visit D.C. But this is where Julian Reed lives—with his sixth wife—and this is where he insists on meeting because he doesn’t want to discuss anything on the phone.
Asshole.
The landscaping in the huge yard is immaculate, albeit a bit barren with the weather being so cold. But in summer, the place will look lively…if overly gaudy with so many marble statues and topiaries with no thematic unity.
Climbing out of a black Rolls-Royce, I smooth my suit. First impressions matter, and I want Julian to understand I mean business.
I arch an eyebrow at the stiff butler who opens the door to the ostentatious mansion. Maybe he thinks he’ll crumble like a pillar of salt if he relaxes for a second.
“Mr. Reed is waiting for you in the study,” he announces grandly in the worst faux-British English I’ve ever heard. Then he turns and starts leading me to the second floor. The interior is stuffed with expensive material—priceless silk wallpaper, European crystal chandeliers and a gallery of oil paintings. The problem is the lack of taste. Everything is a giant mishmash, like Julian’s only priority in decorating the place was showing off how much money he could throw at it.
Julian’s study isn’t much better, but the desk and chairs look comfortable enough. Shelves filling up the walls, floor to ceiling, are stuffed with leather-bound volumes—Shakespeare, Milton and Faust. Probably nobody’s touched them. The leather’s still too smooth and shiny.
Julian looks at me from the other side of the desk. “Take a seat.” He doesn’t bother to stand.
I sit and study the man who sired Elizabeth.
He’s naturally blond, although he maintains the color artificially now, and his eyes are cold. His white dress shirt is crisply starched, the collar undone. The ruby eyes on silver lion cufflinks flash an eerie crimson as he steeples his hands.
My research dug up information beneath the wealthy-man surface. Julian is self-made, and married Elizabeth’s mother—Geraldine Pryce—for reasons other than love. The Pryce family is old money, with the attendant power, influence and connections. Being married to such a family confers enormous benefits.
But that didn’t stop Julian from taking his dick out of his pants for extramarital recreation.
Although the man’s personal life is a huge farce, he understands money. That’s the only reason he recovered after losing half his assets to Geraldine in an ugly divorce.
He doesn’t offer me refreshment or make any effort at civility. “What do you want?”
I maintain a calm smile. I didn’t come here to fight. “I thought I was clear in our communication.”
“My assistant didn’t say.”
Bullshit. Time is a valuable commodity for people like us, and he wouldn’t offer to meet if he didn’t know what I was after and at least be open to a discussion.
“The portrait your father did of Elizabeth when she turned eighteen,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow slightly. “What are you offering?”
“Fair market price plus a ten percent premium.”
He smirks. “Ten percent?”
“It’s a generous offer.”
“It would be…if I didn’t know what you’d be getting in return.”
I narrow my eyes. I’m not naïve enough to expect him not to have looked me up, but what does he know about my motives? “What is it you think I’m getting in return?”
“All you young men want a piece of my saintly daughter. They pant after her like dogs after a bitch and jump at her command.”
I pull back at Julian’s crude tone. Whether they have disagreements or not, she’s his daughter. How can he talk about her like this to a virtual stranger?
“You aren’t the first one who’s showed up,” Julian continues. “Nate Sterling came by a couple of days ago, offering not only to buy the painting but to owe me a favor. Incredible, eh?” He snorts. “That proud little fucker owing me a favor…all because he wants to get into her panties.”
Nate Sterling. The very idea that he knows about the deal too—probably heard it from Elizabeth—and tried to grab the portrait first causes searing fury to burn a hole in my gut.
Does Elizabeth plan to pit Nate against me? Get me the portrait and I’ll marry you.
But what about that Tolyan guy?