lifted his glass. “Here’s to hoping he takes most of them to the grave.”
Roark offered a polite smile while impatience churned in his gut. Was he seeing trouble where there was none? Had his instincts been wrong about what he’d glimpsed in the man’s manner? Or was he growing paranoid after years of dodging danger and the past three months spent in a deadly game of hide and seek with a bloodthirsty cartel?
“What were the FBI doing here tonight?” Cromwell asked.
Reassured that his instincts were right on track, Roark offered the board member a dismissive smile. “They’d received some bad information and came to clear up the matter.” In its own way, this concrete jungle was just as perilous as the tropical one he’d left behind.
“And was it cleared up?”
Roark wasn’t going to lie. “I believe they still have some doubts.”
Cromwell grew grim. “I’m concerned about Waverly’s future.”
“How so?” Roark sipped at his champagne and played at nonchalance. He hated all the political maneuvering and missed the familiar danger inherent in guns, knives and criminals who didn’t hesitate to kill anyone who got in their way.
“A number of Waverly’s shareholders have been approached about selling our shares.”
“Let me guess,” Roark said, annoyance flaring. “Rothschild?”
“Yes.”
“Selling to him wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interest.”
“With the troubles of late, there is concern that Waverly’s is being mismanaged.” Cromwell was both stating his opinion and digging for information.
Roark’s true connection to Vance Waverly wasn’t mainstream knowledge, but a few people knew Vance and Roark shared a father. If Cromwell assumed Roark would divulge what he knew about Waverly’s problems, he’d be wrong.
“That’s ridiculous. Ann is the perfect choice to run Waverly’s. Any troubles we’ve had recently can be attributed to one person. Dalton Rothschild.”
“Perhaps. But your activities of late haven’t helped.”
Roark remained silent. It would do no good to protest that what he did had no bearing on Waverly’s, but as long as he remained connected to the auction house, anything he brought in would be suspect. Being someone accustomed to operating alone, Roark found a sense of discomfort stirring in him to have others relying on him.
“What I do is completely legal and legitimate.”
“Of course.” The board member nodded. “But the world of business is not always interested in facts. Markets rise and fall on people’s perceptions of what’s going on.”
“And I’m being perceived as…?”
“Too freewheeling in both your professional and personal lives.”
Roark couldn’t argue. He based his actions on his needs and desires. Taking others into consideration wasn’t part of the equation. But the older man’s assessment poked at a tender spot, bruised earlier by the scathing opinion of a petite blonde.
His attention wandered in her direction. He knew exactly where she was. Her presence was a shaft of light to his senses.
Pleasure flashed like lightning along his nerve endings when he caught her staring at him. He winked at her and grinned as she turned away so fast she almost plowed into a passing server.
Oblivious to Roark’s momentary distraction, the board member continued, “I think if you could demonstrate that you’re committed to Waverly’s, I could convince the other board members that you, Vance and Ann are the future we want.”
“And how would you suggest I do that?”
“Show us and the world that you’ve settled down.”
In other words, postpone any dangerous operations for the near future. That could be problematic. Roark was now in pursuit of a new rare artifact—the second half of a pair of leopard heads that had once graced the throne of Tipu Sultan, an important figure in Indian and Islamic history. The first head, encrusted with diamonds, emeralds and rubies, had been discovered in a long-forgotten trunk in Winnipeg, Canada, and auctioned several years earlier.
The buyer was a collector of Middle Eastern art and had offered Roark access to the one-of-a-kind documents in his private library if Roark could find the second leopard. The knowledge locked up in the collector’s home was worth way more to Roark than the half million dollars that the man had originally offered as a finder’s fee.
Roark’s gaze swept the party guests until he located Ann Richardson. “I’d planned to leave New York in the next few days.”
“That’s not a good idea if you’re at all concerned about the future of Waverly’s.”
Roark tensed as the jaws of responsibility clamped down on him. “I have business in Dubai.”
“Do you think that leaving town is a good idea while the FBI is interested in you?” George Cromwell nodded sagely at Roark’s scowl. “Stay in New York. Demonstrate that your personal life has stabilized.”
“Stabilized how?”
“Your romantic exploits are legendary. If you could settle down with one woman, that would convince everyone you’re the man we need at the helm.”
Roark ignored the sensation of a noose being tossed over his head and kept his body relaxed. Settle down with the love of his life. Not so easy for a man whose one true passion involved dangerous, globe-hopping adventures. No woman, no matter how lush, blonde and adorable, could compete with the thrill of discovering what had been lost for centuries.
But the prospects of Waverly’s depended on his ability to project a stable, reliable image. What he needed was a woman who could play the part of his adoring girlfriend. Someone who understood this was for the good of Waverly’s.
That way, when it ended, he wouldn’t need to worry about breaking her heart.
Roark grinned. “It’s funny you should bring this up now because I’ve been seeing someone for a while and we’re very close to taking our relationship public.”
“Wonderful.” The board member covered his surprise with a relieved smile. “Bring her around for dinner tomorrow night and we’ll discuss your future in more detail.”
“We’ll be there.”
“Looking forward to it. What’s your lady’s name?”
“Elizabeth.” Roark glanced toward the screened-off section of the loft. If he had to be settled down by a woman, he intended to choose one who intrigued him. “Elizabeth Minerva.”
Two
Elizabeth barely noticed the exuberant buzz filling the offices of Josie Summers’s Event Planning as she navigated the halls. A large coffee clutched in her hand, she thanked the coworkers who
