Page 50 of P.S. It’s Always Been You
“They’ll say yes,” he says, cool and unflappable.
“No” probably isn’t in his vocabulary. Who says no to Hunter? He’s a man who gets what he wants.
I call my boss and give him the 411.
“That’s absolutely fantastic,” Daniel says in his cheeriest tone. “I knew if you were working with Hunter, you’d find something.”
A knot of jealousy in my chest tightens, and I’m annoyingly frustrated with the man on the phone, and, by association, the man next to me. The too good-looking, too charming, too everything-comes-easily-to-him man. I bet Hunter can convince a cat to come when it’s called.
“Yes, I found it,” I say to Daniel, instantly hating how petty I sound, but not hating it enough to backpedal.
“Good work, Presley. This is going to be great for us.”
Yes, the reminder I need. The project. My goals. My dreams. Highsmith, work, auctions. I don’t need the distraction of a man from the past. I don’t have the luxury of gorgeous love letters or of being bitten by the love bug. This is a J-O-B.
“It is. It’s going to be fantastic for Highsmith,” I say, succeeding in diverting Daniel’s attention from his bromance with my ex. “Can you connect me to the client?”
“Of course. But first, I’d like to join you there tomorrow. I think it’ll help as I woo Oliver.”
“The guy in London?”
“Yes. He’s quite keen on American art, and I’ve been telling him about our work on this house.”
“Okay, join us,” I say, because if it helps Highsmith, it helps me.
“Great. Let me try Corinne.”
I signal to Hunter that Daniel’s putting me in touch with her, then set the phone on speaker.
“This is Corinne Valentina,” an older Lauren Bacall-esque voice says while we drive away from Manhattan.
“Hi, this is Presley Turner from Highsmith Auction House, and Hunter Armstrong is here with me. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you, Corinne,” Hunter chimes in, his voice sure to work its vocal magic on her with its warm, smoky tones.
“We’re on our way to your grandparents’ house, and we’re finding some wonderful things at the estate,” I offer.
She laughs. “Oh dear. I hope it’s not too dusty. We were never the cleanest family.”
I pause for a second, since it’s odd that she’d mention the state of the home. Who cares if it’s dusty? “It’s an absolutely lovely house.”
“Full of fascinating treasures,” Hunter puts in, and I smile, glad that he sees it the same way.
“Have you found anything that you think we can auction off?” Corinne asks. “We’d love to figure out what’s finally worthwhile, and then perhaps make some donations to charity. Anything beyond the silly little items that my grandparents collected?”
“Ah, but none of them are silly,” Hunter says, and I shoot him a look.
“We did find some things,” I say, and then guide her briefly through the monkey and the bureau and the other items. “And we found a letter. It’s a bit like a treasure hunt they put together for the kids. For your dad, I believe.”
“Ohhhh.” Her voice drips with curiosity and surprise. “Is that so?”
I tell her about the letter and what we found in it. “If you want us to hand it over to you so you can see for yourself, of course we’re happy to do that. We went to the Exploration Society this morning because that seemed to be the first clue.”
I cross my fingers, hoping she doesn’t want to play Inspector Poirot herself.
She laughs, a deep, husky sound. “You are quite good at following the clues. I don’t know that I would’ve figured that out. Or frankly if I’d have the wherewithal. I’d rather polish the collection of compasses my father left me from Edward’s expeditions. Actually, I should send those to you. You might want to sort through them for your auction too. Lord knows I don’t need any compasses.”
“Sure, definitely.” Compasses would be a welcome addition.
“Let me know what you find. My grandparents did love a grand old adventure. Just let us know where it takes you. I’ll admit I’m curious. A little nervous, but curious too.”
Hunter clears his throat. “We will. And hey, Corinne, I’ve got to think these letters would make for a fantastic TV special. The story is so captivating. Viewers are going to fall in love with your grandparents. I can even imagine the footage already, some terrific old-time images. I’d love, with your permission, to highlight the letters for the cameras,” he says, so damn convincing.
Here, kitty cat.
When she answers, Corinne’s voice is cloaked in surprise, like she’s been thrown for a loop. “Ohhh. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“No worries.” His smile could reach all the way to her in California. “That’s what I’m here for. To find the angles.”
Angles. He’s here for angles, not to chase down a love story. One that happens to enthrall me. I’m just like him though. I’m here for the angle—for launching my career to the next level.
