presented his facts. “You do spin a story,” she told him. Then, in case he thought he was charming her, she added, “I think around here, they call that telling tall tales.”
“You don’t believe me,” he guessed, neither annoyed nor disappointed.
Leonor tempered her words. She had to admit that she did find the man entertaining. “Let’s just say I have a healthy skepticism.”
“I can understand,” Josh replied. “A beautiful woman like you being approached by a total stranger would do well to be on her guard.” He leaned in over the table as if to share a secret with her. “There are a lot of unsavory people out there.”
“You’re not going to try to convince me that you’re on the level?” she asked, rather surprised, even though she was doing her best not to show it.
“I’ve always found that the harder someone pushes a point, the more that point is held to be highly suspect.” And he was not about to do anything to turn her off. “I’m just content to share a meal and a conversation with a lovely companion.”
He saw that she was about to protest the word companion, and quickly said, “Speaking of sharing—” The words hung in the air as he put his hand inside his jacket, slipping it into his breast pocket. Josh extracted five photographs. “I wasn’t completely forthcoming with you earlier. I’m not here to take in the sights. I’m actually on a combination vacation/scouting trip—although my father questions how I can take a vacation if I don’t have a revenue-producing career to take a vacation from.” He flashed a grin. “That did sound rather awkward, didn’t it?”
She pushed that observation aside, far more interested in the photographs that were in his hand. Leonor had to admit that as much as she was trying to remain above the exchange, or at least appear to be above it, the man she was sharing bread sticks with had managed to arouse her curiosity.
Her eyes riveted to the photographs in his hand, she asked, “What’s the scouting part of it involve?”
“I’m looking for the proper place to—let’s be honest—” he told her with a smile, “show off some of my collection.”
At that point, Josh carefully spread out all five of the photographs on the side of the table, creating rather an interesting column.
She didn’t want to look as if he had captured her attention, but he most definitely had.
Giving up all pretense of disinterest, she drew one of the photographs closer to her and looked at it, then at him. It couldn’t be a photograph of what she thought it was.
Could it?
“Is that a—?” Leonor deliberately let her voice trail off, waiting for the man sitting across from her to fill in the artist’s name.
Which he obliged.
“A Jackson Pollock? Yes. I have to admit that I’m more willing to lend that one out than I would be, say, my Van Gogh. Or the Turner.” There was a fond expression on his face as he admitted, “I’m probably rather lowbrow in the opinion of a lot of the so-called ‘refined’ art critics but there’s just something about a seascape that moves me.”
Leonor drew all five of the photographs closer to her and studied them, one by one, then raised her eyes to his. “And these are originals?” She didn’t bother hiding the note of skepticism in her voice.
“They’d better be, considering the price I paid for them.” And then he laughed, lightening the moment. “Yes, they’re originals. I had two different art appraisers verify their authenticity.”
“Two?” she questioned.
He nodded. Picking up a bread stick, he broke it in half before biting into it. “One could have always been bought by the collector supposedly ‘selling’ the painting. Two different appraisers from different companies are far less likely to be in collusion.”
“So, you’re a skeptic,” she noted. She felt herself softening despite her resolve. It wasn’t in her nature to constantly hold everyone at arm’s length.
Josh nodded, although he looked as if he took no joy in admitting the fact. “I’m afraid that these days, you have to be. There are a lot of people out there who want to part you from whatever prize possessions they have their eye on.” And then he flashed a smile at her. “But I don’t have to tell you that.”
“Why?” she wanted to know. He did recognize her, she thought. Why else would he have just said something like that to her? He was telling her that he knew she was aware of what he was referring to, namely, the blatant fickleness of her neighbors that she had had to endure when that scandal surrounding her mother had flared up.
But that apparently wasn’t what he was telling her, she learned.
“Because it’s obvious that you find me highly suspect,” Josh told her. “You wouldn’t be that way unless something had happened to you along the way to make you so suspicious of everyone.”
It was her turn to shrug. “Maybe I’m just naturally suspicious.”
“A woman as beautiful as you?” he questioned, shaking his head. “I doubt that.”
She had no idea what being attractive had to do with it. “You’re pretty free with your compliments.”
The look that he gave her could have melted a rock—and she wasn’t a rock, she thought, doing her best not to succumb.
“Only when they’re merited,” Josh countered.
He was being much too smooth. There had to be a way to get to him, to unravel all these pretty words before they completely undermined her defenses.
“So if I had a face that could stop a clock—?” She left it up to him to finish.
“I wouldn’t tell you that you were beautiful,” he said honestly. “I’d shine a spotlight on all your other assets.”
“And flatter those,” Leonor guessed knowingly.
He inclined his head, as if considering whether he would or not. “If they deserved it, yes.”
She decided to reserve judgment on the man for another time. Right now, the photographs he had shown her had her attention.
“You’re really looking for someplace to display these paintings?” she asked, a wary note in her voice. She would hate to be taken in by the likes of this Joshua Pendergrass. She knew that the first thing anyone would think was that she had gotten swept off her feet and dazzled by the man’s overwhelming good looks rather than by his breathtaking collection.
Josh nodded. “Yes.”
She knew she would hate herself if he actually decided to go this route and she lost out, but she needed to know why he hadn’t thought of this himself.
“Why don’t you just get in contact with the Museum of Modern Art in New York City? I’m sure that they would be more than happy to put your collection on display.”
He finished off the second half of the bread stick before answering. “I’m sure they would.”
She
