An Irresistible Bachelor (An Unforgettable Lady #2)(6)

Although, even if he had wanted to be generous, such gestures probably wouldn’t have been accepted. Her mother’s pride had cut off much of what Cornelius had tried to give his lover over the years. Extravagant gifts to her went unopened. A fancy apartment was left uninhabited. The only thing she’d accepted was the payment for Callie’s college and graduate school tuition.

And some jewelry that had ultimately helped to ease her death.

Callie read on. The article mentioned that at the gala’s auction, Jackson Walker had purchased a portrait of his ancestor, Nathaniel Walker, the Revolutionary War hero.

Jackson Walker.

At the sight of the name, she felt like a blast of hot air had hit the back of her neck.

“Hey! Are you gonna buy that or do you want me to get you a chair?” the stand’s owner barked at her.

Callie put the newspaper down and kept going.

She’d first learned about Jack Walker through the gossip columns years ago. He came from one of America’s most famous families and had more money than most small countries. He was also too damn handsome for anyone’s good. For years, he’d been a notorious bad boy and the tabloids had carried endless stories about his women. He’d tended to date models, actresses, and debutantes; usually more than one at a time. The ensuing catfights and his casual dismissal of jealous rages had probably moved more newspapers than the exploits of Bill Clinton and Jennifer Lopez put together.

Needless to say, it had been a surprise to meet him in person.

Evidently, he and Grace were friends and he looked like the kind of man Grace would know; everything about him was expensive. From his fine, tailored suit to his polished shoes to the leather briefcase he carried, he was from the world of privilege.

And in all his finery, he was precisely the kind of man she avoided.

Okay, maybe avoided was the wrong word, because billionaires didn’t cross her path very often. But all that money, all that smooth confidence, was a red flag. Her father had taught her everything she needed to know about rich men, and little of it had been good.

But she had to admit Walker was attractive. Aside from his physical attributes, he spoke with the authority of someone used to being followed, in a voice that was seductive even when he was talking about nothing sexual. She could have listened to him speak for hours, his words enunciated with that aristocratic drawl, a signet ring flashing gold on his hand as he gestured.

And then there was the way he’d looked at her. He’d met her eyes directly and it was as if he’d really seen her. As someone who was used to being sidelined, she thought it was nice to be noticed. Especially while standing next to a woman like Grace.

It had been another surprise when he’d offered her the job of conserving the portrait of his famous forebearer. He made the proposal even though he didn’t yet own the painting, taking for granted he’d prevail in the auction. Considering the kind of money he had, she supposed no price would be too high for him.

But she’d walked away from the proposition, in spite of the fact that it was a plum job. It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle the project. She’d worked under some renowned conservationists during school and had tackled some very difficult restorations. The Copley, though dirty and in need of a cleaning, wasn’t a big deal in terms of technical difficulty.

Callie just wasn’t in a big hurry to work for the man. She knew how the Jack Walkers of the world operated, having had to deal with them on occasion in Stanley’s gallery. Having had one for a father. They thought of themselves first and that meant there was always an angle and always a demand. He probably treated his employees as if they were disposable and found fault with even the most successful of efforts.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Walker was a perfectly nice man who just happened to have built a business empire. Maybe he was honest and forthright, a beacon of human virtue laced up in a Savile Row suit. Maybe he was closer to Nelson Mandela than Donald Trump.

But more likely, he was a tough guy in gentleman’s clothes and not someone she should work for. Getting mixed up with Walker had Bad Idea written all over it, even if she could have used the money.

Abruptly, Callie turned around and started for home. She reminded herself that walking alone through the city on a cold night could only get her two more things she wasn’t interested in: a case of pneumonia and mugged.

Besides, she had more important things to worry about than the real or imagined character defects of some man she was never going to see again. She had to think about shelter. Food.

She shoved her hand into her pocket and felt the lining give way.

Clothing.





3


JACK STOOD in front of the dingy six-floor walk-up and frowned. The front door hung off-kilter in its jamb, a pile of Chinese food leaflets littered the stoop, and the place looked as if it was sagging in on itself. He went up five stone steps and leaned in, looking through grungy glass. A bald lightbulb hung over a battered set of stairs and a decrepit tile floor.

He went over to an intercom with a row of buttons below it. There were no names attached to the thing so he punched a few randomly. He wasn’t surprised when there was no answer. He hadn’t expected it to work.

With a curse, he stepped back and looked up again. He was finding it hard to believe that the conservationist lived in such a building, so he took out the slip of paper he’d written her address on. After double-checking the street and the number Grace had given him, he thought maybe it was a working studio.