The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(29)

“We did,” her father answered. “The duke possesses a large art collection, and we negotiated a price to allow you to borrow it.”

Katherine blinked. “That is fantastic. Thank you, both of you.”

“It is my pleasure,” Lockwood said. “Once I marry and renovations begin on the country house, I would need to put them into storage anyway. This saves me the trouble.”

Excitement fizzed in her chest like champagne bubbles. An art museum. She absolutely loved the idea. Could she really do it? “It’s an enormous project to undertake.”

Her father smiled fondly at her. “I’ll help you, if you need it, of course. But you adore art and you’re clever. I can’t think of a better person to oversee it, actually.”

She flushed with his praise. “You are biased.”

“Of course I am—you’re my daughter and my favorite person in the entire world. But that doesn’t mean I also can’t see how wonderfully capable you are.”

“Thank you, Daddy. I’m very touched.”

“Excuse me.” Their waiter had returned, this time with a bottle of wine. “This is compliments of the gentleman over there.” He gestured toward the back wall, where Preston sat with Kit Ward. Preston’s dark eyes locked on hers before sliding to her father, a brow raising in silent challenge.

Unbelievable.

She dug deep for composure, shoving aside her irritation so Lockwood wouldn’t notice anything amiss. Serenely, she said to the waiter, “No, thank you—and please tell Mr. Clarke we require nothing whatsoever from him.”



The wind whipped along Broadway as Preston approached Twenty-Third Street, his overcoat flapping behind him. Dashed traffic put him behind schedule, and he’d been forced to travel on foot for the last block and a half. “Mr. Kimball,” he said loud enough to be heard over the city noise. “Forgive my tardiness.”

The president of Manhattan Surety turned to the sound of Preston’s voice, his eyes colder than the East River in January. “I don’t have much time, Clarke.”

They shook hands, and Kimball performed the necessary introductions to the others in the group, all executives and lawyers of Manhattan Surety. The insurance company had engaged Preston to put up their new office building here, on land that Preston would sell to them. For slightly more than fair market value, of course. This wasn’t Preston’s only development project—far from it—but it was his most prestigious.

The only problem was straightening out the issue of land ownership with Lloyd Delafield . . . but Preston wasn’t worried. The parcel had belonged to the Clarke family going back decades. His lawyers would soon sort it out.

“Thank you for meeting with us,” Kimball said. “The board is asking for a report on where things stand, so walk us through the footprint.”

Preston swept out his arm. “Then let’s not waste any time.”

As he led them around the perimeter, he told them how the building would loom over the entire city, the tallest inhabitable structure in the world. He explained about the steel frame, the elevators and the bedrock, even the shape of the building. “Everyone across the globe will soon know the name Manhattan Surety,” he added.

“We hear another group of investors is looking to develop the tallest building down on Park Row,” Kimball said.

Preston also heard those rumors. “You’ll beat them, if we can get underway in the next three months.”

“They’re planning on thirty-one floors.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Preston said, then held out his palms. “Listen, the city isn’t keen on granting many permits for towering steel buildings. Half the residents are scared of structures that tall and the other half are outraged over changes to the skyline.”

Another Surety employee asked, “And what makes you think you can get the permits?”

Because Preston had the money to bribe the buildings department. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he said arrogantly, “Your permits won’t be an issue.”

“That all sounds well and good,” Kimball said, “but I haven’t yet seen the deed. We need to settle on a price and then decide on the architect.”

“You needn’t worry about the deed. I’ll get it to you soon, along with my price. And we should have all the bids from the architecture firms in the next two weeks.”

“Good, good. I want the building here, by the park. It’s too crowded downtown.”

Preston nodded. The land was the main reason Kimball had given him the job. “I agree. It’ll be a building to last hundreds of—”

Suddenly, his gaze snagged on a tall woman on the opposite corner. Brown hair, long legs. Big eyes that drew you in like the warmth of the sun.

Katherine.

He felt a familiar tug, the one in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought of her, a mixture of fascination, regret and lust. Three days had passed since he saw her at Sherry’s with Lockwood, and Preston had been unsuccessful in purging her from his brain. The harder he tried to forget her, the more she haunted him.

At the moment she was standing next to a man, and they were both examining and pointing at the same lot where Preston and the Surety group were gathered. What the hell was she doing here?

“I think we have enough,” Kimball said, regaining Preston’s attention. “I need to get back for a meeting. Thank you, Clarke.”