Page 14 of P.S. It’s Always Been You
He slaps his desk enthusiastically. “Great. I knew you’d be game for it. I always appreciate your can-do spirit.”
“That’s me. A can-do-er.” This is the polar opposite of Re: The Forgers News! This is the way I want all days to go.
“Let me tell you more about the person I’ve enlisted to join you.”
I beam. “I can’t wait to hear. I’m assuming you’re bringing on a bang-up junior specialist?” It’s only natural he’d include someone. Projects this big aren’t usually done solo. “Because I’m thinking Paige in the American Art department would be perfect. But Devon in antiques is good too. We have a deep bench. You can’t go wrong with either. Or both.”
“That’s what I was thinking at first.”
“Great.”
“But then I had a better idea. Or, I should say, the idea had me. And I think you’ll get such a kick out of who I hired. But it’s not Devon or Paige.” He stage-whispers like the news is too delicious to deliver at a regular volume. “It’s someone from outside Highsmith.”
Perhaps he’s contracting a colleague from the Exploration Society. Someone who worked with Hunter, maybe, and that’s why Hunter’s photo was on Daniel’s screen. “Is it someone from the society? They’re top-notch and would be great to work with.”
“No . . .” Daniel rubs his hands like Santa Claus, jolly and brimming with good cheer. “Guess again.”
“Maybe someone from the family?” The Valentinas were quite the storied clan. Perhaps one of Edward’s descendants, a brilliant type who knows their history inside and out.
“Nope. Better. Even better. I can’t take the suspense anymore,” he says, even though he’s not the one in suspense. “I brought in Hunter Armstrong. The Hunter Armstrong. The TV star, adventurer, and survival expert. You’ve heard of him, I presume?”
The room goes silent.
My breath stops.
I try to rewind.
He can’t mean him. He can’t possibly have said that name.
“Hunter . . . Armstrong?” I croak, as if I can get him to take it back.
He shoots me a look like I’ve crawled out from under the bridge I’ve been living beneath for the last five years. “Yes, and he’s going to do a TV special on the Valentina home. Surely you’ve heard of him?”
He doesn’t know we were involved. I don’t talk about him, or anyone I’ve dated, for that matter. Nor am I linkable by six or even one degree to the man who has dated models, actresses, and ballerinas.
And dates them regularly.
I’m simply a footnote in his past, the art historian he tangoed with more than a decade ago, making promises that fame and ambition wouldn’t let him keep.
That he wouldn’t let himself keep.
“Yes, I’m aware of the man,” I manage to say, my voice even and cool. But part of me, perhaps the self-preserving part, recovers quickly as soon as it hits me—Hunter would be terrible for this job.
Cataloging a home requires precision, research, and stillness. The man is a tornado. How the hell is he going to be patient enough to work his way through a house properly? It’s not a freaking desert he has to trek across in three days or he’ll die. He’s motivated by the highest of stakes, not whether a vintage map might be worth something to a historical society.
I inch a little closer, take a breath, then say, “Are you concerned at all that his show might be . . .” I shrug. “You know . . . exploitative?”
He cocks his head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“Some of his shows—aren’t they a bit low-class?”
Daniel chuckles. “Well, he doesn’t drink urine from rattlesnake skin or eat deer droppings.”
My stomach churns. “I hope no one does.”
“Some of those other guys do.”
“That’s just gross. But my point is, aren’t some of Hunter’s episodes staged? Didn’t he come under fire for staying in a motel one night rather than actually roughing it under the stars in the rain forest?”
Daniel arches a brow. “Motels in the rain forest? That sounds more spurious than staging show elements.”
My cheeks burn like I’m the one who messed up. “Maybe it was an island I was thinking of,” I say, a little thrown off. “The point being, I’ve read reports that not every detail is one hundred percent transparent, and we have to be one hundred percent transparent in our line of work, don’t we?”
“And we will. That’s why I have you handling our side of things. You’re tops at research and details. He’s a pro at adventure, entertainment, and bringing in fans.”
My heart droops at the reminder of “fans” and what fans equal—money. Millions of people watch his program, which means he brings a tailor-made audience to our auction house. That’s what Daniel needs, and honestly, that’s what I need too. I want this company to return to its glory days. It’s my only hope right now, given the sorry state of my publishing career.
