Charlotte walked with us out of the kitchen, leading the way to the main foyer. It was there that Dad and I were going to split up and start on our separate rooms. The foyer made a great middle point for us to base our attack around.
“Hold on a second kiddo,” Dad said, eying a something along the far wall. “I know this room isn't first on my list, but I have to look at something.”
I followed his gaze to see a small table pressed up against the far wall and I instantly knew why he wanted to look at it. It looked like an Alexander Roux piece. He had a definite fondness for the 1800's Rococo Revival style cabinetmaker. When Charlotte had given him the room full of Roux pieces, she had unwittingly given him one of his biggest dreams. The man had a Roux calendar on his wall, for heaven's sakes.
“Go for it,” I said, shaking my head and grinning.
He nearly ran over to the small table, with me not far behind. Although paintings and art were more my thing, I knew a good piece of furniture when I saw one.
The table was small and made of rosewood and marble. Intricate designs covered the open spaces, highlighting the beauty of the warm brown wood beneath. My father's hand trailed reverently across the smooth surface of the table, his knowledgeable fingers gleaning information from just the touch.
“It certainly looks like an Alexander Roux piece,” Dad said reverently. He went to his knees and looked underneath, practically trembling with excitement. “And it looks like it's signed. Let me get my glasses to check...”
He sat back, patting his pockets for his glasses. I shook my head, knowing that they were in his left breast pocket but that it would take him a good thirty seconds to find them. Instead of waiting, I just went over and looked at it myself.
“What do you think of the piece?” Charlotte asked. “Mr. Belrose had it appraised before at close to twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“Well, it would be if it were authentic,” I replied, snapping a picture of the engraved signature with my phone. “But, unless Alexander Roux forgot how to spell his name properly, the signature is false. I hope you didn't pay that much for it.”
Sticking my hand out from under the desk, I handed the phone to my father and heard him sigh sadly as he looked at it. Despite the table's beauty, the mark spelled Roux as Row.
“A forgery?” A stern, deep voice echoed around the room, and I bumped my head on the desk. I wiggled free of the table and stood up to catch my first glimpse of the confident owner of a false Roux piece.
It was him. It was Sebastian Belrose.
I immediately wished I could duck back under the table and hide.
Mr. Belrose was descending the stairs, wearing a dark, three-piece suit that fit him like a glove. I remembered he had worn something similar last night, despite the heat. My mouth went dry, not only at the incredibly attractive way he looked, but at the fact that I had just flippantly spoken to billionaire Sebastian Belrose. Again. At least I hadn't tried bodily harm this time.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and I could see the scar again. It was dark against his stern face. He looked at me, his eyes like gray mist across the ocean and full of just as many secrets and I forgot to breathe.
Realizing that I was now staring, I quickly looked back and the table, hoping my blush wasn't too obvious.
“It's still a beautiful table, and it is in Alexander Roux's style. It could be that someone suspected he was the maker and wanted to increase the value of the piece, so they added the signature themselves.” I was rambling now, trying to explain myself. It didn't help that I was now thinking very clearly of how I had tried to tackle him last night. How was I going to explain that to my father? And now I had just told him his table was a fake. I was the best employee ever. “Even with the fake signature, I would still expect it to fetch around ten thousand at auction.”
When I looked back up, he had silently crossed the large room and was now standing in front of me. It was hard to be this close to such a powerful
man and not shake, especially when I found him even more attractive up close. His frown was tight, as he must have been displeased with my findings.
“Miss Fairchild, I presume.” His voice was stern and hard as he held out his hand.
I took it, giving him the firmest, most professional handshake I could muster. Unfortunately, my blush was searing up my chest and lighting my cheeks. I couldn't believe that I had just knocked off fifteen thousand dollars off one of his antiques and then stared at him like a star-struck teenager. It was looking like my second impression wasn't much better than my first.
“It's a pleasure to meet you, sir,” I managed, feeling tongue-tied and awkward. He had so much class and poise that it left me fumbling for words. I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to say. I had technically already met him last night, and again this morning.
He nodded, releasing my hand. My skin tingled from where we had touched, but if he felt anything similar, his face didn't show it. If anything, he seemed more guarded and stern.
“Carl Fairchild,” my father said, extending his hand. “If your appraiser missed the signature, I do hope you found another before he got too far.”
Mr. Belrose took his hand. “That's why I hired you. According to the head of the Society of Appraisers, you are the best at what you do. You and your staff come highly recommended.”
My father's chest puffed out slightly in pride. “Thank you, sir. I'd like to think that we are.” He wrapped a heavy arm over my shoulder. “My daughter here is certainly the best art appraiser I've ever met.”
Mr. Belrose's blue-gray eyes went to mine again, entangling me in their smoky depths. I couldn't help but wonder what he thought of me. I was just glad that he wasn't bringing up last night. I glanced at my father, but Mr. Belrose gave me just the slightest of head shakes. I nodded. As far as anyone else was concerned, last night didn't happen. I didn't want my father to know, and he didn't want Charlotte to know.
“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” Mr. Belrose said, breaking off his gaze and looking at my father instead. “If either of you need anything, please let Charlotte know.”
I wished I wasn't blushing so hard. I wished I had been more polite about dismissing the signature on the piece. I wished I hadn't tried to tackle him, though at least now we had a shared secret. I wished I had been able to brush my teeth after breakfast before standing in front of Mr. Belrose with coffee breath.