The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(45)

“Yes,” Mrs. Cohen said, hurrying after him. “Wouldn’t you like to see Mr. Strong first?”

No, he didn’t. He needed to see what Katherine had sent him. Right this instant.

“Mr. Clarke,” Strong said, coming to his feet when Preston emerged in the outer room.

Two wrapped parcels, their brown paper crisp and tied with strings, sat on Mrs. Cohen’s desk. “Hello, Strong. Give me a moment.”

Snatching up scissors from a drawer, he quickly snipped the string on the first painting. Tearing through the paper, he flipped the frame over to reveal soft pastel colors to form a beautiful countryside. It wasn’t something he would have chosen for himself—his tastes ran bold and dark—but this was pretty. Soothing in a way.

“I like that,” Mrs. Cohen said from over his shoulder.

Yes, so did he.

The second painting was a match to the first, same colors and style but a different landscape. They were the perfect pair. He stared down at them both, astounded. How had she known? Moreover, why had she bothered?

After what she did in the carriage, he should’ve sent her a gift. He should be bowing and scraping at her feet, grateful for the most erotic experience of his life.

“There’s a card,” Mrs. Cohen said, pointing.

He ripped it open, so eager it should have embarrassed him.

Neat loops and swirls filled a small piece of cream vellum.

For your office. A king should always be surrounded by pretty things.

Yours,

Kat



Yours.

Christ, the power that single word had over him. It was both deeply satisfying and absolutely terrifying. He’d consider it later, when he had more time.

Shoving the card into his coat pocket, he asked his secretary, “Have we a hammer and nails?”

“Yes. In the closet over there.”

“Mr. Clarke,” Strong tried again. “I have a very busy day ahead.”

Preston waved his hand at the lawyer on the way to the closet. “Yes, as do I. But you’ll allow me a few more minutes. I’m paying you for your time, after all.”

It took a second or two to find the required materials and select the perfect spot on his office wall, just off to the side, right where he could see both paintings. He drove the nails into the plaster with ruthless efficiency, and soon both pictures were centered exactly. Standing back, he admired them.

Soothing, serene, quiet beauty.

“Those are precisely what you needed in here,” Mrs. Cohen said. “She has a fine eye.”

Pressure built in Preston’s chest, as if that invisible string was pulling taut again, burrowing inside him. He cleared his throat. “Indeed, she does.”

She turned for the door. “I’ll bring in Mr. Strong.”

Preston was still staring at the paintings when Strong entered. He forced himself to turn away and greet the lawyer. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Won’t you have a seat?”

“Thank you.”

When they were settled, Preston said, “Let’s have it. What did Delafield do to con my father out of that property?”

“Unfortunately, it appears that paperwork is legitimate, signed by your father.”

Frustration and fury peppered Preston’s skin, undoing the tranquility of Katherine’s gift, and his hands curled into fists. He stared at the paperweight on his desk and contemplated hurling it into the wall. “That is utter horseshit. Those documents were manipulated.”

“Unless you can produce evidence to the contrary, there’s nothing we can do. This appears to be on the up-and-up.”

“What about the forging experts we asked to review the documents? What did they say?”

“Inconclusive.”

Preston banged his fist on the desk, and Strong held up his hands. “I’m sorry, Clarke. I wish there was more I could do.”

“I refuse to let him win.”

“Who?”

“Delafield. Think, Strong. There has to be another expert. Or we take it to a judge. Let’s get his lawyers on the record to admit what they’ve done.”

“There has to be a reason for the lawsuit. Disagreeing with the signature isn’t a reason.”

Preston tapped his fingers on the armrest, thinking. He’d come too far to lose. Beyond all the time and money he’d invested on this property, he could not let Lloyd do this. If Delafield succeeded in stealing this block, Manhattan Surety would pull the project and give it to another developer. Someone else would erect the world’s tallest building, and Preston’s career would sink like a boulder in the East River.

A failure, just like his father.

He had to keep cool. Deal with this logically. Hmm, why not try to beat Lloyd at his own game?

Lips curling with devious satisfaction, he stifled the urge to rub his hands together. “What if we could produce paperwork to the contrary?”

Strong shifted in his chair and smoothed his silk vest. “That would certainly convince a judge, though I thought you said Lloyd had the only copy.”

“What if I could produce a version? Bribe someone at the records department to backdate a more recent deed transfer? One that shows the property was given back to my father.”

Strong’s brow creased dramatically. “What you are suggesting is illegal. I cannot be involved in something like that.”