Cadria’s royal family today doesn’t know for sure. A shame, really. Wouldn’t that have looked impressive in the provenance? But still, stunning.”

Charlie shook her head as she looked at the necklace. She wanted to touch it but was terrified to breathe too close to it. “It’s amazing, Justin. But why is the king of Cadria auctioning off so many of the royal jewels?”

“Ah,” he said with a wink, “the current king is honoring his grandmother by establishing a charity in her name, and the proceeds from this sale are going directly to that. Plus, he thinks the publicity from this sale will spur more donors to support his grandmother’s charity.”

“Still seems a shame to get rid of something that belongs to your whole family.”

“Oh, don’t worry about royals, sweetie,” Justin told her. “They have more jewelry and shiny stuff than they know what to do with. These pieces probably won’t even be missed.”

“I would miss a necklace like that,” she said softly. “I’d be too scared of breaking or losing the darn thing to actually wear it, but I would miss it.”

“You’ve got a soft heart, Charlie,” Justin told her with a grin. “Which means you’ll love the legend of the necklace.”

“A legend?”

“Oh, yes. All the best stones come with a legend. Apparently, the then-king had this crafted especially for his bride as a wedding present. It’s said the rubies are charmed somehow and hold the secret to a long and happy marriage.”

Charlie looked over at him and smiled as her heart twisted in her chest. What would that be like, she wondered, to be loved so much? She thought of the queen who had worn it and the king who had clearly adored her and thought that sometimes, real life was even better than fairy tales. “That’s lovely.”

Justin winked at her. “Yeah. And it should really push up the price on the necklace, too. Nothing a bidder likes more than a little history added to a piece.”

She laughed. Couldn’t help it. “You’re shameless.”

“Guilty as charged,” he admitted with a grin.

Charlie reached out one hand toward the glass enclosure, then stopped before touching it. Her fingers curled into her palm.

“It’s okay. Alarms are turned off for the moment. Here, let me show you.” Justin lifted the glass case off the tall wooden base and allowed the necklace the freedom to shine.

“Even prettier,” she said on a sigh. Though it was so far out of her range of possibilities it might as well have been on Mars, Charlie couldn’t help the tickle of avarice that made her want to snatch it up.

“You want to pet it?” he asked, laughing.

“Pet it, try it on, wear it home and sing it to sleep,” Charlie admitted, deliberately putting her hands behind her back to keep herself from giving in to the urge to touch those glittering stones that shone so warmly under the lights.

“Can’t blame you,” Justin said. “And with your coloring, it would look gorgeous on you.”

She thought so, too. In fact, Charlie could almost feel the cool glide of the gold against her skin and the icy feel of each stone settling into place around her neck. Oh, it would be wonderful as well as terrifying to own something that looked so … magical. Then she imagined the expression on Vance Waverly’s handsome face as he draped that priceless necklace around her throat and—Okay. Stop it!

Clearing her mind of thoughts that had no business being there she said, “Yes, well. When I marry a rich prince, I’ll be sure to tell him what kind of necklace to have made for me.”

Justin laughed. “There you go. I like a woman with a plan.”

He set the glass cover back into place and Charlie let her gaze slide around the room. Tomorrow, this room would be filled with rows of straight-backed, velvet-tufted chairs. A podium would be centered at the end of the room and the sound system would be hooked up. The day after that, this room would be bustling with bidders from all over the world, each of them hoping to take home a small piece of the long-dead queen’s collection.

Charlie had already signed on to work the auction in whatever capacity she was needed, but she wouldn’t be envying the buyers. Justin was right, she thought. Charlie did have a plan. But it didn’t include diamonds and rubies. It entailed working her way to the very top of the auction world and being able to buy a house with a yard for her son to play in. Before he was too old to be interested in playing.

Charlie Potter wasn’t the kind of woman men draped in diamonds, and that was okay with her. These pieces were lovely to look at, but the truth was, she’d be too afraid of losing them to ever enjoy owning them.

She had nothing in common with the kind of people who could come in here and walk out with a queen’s jewelry. Which meant, she reminded her hormones, that she had nothing in common with Vance Waverly. That a few minutes of relaxed conversation wasn’t the go-ahead for her to get all dreamy-eyed over him. Besides, she told herself, it was important to pause and remember what had happened the last time she had let her heart take control of her mind.

Three

She took a deep breath, forced a bright smile and said, “You’ve done an amazing job, Justin.”

“Thanks.” He swept the room with an experienced eye. “I think so, too. Should be a hell of an auction. You’ll be working it, right?”

“Oh, I’ll be here.”

“Thought you would.” He gave her a knowing wink.

In the two years she’d been at Waverly’s, she had spent as much time working the actual sales as possible. Her love of auctions had started in college when her roommate had dragged her to a small auction of movie memorabilia. That was all it had taken.

The fast-paced bidding, the treasures from the past and the excited atmosphere sparked by the people attending had all come together to energize Charlie in a way she’d never experienced before. She had loved the whole thing. Every moment. She had watched the bidders, studied the auctioneer and thrilled to the quick pace of items bought and sold. She’d felt a stirring of excitement she had never known and that was enough to set her on the path that had eventually led her to Manhattan and her entry-level job at Waverly’s.

She’d learned everything she could about the auction world and studied both this house and the other stately auction houses. She had wanted to be part of something amazing and every time she walked into this wonderful old building, she felt as if she’d accomplished her dream. At least, the first part of it.

Charlie made a point of working the auctions here, to support Waverly’s, to help where she could and to continue to learn the ins and outs of a business that seemed to change daily. From the first moment she had stepped inside Waverly’s, she had known that she’d found where she belonged. And the feeling had only intensified since that day.

“You know me,” she said quietly, her gaze sliding across the familiar, the exciting. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Excellent. We’ll need as many hands as possible behind the scenes.”

“Sure.” Thankfully, the day-care facility at Waverly’s was open during all the auctions so that employees could leave their children somewhere safe while they worked. Jake did love being with all of his little friends and … She checked her watch. “I’ve gotta go, Justin. Thanks for the grand tour.”

“No problem,” he said, already opening the file she’d brought him to study the provenances. “See you Saturday.”

“Right.” She turned and walked out of the luscious display of jewels that were the stuff of dreams. Taking the elevator up two floors, she eagerly left behind dreams for a chance to see her reality.

“I’m not going to dignify these unfounded rumors with a response,” Ann Richardson said softly, her gaze sweeping the board members gathered around the long, cherrywood conference table. “And I hope I can count on all of you for your support.”

People shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but Vance held perfectly still, his gaze fixed on the woman facing them down with the air of a young queen. Tall and willowy, Ann had her ice-blond hair styled into a perfect, curled-under style that ended at her jawline. Her blue eyes were sharp as she met the stares of the other board members. She wore one of her elegantly tailored business suits—this one black with gray pinstripes—and her chin was lifted at a defiant angle. She looked proud and strong as she silently dared anyone to contradict her.

Vance had always admired Ann Richardson, but never more so than right now. With the article in the newspaper, the entire city would be whispering about her, speculating about her. But it seemed that she had chosen a path to take—steely indifference—and he had to applaud it. If she fought the charges with a vehement argument, it would only spur on the talk. She couldn’t admit they were true—even if they were. The only road she could take was the “no comment” route. By doing it here first, with the board, she would be able to gauge how well it would go over elsewhere.

The board members looked shaken and worried and he knew they were all thinking about the possible ramifications of this situation. If it wasn’t cleared up soon, rumor would become suspicion and suspicion would become fact. Whether or not she was guilty of anything, Ann’s career and reputation could very well be destroyed—along with Waverly’s.

Seconds ticked past and the quiet in the room was deafening. Here on the seventh floor, the boardroom was a study in understated elegance. The walls were a pale beige, the crown molding a stark white. Old masters hung on the walls and a twisted brass sculpture of Atlas balancing the world on his shoulders stood in one corner.

Vance held his peace, since he wanted to hear everyone else’s reactions before he spoke. He knew he wouldn’t have to wait long. It took about ten seconds.

“It’s outrageous is what it is,” George Cromwell sputtered first.

“These innuendoes are baseless,” Ann insisted, her voice calm. “I would never put Waverly’s at risk, and I hope you all know that.”

“Yes, Ann,” George Cromwell said from his seat at the end of the table. “I’m sure we all appreciate your devotion to the company, but this article clearly states that we have a problem.”

Vance saw the flinch Ann couldn’t quite disguise. But since he was the youngest member of the board, he was betting no one else noticed.

“The article is nothing more than rumor and supposition.”

“But it’s smoke,” George insisted. “And people will assume that where there is smoke, there is fire.”

Vance rolled his eyes and shook his head. If there was a cliché, George would find it. At seventy-five, he was long past the age of retiring, but the old fox had no intention of giving up his seat on the board. He liked the power. Liked being able to have a say in things. And right now, it looked as though he was enjoying putting Ann through the wringer.

“How can we take your word for this, when there was clearly enough evidence for this reporter to write his story?”

“Since when does a reporter need to back up a story?” she asked haughtily. “There’s more fiction in the daily papers than you’ll find at the nearest bookstore and you all know it.”

Good point, Vance thought, still regarding their CEO warily. He wished he knew Ann better, but he didn’t. She seemed like a warm, congenial enough person, but she’d made a point of keeping people at a distance, refusing to make friends—and now that strategy just might bite her in the ass.

“People believe what they read,” George intoned darkly.

“George, do hush up.” Edwina Burrows spoke up from the end of the table.

“You know I’m right about this,” the man countered hotly.

As the two older people shot verbal darts at each other, Vance watched Ann. Her mouth worked as if she were grinding her teeth and Vance couldn’t really blame her. It had to be hard, standing in front of this bunch, defending yourself against what was at this point merely rumor.

Finally, she turned to him and asked, “Vance? What about you? As the last remaining Waverly on the board, I value your opinion. Do you believe me?”

He studied her for a long minute. Vance knew that now the others were waiting to hear what he had to say. And he knew that whatever he said would swing sentiment either for or against Ann. His first responsibility was to the company and the thousands of people both here and abroad who depended on Waverly’s for their very livelihoods.

But he also owed Ann his support. She’d stepped into the role of CEO and done a hell of a job. She was smart and capable and had never given him any reason to doubt her motives or her loyalties to the house.

He wasn’t convinced that she was telling the complete truth, though. Like it or not, George had a point. That reporter had picked up on some tidbit of gossip as the basis for the story. But even if there was something between Ann and Dalton, Vance still didn’t believe she would sell out Waverly’s.

He’d like to have all the information before he took a stand one way or the other, but that wasn’t going to happen. What it came down to for Vance was this: Did he trust his gut instincts or not? Bottom line? He always went with his instincts. So he took a chance.

“I believe you,” he said loudly enough that no one could miss it.

He saw her shoulders relax just a bit in silent relief and he knew he’d done the right thing to support her publicly. But he wasn’t finished.

“That said,” Vance continued, looking directly into Ann’s blue eyes, “if this reporter continues to throw mud at Waverly’s, we’ll all need to be prepared.”

His silent message to her was, If I’m wrong about you, you had better have a good backup plan—because if it means saving Waverly’s, you’re gone.

She gave him a small, tight nod and Vance was pretty sure she understood.

“You’re right,” Ann said aloud. Shifting her gaze back to the rest of the board, she continued by saying, “Dalton Rothschild is not to be trusted. If he thinks there’s a chink in our armor, he will make a move.”

“Such as?” Edwina asked.

Ann gritted her teeth. “A hostile takeover wouldn’t be out of the question.”

Vance listened to the outraged shouts and furious whispers that rolled through the room and wondered why none of them had considered that possibility before. He certainly had. The implications of what this might mean were staggering. Rothschild knew that if he tried to simply buy out Waverly’s he would hit a stone wall. But if he thought to take it over by means of destroying the auction house first, then scooping up what was left, that was something else.

Ruin the house’s reputation, and then buy them out when the business was trashed.

Not a bad plan, Vance thought with icy calm. But one that would fail. He’d see to it himself. Gaze fixed on Ann, he watched as she waited for the tumult around the table to die down. When it didn’t happen fast enough, she rapped her knuckles against the cherrywood table as if she were a teacher trying to restrain a room full of kids. But it worked. When it was quiet, she spoke up again, cool and collected.

“I need you all to be on guard at all times. Keep an eye on our employees. If Dalton means business, he could be wooing an insider into spilling our secrets. We can’t take anything for granted right now. Waverly’s needs us—all of us—to be on our toes.”

Vance scowled at the thought. He didn’t like the idea that there might be a spy among them at Waverly’s. He’d known most of the people he worked with for years. A lot of them had watched him grow up. Looking at them now with suspicious eyes went against the grain. Besides, he couldn’t help asking himself why someone would betray Waverly’s. The house had always been a good place to work. The company took care of the employees. Hell, there was even a day-care center on the fourth floor so that mothers didn’t have to worry about their children while they were at work.

Children.

An image popped into his mind. The framed photo on Charlie’s desk. That of a small boy, grinning up at the camera, displaying two impossibly tiny teeth. Unease washed through him as the board meeting went on around him.

For a brief moment, he wondered if he should be suspicious of Charlie.

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t even have to listen to the voices rising and falling in the room to know what they were saying. The only two female board members, Veronica Jameson and Edwina Burrows—grande dames of society, each well into her seventies—were extremely protective of Ann. Maybe it was the whole “woman power” thing, but those two were always Ann’s most vociferous supporters.

“I’m sure you’ll know best how to handle this, Ann,” Veronica said, her thin voice chirping like a hungry bird’s.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“I’m sure you do,” Simon West carped in apparent frustration.

“I realize what a difficult situation this is,” Ann said, her voice briefly carrying over the rest. “But if we band together, I’m sure we’ll—”

“Band together? Against what? Some ephemeral danger? Or against you?” Simon, a shrunken, wizened man of about a hundred, slammed the tip of his cane against the tabletop to get everyone’s attention. Even Vance let go of his thoughts long enough to stare at the older man.

Simon had been at Waverly’s for as long as anyone could remember. There were some who insisted he was there at the dedication of the building 150 years ago. Vance smiled to himself at the thought.

Simon was furious and looked as if he were about to have a stroke. His eyes bugged out, his cheeks were splotches of red and spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth as he shouted, “Nothing like this happened before we allowed a woman to be in charge!”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Vance muttered. Sometimes the old guard was so old they forgot they were living in a shiny new world where women didn’t stay at home unless that’s where they wanted to be.

“That’s not helpful, Simon,” Ann muttered, and Vance had to give her points for patience. If it was him, he’d have grabbed the cane away and tossed it into the corner.

Then he rolled his eyes as Veronica and Edwina charged into the fray in defense of their CEO.

He glanced across the table at the empty chair. Vance’s uncle, Rutherford Waverly, should be sitting there. As the most senior member of the board, he should have been at every meeting. And right now, Vance would have liked to get his uncle’s take on all of this. But Rutherford had hated Waverly’s and everything about it ever since he and Vance’s father, Edward, had had a falling-out decades ago. Vance himself had hardly spoken to the other man in years.

But right now, he could have used a cooler head. An unbiased opinion.

“Whether or not we like what’s happening,” Ann declared, effectively silencing the last of the grumblers around the table by keeping her voice low and calm, forcing them to quiet down long enough to hear her. “The situation is here and we have to deal with it. If Dalton Rothschild is preparing for a takeover, all of us have to watching for any signs of treachery or betrayal. As much as I hate to say it, one of our people may be spying for the enemy.”

Once again, the image of his new assistant popped into his mind. What did he really know about her?

The fourth floor was part of Waverly’s and yet, so wildly different from the rest of the venerable auction house it could have been on another planet. Every other floor in the building was sedate, lovely, elegant.

Here, though, it was all primary colors and the scent of crayons and cookies and milk. The rest of the building was usually couched in what felt like a cathedral-like hush. But here, there was laughter, giggles that bubbled up to the high ceilings and fell back down like a rain of daisies.

Every time Charlie stepped onto this floor, she felt a wave of gratitude to Waverly’s for taking such good care of its employees. If she had to pay for day care on her own, she wouldn’t have been able to save enough money to move into the two-bedroom apartment where she and Jake now lived. Not to mention the fact that she would have spent every minute of every workday worried about her son’s safety and happiness. Was he being fed or played with or hugged when he fell down?

At Waverly’s she didn’t have to worry about any of that. This space was completely childproof and safe. The women hired to work here had been vetted by HR and licensed by the State of New York in child care and early childhood development. Each child here was cared for and looked after and the nominal fee she paid every month was more than worth it.

She walked past the room that was set up with tables and chairs and two computer stations where older kids would come in after school and do their homework while they waited for the workday to end. She peeked into the nap room, furnished with a half-dozen cribs and two comfy rocking chairs, then slipped past quietly to stand in the doorway of the toddler play area.

Here again, there were bright colors on the walls and murals of fairy gardens and rainbows to enchant the kids. There were baby walkers for the infants, stuffed animals and games for the toddlers. There were shelves filled with books for the older kids and dozens of play rugs and pillows covering the wood floor.

An excited squeal greeted her, and Charlie reacted instantly. With a rush of love swamping her, she hurried across the floor to pick up her son and cuddle him close. He smelled like shampoo and bananas. She smiled when his little arms came around her neck and he dug his face into the curve of her neck. “Mamamamamama …”

It thrilled her to hear the babble of sound that defined the essence of who she was now. The old Charlie had faded away the moment she’d learned she was pregnant. The woman who had had vague, hazy dreams of success and flashy cars and beautiful homes had become a mother. Her dreams now were filled with plans for her son. With ways to ensure his happiness. With hopes for the future she could provide for him.

As she held that warm little body close to her, she told herself that Jake would never wonder if he was wanted. Would never be afraid.

Pushing all else but her baby aside, she looked into the dark blue eyes he had inherited from the father he’d never known. “Are you being a good boy?”

Jake grinned and her heart melted.

“He’s a terrific boy and you know it,” Linda Morrow said, coming up behind her. “Sweetest baby ever.”

“I think so,” Charlie agreed and gave Jake a quick kiss before setting him down on the rug again. When he screwed up his face to cry, she handed him a ball and he laughed in response. Nothing upset Jake for long.

“I was downstairs checking out the salesroom for Saturday’s auction and couldn’t resist stopping by to see him.”

“Oh, I get it,” Linda said, her gaze constantly shifting to take in the ten or so children scattered around the room and the other two women in charge of them. “That’s the beauty of working at a place like this. Being able to see your child during the day, reassure yourself …”

“Am I that obvious?”

“All good moms are,” Linda told her with a wink. “You know your baby’s safe here, but your heart insists on seeing for yourself once in a while.”

“Wish it was more often,” she said wistfully as she watched Jake crawl in a mad rush toward a giant, purple, plush teddy bear. In a perfect world, she’d be a stay-at-home mom with a dozen kids. She’d always wanted a big family. But since she had to work, she was grateful that she’d found a job doing something that she loved. Being part of something as fast-paced and exciting as the world of high-end auctions was a dream come true. Except for the not having enough time for her son thing.

“Jake took a step this morning all on his own.”

“He did?” Charlie’s heart gave a sharp, painful twist. She hadn’t been there to see that first step. She’d missed it and that memory was now Linda’s. The sting of that knowledge cut deep, but she quickly reassured herself that stolen moments didn’t make up a lifetime and that she would have years of memories of Jake’s “firsts” to take out and relive again when she was a doddering old woman.

“It was only the one step,” Linda was saying, “then he got this incredibly surprised look on his face and dropped like a stone.” She smiled. “But he’s getting it, and pretty soon he’ll be running everywhere.”

“He will, won’t he? God, it’s all going by so fast.”

Charlie watched her son go up on his knees, lift his arms, then fall forward onto the stuffed teddy bear with a wild giggle. His first step, then running. Then he’d be in school and then graduating and then college and marriage and a family and—Charlie laughed at her own thoughts. He was barely thirteen months old and she had him practically retired.

Plenty of time to build memories, she told herself. “I’ve got to get back to work,” she said and reluctantly turned for the door. She stopped, though, and asked, “Did he eat the watermelon chunks I sent with him today?”

“No, but he scarfed down the banana,” Linda told her.

One thing wasn’t changing. Jake would eat nothing but bananas if given half a chance.

“Okay, then.” She looked at her son one more time, as if to remind herself just what she was working for, then left the playroom behind.

Back at her desk, Charlie got caught up on Vance’s mail, the requests for authentication from the fine arts division and the incoming provenances on the next auction to be held, the Ming Dynasty porcelain.

She skimmed each one on her computer screen before sending them to the printer. It was fascinating to read about artists who had lived and died centuries ago. Who had created such beautiful, fragile things that had survived through the years.

What must it have been like to create such a long-lasting legacy? Had they expected their art to survive all this time? Or had they thought only of making a vase worthy enough of purchase so they could feed their families? No one would ever know, but Charlie loved imagining the lives of those long-dead artists and wondered what they’d make of seeing their treasures here, in a modern auction house.

While the laser printer hummed along, a ding sounded, alerting Charlie to an incoming email. She switched over to the mail program, clicked on the header INFORMATION REQUIRED and then froze.

Her gaze locked on the screen, her heart stopped. Breath was trapped in her lungs.

And fear rose up to take a bite out of her soul.

Four

Vance left the boardroom, still considering everything Ann had said. He wanted to believe that there was nothing between her and Dalton Rothschild. He also wanted to believe that there was no hostile takeover in the works. The thought of any of Waverly’s employees secretly working for the enemy was a hard one to take.

But worse was the thought that had been circling in his mind like some twisted tornado. No matter how he tried to dislodge the thoughts, they kept coming back.

If he was going to suspect an employee of betraying the house, then he had to take a good, hard look at Charlotte Potter. Relatively new to the company. New to the position of his assistant, which would give her access to all kinds of sensitive information about Waverly’s.

He stalked down the long hallway toward his office and the scowl on his face was fierce enough to have others scatter with one look at him. A path was cleared for him and Vance barely noticed. His mind was racing. Was Charlie a spy? Or was she as innocent as she looked?

Vance stopped dead and paid no attention to the people forced to walk around him. If there was something going on here, he had to find out what it was.

Charlie’s gaze locked on the few simple lines of type.

I know who you really are. Forward to this address all of V. Waverly’s files for the last five years of business or risk facing charges of being an unfit mother.

“Unfit?” Her stomach churning, Charlie lifted one hand to her mouth as the tidy little world she’d built around herself crumbled.

Fear was roaring inside her and it was hard to breathe. She wasn’t an unfit mother. She loved her son and she would fight anyone who said differently. But while her fear and fury pumped hot through her veins, a voice in her mind whispered, The past is there, Charlie. You can’t change it. Can’t hide it. If someone finds out …

“Someone has. But who?” She heard the icy dread in her voice as chills snaked along her spine. This couldn’t be happening. It just wasn’t possible. No one in New York knew anything about her—where she’d grown up, who her family was. Except for …

Realization dropped on her like rocks rolling down the side of a mountain. All thunder and fury, crashing into her system and leaving her shaken, as she realized that the only person who knew about her past was Jake’s father. A man she hadn’t seen since she’d told him she was pregnant.

A man, she had found out when she’d started looking for him, who didn’t even exist.

God, she’d been such an idiot. So young and stupid and trusting. Fresh off the bus from a small town upstate, she’d taken her entry-level job at Waverly’s and felt … sophisticated. She had been a walking cliché. Young woman arrives in big city, doesn’t know anyone. Gets overwhelmed by the possibilities of a world far wider than she’d ever known before.

She found a tiny apartment in Queens. Rode the subway every day into Manhattan. She had felt like part of the bustling, exciting city and, looking back, she could see what easy prey she had been for the man who had romanced her.

In a blink, she saw it all again. Felt the rush when she’d dropped her phone and a tall, handsome man had picked it up for her. She’d taken one look into those smiling brown eyes and had lost every ounce of common sense her grandmother had spent years instilling in her.

“He hadn’t even had to work that hard,” she whispered, ashamed to admit even now how susceptible she had been to the flattery. To the attention.

He had swept her off her feet, and in a few short weeks had her in his bed and convinced that it was true love. Charlie had had stars in her eyes, thinking that an important architect like Blaine Andersen wanted to be with no one but her. He’d told her that it was his great-grandfather who had designed the Waverly building. He’d been doting and kind—stopping by her office to bring her flowers and candy—helping her find her BlackBerry both times she had lost it. He was the fairytale prince and Charlie had believed in him.

Until she’d told him she was pregnant and he’d disappeared. Until she’d tried to find him and discovered that there was no Blaine Andersen. That the Andersen who had long ago designed the Waverly building had never had children. That she had swallowed a tangle of lies in her pathetic need to be loved. Accepted.

All those thoughts and more raced through her mind in seconds, leaving her shaken, but still furious. This had to be Blaine. He was the only one she’d told about her past. The only one she’d trusted with that information.

“Well, he’s not going to make a fool of me twice,” Charlie muttered and set her fingers on the keyboard.

Hitting Reply, she typed in, Who are you?

The answer came in an instant. Doesn’t matter. I know you. And I will see you lose your baby.

Fresh fear erupted. Just seeing those words on the screen twisted her heart and sent what felt like a lead ball dropping into the pit of her stomach. Whoever it was had included a link in the email. Dreading what she was going to find, she clicked on it.

An old newspaper article flashed onto the screen. A story about her father and how he’d died. Quickly, she shut it all down, as if afraid that article might somehow etch itself onto her computer screen and remain there like a stain for anyone to read.

Clenching her hands together, she squeezed until her knuckles went white. She didn’t know what to do. If she had to go to court and fight for her son, she would lose. She knew that. Charlie didn’t have the kind of money it would take to hire a shark of a lawyer. Besides, what could she say? She couldn’t even name Jake’s father. She had no idea what the guy’s real name was. And if the court looked into her past—where she was from, who her family was …

“Oh, God.”

“Problem?”

She jumped and spun around. Vance Waverly was standing in the doorway. Did she look as guilty as she felt? Could he see the panic in her eyes? How long had he been there? What had he seen? What had he heard?

He took a step into the room and he seemed to fill the space. The man was so tall, so broad-shouldered, and his eyes were sharp enough to see inside a woman’s soul. She hoped to heaven he wasn’t looking that deeply at the moment.

“No,” she blurted out when she could find her voice again. “No problem.”

The lie came easily, though it tasted bitter. She didn’t want to lie to him. She didn’t want to live a life where lying was necessary. But what choice did she have?

“Good,” he said, still watching her. “Do you have the paperwork on the Ming vases ready?”

“Yes, I’ll bring it right in.”

“You’re sure everything is fine?” He was studying her and his brown eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Get a grip, Charlie. She couldn’t let him know how shaken she was. Or that someone, somewhere, was trying to blackmail her. She couldn’t risk anyone finding out anything about her—at least, not until she’d found a way out of this mess. She’d think of something. All she needed was time. Just a little bit of time.

Charlie took a short, sharp breath and nodded. “Absolutely. I’ll just get those papers for you.”

When he walked into his office, her bravado dropped away. What was she going to do? If she sent the files to whoever was threatening her, she could lose her job. If she didn’t send them, she could lose her son. But if she sent the files and got caught, she’d go to jail and lose her son anyway.

Tears burned at the backs of her eyes, but she fought them back. She wouldn’t cry. She wasn’t the naive young thing she had been when Jake’s father had conned her. She was older. Wiser. She’d been burned and learned her lesson. And now she wasn’t just protecting herself. She was a mother. And no one was going to take her son from her.

No one.

For the next few days, Vance kept an eye on his new assistant. Granted, he didn’t know her well, but even he could see the change in her. She was jumpy. Nervous. She opened her email as if she were half expecting the computer to explode.

“Something’s going on with her,” he said.

“So,” Roark urged him, “find out what it is.”

“What a great idea. Wonder why I didn’t think of that?”

Oblivious to the sarcasm, Roark shrugged. He shifted his gaze to pedestrians rushing up and down Fifth Avenue. Summer was here and the sun was making sure everyone knew it. The sky was clear blue, the heat was blistering and the biggest sellers from the street cart vendors were icy bottles of water.

Under a wide umbrella, Vance still felt the heat. His suit coat was stifling, but he’d insisted on eating at the sidewalk café so he and his brother could talk without risk of being overheard. The cacophony of sound outside provided enough white noise that no one would be able to listen in on their conversation.

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