Burn (Breathless #3)(12)

“I’d like that too,” he said sincerely. “Take care of yourself, Brittany. And if you need anything, call me.”

As soon as she walked out of his door, he buzzed Eleanor and gave her the rundown on what he needed. After instructing her to assist Brittany in opening a bank account, he told her to give him the account number as soon as Brittany had it so he could wire funds.

What a day. So Brittany had a backbone after all. It had taken her long enough, but better late than never. Their two older brothers had never had the balls or the desire to stand up to their parents and the old man. Ash had no use for them. Both in their forties and neither one able to support himself or his own family. Hell, Ash had nieces and nephews he’d rarely ever seen. He knew nothing about his sisters-in-law other than they were married to weak men still firmly under the thumb of his parents.

That wasn’t going to be him. It would never be him. And now, if he had anything to say about it, neither would it be Brittany.

It remained to be seen if she’d really have the fortitude to make a clean break and slip out from under the control of their parents. But he was more than happy to help her if that was truly her goal. She was young and beautiful. She was smart even if she’d made some spectacularly bad choices. She had more than enough time to turn it around and get her life on the right path.

Everyone made mistakes, and everyone deserved the chance to make up for them. He just hoped to hell Brittany would turn it around now and get her head on straight.

He opened his drawer to look at the box of jewelry he’d hastily shoved inside when Eleanor had buzzed him about Brittany’s arrival. He brushed one finger over the edge as he thoughtfully stared down at it.

Brittany was squared away, and now it was time to focus on his primary preoccupation.

Josie.

Chapter five

“What do you mean you sold them already?” Josie asked, her voice rising as she stared at the pawnbroker she’d visited several days earlier to sell her mother’s jewelry.

He surveyed her calmly. “I sold them. Had a customer who liked the stuff.”

Josie twisted her hands in agitation. “Can you give me an address? A name? Phone number, anything? I’d like to buy it back.”

“You had the option to pawn it, Miss Carlysle,” the man said patiently. “I specifically asked if you preferred a loan with the option of getting your items back.”

“But the loan wouldn’t have been enough,” she argued. “I needed the money then. I couldn’t wait. But it’s different now. I have the money and I have to get my mother’s jewelry back! It’s all I have left from her. It was my grandmother’s. Oh God, I can’t believe you sold it so quickly.”

The man shot her a look of sympathy but remained silent. Josie was sure he thought he was dealing with a crazy woman.

“Can you give me the information of the person you sold it to?” she asked again in desperation.

“I think you know I can’t do that,” the man said.

She wiped a hand over her face in agitation. If only she’d waited another day. But how on earth could she have predicted that someone would walk into the art gallery and fall in love with her work—all if it—and buy it for more than the dealer was asking for? It was all so crazy. Not that she wasn’t extremely grateful for her good fortune, but if only she’d waited one more day she wouldn’t have pawned her mother’s jewelry and she wouldn’t be standing in a pawnshop desperate to get it back.

“Will you at least contact the person for me and give them my phone number? You could ask them to call me. Tell them I’ll pay double what they paid for it. I have to get it back.”

He sighed and then shoved a piece of paper with a pen across the counter toward her. “I can’t promise anything, but write down your info and I’ll pass it along. I don’t normally do this kind of thing. Once it’s sold, it’s out of my hands. You relinquished any claim when you sold the jewelry to me.”

“I know, I know,” Josie said as she hurriedly jotted down her name and number. “I’m not saying it’s your fault or that you’re to blame. I have only myself to blame for acting so rashly. But I’d really appreciate it if you could just give the person a call and let them know how desperate I am to get the pieces back.”

He shrugged as she shoved the paper back to him. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She turned to walk out, her heart heavy. She should have been elated. Her artwork had sold. All of it! And Mr. Downing had told her to bring more, whatever she wanted. He had an interested buyer, and though he hadn’t divulged any information about the buyer, he’d told her that the party was interested in whatever else she brought in.

The only thing marring the entire day was the fact that her mother’s jewelry was gone. She had no idea where or who had bought it or if she’d ever get it back. She’d been so happy when Mr. Downing had given her that check. Far more than she’d ever hoped for. It was enough to pay her rent and buy groceries for a few months. Plenty of time for her to get other pieces to the gallery. And most importantly, it had been enough money to buy back the jewelry she’d sold, even though she knew it would cost her more than she’d gotten from the sale.

The pawnshop had been the very first place she’d gone after depositing the check into her bank account. And she’d sworn to herself that no matter what, she’d never part with the jewelry again.