“I’m out for a bit. If the agency calls, tell them we’ll need all ten girls there by Sunday for rehearsal.”
“Okay,” came the voice.
Rupert gestured to the door with an open palm.
Sydney gave him a shaky smile, then led the way outside and around the corner, into a small, glass-fronted coffee bar.
“Frappachino? Mochachino?” asked Rupert.
“Let me,” said Sydney, pulling out her wallet.
Rupert addressed the clerk. “Small half-caf, two sugars, extra foam.”
“Just black for me,” said Sydney as she pulled out a few bills.
They took a corner table with a checkered plastic tablecloth and a metal napkin dispenser. The whine of the coffee machine filled the silence.
“Are we through being mysterious?” asked Rupert.
Sydney took a bracing breath. Then, making a firm decision, she opened her purse and took out the picture of the fake Thunderbolt.
“Do you recognize this?” she asked Rupert.
Rupert took the picture between his fingers and sat back in his red leather seat. “You must be one of the Ericksons.”
Sydney’s stomach bounced clear to the floor.
He
“So, you recognize it?” she asked, struggling to recraft her approach. She hadn’t counted on him knowing the story. Did he know about Grandma? About his father? About his mother’s extortion?
“It’s the heirloom brooch,” said Rupert, dropping it on the table top. “My mother warned me you’d come looking for it one day.”
If he’d known about the Ericksons, why hadn’t he come out of the woodwork before now?
“What, exactly, did she tell you?” asked Sydney.
He stroked his chin as if he’d once had a beard. “You know, you’re not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
The waitress set their coffee cups in front of them, and Rupert shrugged. “Someone a little less classy, a little more West Texas.”
“I’m not an Erickson,” said Sydney.
“Ah-hh.”
She resented his tone. Cole had looked damn classy in his suit yesterday.
“I’m a…friend of the family,” she offered. She wouldn’t mention the Laurent if she could get away with it. If he thought there was interest from a museum, his price would probably go up.
“And you want the brooch.”
She nodded. “I’m prepared to pay.”
He shook his head. “Not for sale.”
Damn. He was sentimental.
She kept a poker face. “You don’t know how much I’m offering.”
He propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his laced knuckles. “It’s pretty valuable to me at the moment.”
“For sentimental reasons?”
He let out a cold laugh. “Sentimental? Me? About them?”
“Then, why…?”
He leaned forward. “Ever heard of Thunder Women’s Wear?”
Sydney shook her head.
“Don’t worry. You will. We caused quite a stir in Miami last season, and we’re scheduled for Milan in ten days.”
She paused. “I don’t understand.”
“That little brooch? That stupid little brooch that my mother practically worshiped, is the centerpiece of my new line-the bold, crisp colors, the angular lines, the drama and majesty of it. We reproduced the jewel using embroidery thread and my final model wears the brooch itself in every show.”
“A fashion line?”
He nodded. “Years, I’ve been slaving away in this fashion backwater. Then, one night, I’m hunting through the drawer for a pair of cuff links and out drops the brooch…”
Looking for a pair of cuff links? The man kept the Thunderbolt in his
Sydney was going to have a heart attack right here and now.
He picked some lint from his sleeve. “So, you see. It may not have sentimental value, but it has business value to me.”
Sydney took a sip of her coffee, searching her brain for a new tactic. She could blurt out a lucrative price- Grandma had arranged a line of credit. But instinct told her it was too soon to talk numbers.
“Did your mother ever tell you how she got the brooch?”
He cracked a knowing smile. “A gift from dear, old Dad. I figured it was hush money.”
“Is that why you never contacted the Ericksons?”
Rupert tipped back his head and laughed. “That would presuppose I gave a damn about his reputation. I just figured those cowpokes would have no more interest in me than I have in them.”
Sydney nodded. That was good. If Rupert didn’t want anything to do with the family, all the better.
She took another drink of her coffee, choosing her words carefully. “You’ve probably guessed it has sentimental value to them.”
Rupert sipped his frothy brew. “That would be why they sent you.”
She nodded, toying with the handle of her mug. “I’m prepared to offer you a hundred thousand dollars.”
Rupert didn’t react. Not even a flicker.
Sydney swore silently. Maybe he’d had it appraised.
Unexpectedly, the chair beside her squeaked against the floor and a shadow loomed large.
“Whatever she just offered you,” said Bradley, plunking himself down and crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. “I’ll double it.”
Sydney felt like she’d been sucker punched. “How did you…”
He cocked his head.
Sydney could have decked him.
Bradley picked up Sydney’s coffee cup and took a deliberate swig. “I assume we’re getting down to brass tacks?”
“Who are you?” asked Rupert.
Bradley stuck out his hand. “Bradley Slander. I deal in antiques.”
“And I’ve got a bidding war?” asked Rupert with an impressive air of unconcern.
“If she makes another offer, I’ll top that, too.” Bradley took another defiant swig of her coffee and slanted her a cold look.
It was official. The man had no soul.
Grandma’s line of credit went as high as three hundred thousand. Bradley could easily match that. Even if Sydney added her own savings, there was no way she’d beat him.
“Exciting as this is-” said Rupert, pushing his chair back from the table “-and much as I’d love to add six figures to my bank account today, the Thunderbolt is not for sale.”
Sydney reached toward him. “But-”
He stared down his aquiline nose. “Sorry, Sydney.”
“Four hundred thousand,” said Bradley.
Rupert hesitated.
Sydney swallowed. Should she match it? It would take all of her savings…
“Sorry,” said Rupert, taking another step.
Sydney jumped up, nearly knocking over the heavy chair.
