An Enchanted Spring: Mists of Fate - Book Two Page 4

  “At first, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing,” she admitted. “I was quite surprised.”

  “Surprised?” he asked.

  She took a sip of her water. “Yes. Very surprised. It’s not every day I’m handed a binder that contains not just a lengthy and very thorough contract for publicity management, but also an entire lot of medieval artifacts up for auction.”

  “I wonder what you are handed every day,” Aidan mused.

  “Nothing like this,” she replied dryly. “The point is, I thought it would be easy enough for me to search for these items online. Imagine my surprise when I couldn’t find any of them.”

  “Surprise. There’s that word again,” he murmured. The server entered with the bottles of whiskey and wine, and Aidan waited for him to pour. Emma gave her nod, and the server left as quietly as he had come.

  Aidan raised his glass. “To our partnership.”

  “I haven’t accepted yet,” Emma reminded him, although she did tap her glass against his. “In fact, I’m quite interested to find out how you obtained these images. This auction is closed until twenty-four hours prior to its start. And, as this binder wasn’t made in the last hour, I have to wonder how it came to be in your possession.”

  Aidan peered at the binder. “Did you sign the contract?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m afraid I can’t tell you how it came to be in my possession.” He watched her struggle with herself for a moment as he enjoyed another sip of his drink. He smiled in appreciation. The more expensive whiskeys be damned; Jameson was a fine display of Irish excellence.

  “I need to have my legal team—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  She leveled a stare at him that had, perhaps, made lesser men quake. “I am not a lawyer, Mr. MacWilliam. You’re asking me to sign a legal document, one that I don’t fully understand. That’s unfair and wrong.”

  Colin would appreciate that mindset. Aidan reached across the table and opened the binder. “Then let’s go over it, line by line,” he suggested. He motioned her to move her chair around to him, and she complied, albeit grudgingly.

  “Go ahead. Ask me your questions.”

  “You’re not my lawyer,” she pointed out.

  “Do you trust me?”

  Emma narrowed her eyes and bit her lip, and Aidan wondered if she would be brave enough to tell him the truth. After a moment, she shook her head.

  “No. I don’t trust anyone.”

  She was reinforcing his good opinion of her with each word she uttered. Colin would be lucky to add her to his team.

  “Smart,” he replied. “But in this case, incorrect. I’ll take you through this contract.” He opened the binder. “If you have any lingering questions, we’ll see what they are and determine, together, if you can take them to your legal team tomorrow. And if I misrepresent anything, you can certainly terminate the contract based on that. See? It says so right here, first paragraph.”

  She pursed her lips, and Aidan waited, slightly nervous. He wanted the chance to get to know her. Not because he was intrigued by her intelligence and her sly wit, he hurried to assure himself. No, it was because Colin was right—this woman was perfect to head up a team overseas. He had to get her to sign on first with him, then with Colin.

  “All right,” she finally agreed. “Let’s go over this together. But I’m not promising anything.”

  He smiled fully at her and set to work.

  • • •

  Emma couldn’t help but notice that Aidan’s intense gaze hadn’t left her face as they discussed the contract. It was almost unnerving how focused he was. She tried to suppress a shiver of awareness; the thought of that focus on her in a different situation made everything south of her belly clench.

  She didn’t bother telling herself to stop with the inappropriate fantasizing; she knew she was a lost cause.

  He flipped the binder to the back and slid it all the way in front of her. “If you were given the ability to purchase one item from the lot, what would you choose?”

  She frowned. Surely he realized she could never afford one of the relics; just the starting bids were higher than her monthly income. “I don’t like to play pretend, Mr. MacWilliam. I deal in facts.”

  “I enjoy hypotheticals, Ms. Perkins, so humor me, if you would.” He gave her an encouraging smile, and her heart turned in her chest. “If money were absolutely no object, and you could purchase any one object in here, what would it be?”

  She decided to play along, and once again looked through the various pieces—helmets, coins, a jousting stick, a writing desk, wax seals, even a piece of fairly well-preserved fabric. She was only pretending to notice the items, though—she spent more than two hours drooling over the various pieces earlier in the afternoon. About halfway through the pages, she stopped and studied the picture of a silver sword boasting a large green gem in the hilt, with an intricate pattern etched on the handle. She squinted to see the pattern in greater detail. It was fuzzy, but from what she could tell it looked like the letter M, twisted up with vines, and a sword stabbing through it lengthwise.

  She pointed to it. “This.”

  Aidan stroked his chin, regarding her thoughtfully. “Are you sure?”

  She frowned at him, again feeling as though this were a test. “You asked, and this is my answer. This sword, had I all the money in the world, is what I would buy.”

  “Why? The large gem? It would make a beautiful pendant.”

  She was horrified at the thought of desecrating such a pristine relic. She wondered again what he was after.

  “No, Mr. MacWilliam. While the gem is very beautiful, what strikes me as special is the etching. If you look closely, you’ll see it’s a letter, entwined with foliage of some sort, and pierced with a sword.” She paused, and realization dawned. She held up her napkin. “That’s the same M as this!”

  Aidan’s eyes burned into hers, his voice low. “What would you do with such a sword, lass?”

  Captivated by his intensity, Emma’s breath hitched. “I’d use it to learn about its original owner.”

  Apparently, her answer was what he’d wanted to hear. He let out a breath, then gave her a blindingly brilliant smile. Emma tried not to react, but when he smiled like that, her heart stopped and her breathing quickened. She desperately tried to get hold of herself. The man was way out of her league. He was too charming, too smart, too wealthy. More than that, he was a client. She had no business lusting after him.

  He was saying something, and Emma tried to shake off the remnants of that smile and focus back on his words instead of his firm mouth.

  “I need your love of medieval antiquities, Ms. Perkins.”

  “How do you know I love medieval artifacts?”

  He blinked quickly. He opened and closed his mouth. “It’s clear that you have a keen eye for valuable artifacts. You chose the most expensive and rarest item in the lot.” He signaled to the man standing just inside the doorway. “Cian, have them bring the main course.”

  He was diverting attention, and Emma’s BS flag went up, but years of experience in her field made her hold her tongue.

  “And I need you for another reason as well. You have a reputation for saving your clients from themselves.” Aidan turned his attention back to Emma, and she frowned.

  “You need me to save you from yourself?”

  His laugh was hollow. “I’m so far beyond saving, but I’d like that to stay between us.”

  She sighed. “Mr. MacWilliam, let’s be honest. What, exactly, do you want from me?”

  His face remained impassive. “I thought we just went over it. I need you to represent me at the auction tomorrow night.”

  “Your anonymity is guaranteed at the auction house. All you have to do is use one of their proxy-by-phone in-house bidders. You won’t have to show your face, and the public, without any visual, won’t be able to trace you.”

  He shook his head. “No. I need to be there, to ensure the lot is as
expected. But I can’t bid for myself.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Why not?”

  His expression grew serious. “As far as anyone knows, I’m in Ireland. And I need it to stay that way.”

  She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Are you in trouble of some sort?”

  “Nothing you need to be involved with. But I prefer it if the only ones who know I’m here are you, your boss, and my clansman.”

  She glanced over at the man standing by the door. “Him?”

  “Aye.”

  “Okay,” she replied slowly. “So, if you’re not going to bid in this auction, why are you here?”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to be a bidder.” He drained his whiskey glass. “I said I wasn’t going to be bidding myself.”

  Her eyes widened. “You can’t mean for me to do so in your place?”

  He nodded wordlessly, his expression determined.

  Emma swallowed hard. “I…” she trailed off, unable to formulate her jumbled thoughts. “This isn’t…”

  He tipped his glass toward her. “Either you accept the contract or you don’t.”

  She carefully—regretfully—pushed the binder away. “I don’t think I can sign this after all.”

  Aidan merely lifted a brow.

  “You’ve put me between a rock and a hard place, Mr. MacWilliam.” She felt a keen disappointment; she really liked him, and working with him would’ve been a welcome breath of fresh air from her normal sort of client.

  He gently nudged the binder back toward her. “I realize that and I’m sorry for it. But you’re the most qualified to help me. And I’ve taken provisions within this agreement against any ramifications to your career, plus the additional offer to pay ten thousand dollars immediately, deposited directly into your bank before the auction tomorrow night.”

  What he was offering was insanity, pure and simple, but what she said was, “This is all very strange. Price would never accept a client paying me directly.”

  “If Price wants his commission, he’ll do as I say,” Aidan replied mildly.

  “Mr. MacWilliam, a very large percentage of Mr. Price’s clientele plan to attend this auction. Some are flying in at the last moment, others are using proxy bidders. If I act as your proxy bidder, as you stipulate in this contract, and I outbid another Price client on an item—”

  “All items.”

  She choked. “What?”

  He topped off her wineglass. “All items, Ms. Perkins. We’re obtaining the whole lot.”

  “That’s millions of dollars!” she burst out.

  “I estimate about three million,” he replied without inflection.

  Three million dollars? Emma couldn’t imagine having that much money to spend on dusty artifacts, no matter how amazing their history.

  “Mr. MacWilliam, I can help you find a proxy bidder—”

  “There isn’t any time, Ms. Perkins,” he interrupted. “It’s you or me. And I am paying your firm a hefty sum to ensure that it’s not me.”

  He folded his arms and leveled a stare at her.

  “All right, Ms. Perkins. You want honesty?”

  She nodded cautiously.

  “I believe you hold a rather expensive degree in medieval studies.”

  “Medieval thought,” she corrected as the color rose to her cheeks. He must know about her articles—but how?

  He dismissed the difference with a wave of his hand. “Your knowledge of the time period is exactly why I wanted you as my publicity manager. Your thesis was on medieval Ireland from the early 1400s through the 1600s. I read it, and enjoyed it.”

  “You read it?” she replied incredulously. The piece—which was over a hundred pages of meticulous research, images, historical documents, and interviews on the actual interclan politics of the time versus what was passed through storytelling—was her pride and joy.

  And she was certain that not even her master’s committee read it all the way through.

  “I’m not an antiquities dealer,” she clarified quickly. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and an idea struck. “I can, however, put you in touch with a very well-known one here in the States.”

  He smiled as if amused. “Only you, Ms. Perkins. Your knowledge of medieval artifacts is impressive, and I need someone to bid for me tomorrow night. This will allow me to see how you work under pressure, if I’m to hire you on an extended contract.”

  She tamped down the urge to scream. “I don’t have what you say you need. You must realize that I am successful in PR because my clients know I’m invisible. That means I don’t make the news, and I don’t make a spectacle of myself. Publicly bidding for a client of Mr. Price’s would probably get me fired. I can’t afford that.”

  Aidan sat back and braced his hands on the table. Large, calloused hands that seemed more suited to a hard day’s labor than signing business documents. His voice rumbled in his chest. “I would make it more than worth your while.”

  Emma’s mouth went dry. How did he make that statement sound so alluring and sexy? She couldn’t allow his charm to work its magic on her, though; she wasn’t going to go all doe-eyed and simpering, which was no doubt what the man was used to. “I’ve worked very hard to get to where I am in this company, and I can’t throw it away for five months’ rent.”

  Aidan shrugged. “I’m not asking you to, but if you must think on it, please do. You have until the auction, after all. But might I draw your attention to the amendment?” He gestured to the binder again. “Read it carefully, lass.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek and turned to where they’d left off. She read aloud: “In addition to the fees set forth by Price Public Relations, Ltd, the Client (Aidan MacWilliam) does hereby agree to the additional sum of $38,453.67, paid directly to the Undersigned (Emmaline Perkins) with the sole purpose of relieving debt incurred through student loans for the knowledge sought by the Client. The Client also agrees to pay one (1) year of royalties to Price Public Relations, Ltd, for any clientele lost from the direct result of this agreement, providing the Undersigned is fully employed for at least one (1) year following any incurred clientele losses.”

  Emma couldn’t believe what she was reading. How did he get a copy of her thesis? Furthermore, how the hell did he know her loan balance?

  And why wasn’t she more freaked out by it?

  She tried to calm her racing thoughts, but one pushed in front of all the others: Instinctively, she trusted him.

  And look where instincts got you, she reminded herself sternly. A death threat from a man you thought you knew better than you knew yourself.

  She met his eyes, but couldn’t form any words.

  He flashed his secret smile at her again. “I make it my business to know everything about someone as important as you, Ms. Perkins. If you decide not to sign, I have a backup plan. But I really, really hope I don’t have to use it. You’re my Plan A, and I like you a lot more than my Plan B.”

  “I can’t help you.” She had never before told her clients no. And she knew Price would be livid when she told him that she failed to secure MacWilliam as a client. She took a deep breath, then looked him straight in the eyes. “If you want honesty…I’m not willing to give up my career for a fat payout.”

  “Admirable,” he murmured. “I can respect that.”

  Emma resisted the urge to reply, and instead took a long drink of wine.

  “However.”

  Damn. There was always a “however” from clients.

  “I give you permission to speak to Price about this. If he signs off on it, will you do it?”

  She blinked.

  He waited another heartbeat, then leaned forward. “Ms. Perkins.”

  “You want me to tell him what, exactly?” She waved at the binder. “That contract is for me to join you at a social event, presumably to help you navigate the American auction world. While it’s not exactly common practice, it isn’t anything that requires this level of secrecy.” She paused. “Unless there
’s something you’re not telling me.”

  He stroked his chin, silently watching her with keen eyes.

  She sat back with a whoosh. “This is all a test, isn’t it? You want to see how far I’ll go to give you what you want before you tell me the real reason why you selected me to be your rep.”

  She saw the smile form on his face before he schooled his features. “As you refuse to sign any contract with me, I’m afraid I can’t answer that. You have until the auction, Ms. Perkins. My offer stands until then. But before you join me, you’ll have to sign the papers.”

  “I’m sorry this can’t work out.” She placed her napkin on the table.

  “I rarely make mistakes, and I know you wouldn’t be a mistake. I suggest you sleep on it. Let’s meet tomorrow at your office in the morning to discuss it further.” He handed her a business card, and she tucked it into her purse. He continued, “For now, let’s enjoy our dinner. I’d love to hear what you think of it. I’ve had Paddy prepare the house special. Have you ever had colcannon?”

  She stared at him a moment, unsure if he was serious. After all that discussion, and all he did to get to her, he was willing to let her walk? She frowned. She shouldn’t worry about him; Mr. MacWilliam seemed more than capable. And he mentioned a Plan B. Surely he had things in hand.

  Glancing down at the plate in front of her, her inner history geek barked out a laugh. Colcannon was a staple of the late medieval Irish diet—boiled potatoes and cabbage mashed together and flavored with shallots and cream or butter.

  “Technically, this is not a medieval dish,” she replied. “Why would you create a 1400s medieval atmosphere, then name the restaurant after a dish that doesn’t even show up until the late 1600s?”

  He laughed. “That knowledge. That is why I sought you. Don’t devalue it,” he demanded when she started shaking her head. “It’s why only you will do. I’ll settle for only the best. Very few people in the world would notice a mere two hundred years’ difference, Ms. Perkins.”

  She rubbed her temples. She had never met anyone as forthright, yet enigmatic, as Aidan MacWilliam. She could usually read people very well, but the things that came out of his mouth were beyond unpredictable.