“Tin Man might be the only name in the world worse than Asprey,” he admitted. “Though if I’m being honest, my name is the least of my family burdens.”
She took a deliberate look around her. “Yeah. It seems real tough being a Charles.”
He didn’t respond right away, following the path of her gaze before shaking himself off. “I will admit to being curious, though. Third degree felony breaking and entering doesn’t seem like you.”
“Stealing expensive family heirlooms doesn’t seem like you either. Let’s call it a draw.”
Asprey was still leaning in too close for her comfort. His voice low and—dare she say it?—serious for once, he added, “This whole situation isn’t what you think.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking?” she replied.
She
didn’t even know that. Whatever the Charles family was up to, there was more to the game than she realized at first, especially since their pawns seemed to be theft and fake necklaces and a multimillion dollar company they happened to own.
And
the ability to kiss away all of those concerns in a matter of seconds.
It was definitely a much deeper game than she was used to playing.
“It doesn’t matter,” Asprey said. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong.”
“So tell me.” She ran her hands up either side of his vest underneath his suit jacket. It was a caress as much as it was an exploration—and she found exactly what she was looking for. “Is this business some kind of a front or laundering scheme? Is this how you move the goods you steal?”
“I wish it were that simple, but it’s not my story to tell. You just have to believe that we’re not criminals.”
“Well I
am
one—you’ve seen the case files for yourself.” She held up his wallet, giving it a friendly waggle. “Is this where you offer me even more money to keep my trap shut?”
“What the…?” He felt for the pockets of his vest and laughed. “You know, it doesn’t work if you keep giving me my wallet back.”
She tossed it into his waiting hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know we were actually out to harm one another. I thought we were proving who had the upper hand.”
So far from capitulating that she had, in fact, won that round, he flashed her a dazzling grin and appeared as blithe as he had when she’d been seconds from cutting his throat with a two-hundred-dollar shoe. “If you wanted to frisk me, Poppy, all you had to do was ask.”
She didn’t want to frisk him. She wanted to
frazzle
him—if only for a second.
“And about the money,” he continued. “
Would
you take it? I mean, now that you know who we are, how much we have…?”
“You mean because you probably make more money in one hour than I see in an entire year—you think that’s why I came up here? To see what else I could get from you?”
He inclined his head slightly.
“No, Asprey. I wouldn’t do that.”
The door swung open then, pulled and stopped suddenly, as though the person on the other side didn’t expect it to be unlocked. Poppy immediately tensed and squared to face the door. Asprey, much more in command of himself, smoothed his jacket and appeared, as he always did, as though nothing could touch him.
“Winston,” he said, nodding once. “What a nice surprise. I hoped to see you today.”
Even if Asprey hadn’t said his brother’s name, Poppy would have been able to tell in an instant that he was part of the Charles line of command. He was chiseled of the same classic stone and boasted the same signature features, from the sweep of dark brown hair peppered tastefully with gray at his temples to the damned chin dimple that made them all so deliciously masculine.
But while Asprey exuded easy charm and Graff’s scowls had etched permanent lines into his face, Winston demonstrated a palpable aura of extravagance. His suit made the most of broad shoulders and a stomach given to the early signs of a paunch, and a quick assessment of his fingers showed that they were a little on the plump side. Fat fingers were a dead giveaway. They signified a man with a lot of salt and red meat in his diet, not a whole lot of exercise outside of pumping a few weights once or twice a week. Definitely no cardio, and not enough water to wash out the amount of red wine and bourbon he probably guzzled like it was Gatorade.
He was, in short, the exact type of man the old Poppy would have singled out as a target for a con. He had money and obviously liked it enough to want more of it, excess and greed wrapped up in one tidy package.
That was the third and final rule of the game. In order for a con to be successful, the mark had to be willing to plunge into his or her own brand of vice. Not only were money-hungry benders of the law a lot less likely to pursue legal avenues when they found out they’d been scammed, but she liked to think it restored the karmic balances a little.
“How generous of you to take the time to come into work today,” Winston said drily. Even his voice carried that rumbling baritone Charles inflection. “You can imagine my surprise when Tracy at the front desk mentioned you’d come in.” He turned to acknowledge Poppy standing there, his gaze running up and down her body with an ungentlemanly flick. “I guess now I know why. Using your nominal vice president title to impress your lady friend? Not very original, Asprey. And a bit desperate, if you ask me. Sweetheart, if you know what’s good for you, save yourself a heap of trouble and go home. Anything Asprey has to offer you is due to nepotism and nepotism alone.”
Poppy didn’t have to be looking at Asprey to see how his brother’s words affected him. She’d seen him suffer several insults at Graff’s hands, throwing them back at his brother almost effortlessly, deflecting even the meanest with a laugh and a smile. But she heard a sharp intake of breath and felt the desk shift backward slightly, as though he were gripping it with the kind of intensity that might shatter the glass into a thousand pieces.
No way.
Not on her watch. It was time to restore the karmic balances.
“Well, you’re kind of an asshole, aren’t you?” she returned pleasantly. “How do you know I don’t have a huge box of jewelry in my purse I’m looking to have insured? Is it the boobs? Do you say that to every woman who walks through the door?”
Behind her, Asprey let out a barking laugh. He used her momentary outburst to recover his cool, moving to her side and making the introductions. “Veronica, this is my brother and the president of Charles Appraisals and Insurance, Winston. He’s also, as you correctly assessed, a bit of an asshole. Winston, this is Veronica Maxwell. She owns an art gallery up in Vancouver.”
Oh, I do, do I?
Apparently, the eldest Charles sibling wasn’t to know of the real relationship between them. The game, it grew in complexity—and so did her desire to keep playing.
Poppy stuck her hand out. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but I’m afraid you might take me at my word. Should I save myself the trouble and head home?”
Winston took her hand and shook, but it was obvious from the wild look in his eyes that he was struggling to find a way to backtrack. “I, ah, apologize for my comment earlier. Totally out of line. It’s a private argument between my brother and me that I shouldn’t have mentioned.”
“Winston doesn’t approve of my lifestyle,” Asprey offered by way of explanation. “He finds me frivolous.”
She turned to him, trying to make out his meaning without giving anything away. “And by lifestyle you mean…?”
The tendency to rob people of their most prized possessions?
“Mostly that I went to art school instead of business school,” Asprey said. “He prefers crunching the numbers over actually appreciating the pieces that come through here. But he’s also jealous that people actually
like
me.”
There was an obvious challenge between the brothers, but there was also quite a bit of subtext. All was not cozy in Charles-town.
“Since we’re all here,” Asprey added, “I should probably mention that Veronica has just signed an exclusive deal with the executor from the Roget estate. Her gallery is going to handle the dissolution of the entire Warhol collection they’ve accumulated over the years.”
As he spoke, Asprey’s tone was clipped and professional—and sent shivers down Poppy’s spine. Stern, commanding Asprey was kind of hot.
“The Roget estate?” Winston’s already heavy brow drew closer. “But I thought they were deep in probate.”
“They are,” Asprey said. “Hence the need for a third-party gallery to step in. Isn’t that right,
Veronica
?”
“Absolutely,” she said warmly. She had no idea what they were talking about, but she had the feeling Asprey needed her to be on his side for this. So she would. “And I naturally thought of Asprey, first thing.”
“We go way back,” Asprey confirmed, his eyes twinkling. “She once tried to stab me with her shoe.”
“If you’re going to tell the story, tell it right,” Poppy returned, finding it hard to avoid his humor. “Asprey took something of mine—something I very much wanted to get back. My shoe happened to be the nearest weapon at hand. That’s all.”
“Shall we set up a meeting?” Winston asked, ignoring their banter. “I’d love to talk more about—”
“I’ll take care of it, Winston.” Asprey’s voice was firm.
“I prefer not to work with assholes,” she added. “If I can help it, anyway.”
Asprey laughed. “And I believe Veronica said something about needing to get to the airport soon.”
“But I can call my secretary right now—”
“She has to go.”
“I have to go!” Poppy said brightly. No one would ever accuse her of missing her cue. “I wish I could say it was nice to meet you, Winston, but it’s obvious your brother got all the personality in the family. Asprey…until we meet again.”
Feeling a handshake was the best way to go in this situation, she extended her hand. He studied it carefully before finally deciding to clasp the appendage lightly in his own, bringing it to his lips as though he once again wore the black mask, all gentleman thief and highwayman to the core.
“It’s been an enlightening day for the both of us,” Asprey murmured, pressing his mouth softly against the skin of her hand. The room seemed to swell and shrink in succession, her body undergoing some dramatic flushes along with it. “Thank you, Veronica.”
It was her turn to pause, to watch him carefully, looking for clues.
But there weren’t any. He was thanking her for preserving their charade, for playing along.
As she murmured a few more pleasantries and made her way out of the office door, she had to stop herself from turning back and telling Asprey he had nothing to thank her for.
She liked playing along. She liked their game.
And even though all the rules told her to drop this man before things got any more tangled, she was eager to find out what happened next.
“I’ll say this about you, Asprey.” Winston showed few signs of leaving Asprey’s office, lingering near the windows, presumably watching the little people come and go. “You might not be the hardest-working employee here, but you’re personally responsible for bringing in at least a third of our female clientele under the age of forty.”
Asprey forced himself to smile and leaned back in his chair. Although he hated that the entire office had been remodeled in the sleek metals that Winston favored, the chairs were both flexible and comfortable. “We all have our strengths. Mine just happen to rest below the belt. Was there something you wanted?”
Winston turned to face him, his eyes clouded. Older than Asprey by fifteen years and worn with the worries of running a forgery scam for half that long, Winston was the poster boy for what Graff would become if he didn’t learn to relax. In fact, there was the telltale redness on the tip of his nose, as though he’d spent a considerable amount of time rubbing it.
Their father had done that too. Whenever he’d been stressed out or working long hours, Manchester Charles could be seen at his desk, pulling at the tip of his nose with worry.
The sight of it was almost enough to make Asprey feel bad for all the anxiety they must be causing Winston.
Almost.
“We had to pay out another claim this week.”
“So I heard,” Asprey replied, lifting his feet so they rested on the desk. He grabbed a hacky sack that he always kept in his top desk drawer and started tossing it negligently into the air. “I do read the memos you send me from time to time.”
“That’s the third one this month alone—all of the items stolen, and all of them by the same men in black masks. It’s like they’re leaving a calling card.”
Asprey switched hands, tossing the ball even higher. “I can’t imagine what this world is coming to, Winston. Masked crusaders? In this day and age?”
His eldest brother let out a snorting sound that belonged on a creature with cloven hooves.
Not too far off, actually.
“Laugh it up, Asprey, but you won’t like it when the company has to start liquidating assets to cover the costs.”
Asprey swung his legs down and pretended to look outraged—which wasn’t too far of a stretch. He’d always known Winston would eventually target Ruby with his greed. He just wasn’t ready for it yet. “My plane?”
“Technically it’s company property. I don’t have a choice. People aren’t buying or selling art these days, which slows our business down quite a bit, I’ve got claims piling up in the millions now, and it’s getting harder to…”