He Will be My Ruin
Page 38

Right. I did do that. I was so relieved when I saw the email request this morning, I answered quickly. While I could just cancel all plans for letting Jace have my money, I don’t want to risk any part of Doug’s investigation by closing an open door. But after what happened in the elevator yesterday, I definitely didn’t want to see him again in person.
And now here he is.
“So you thought it’d be appropriate to just show up. On a Saturday.”
He slides an envelope out from the inside pocket of his jacket. “I thought I’d deliver them to you in person.”
“You really want my money badly, don’t you?”
He sighs, a hint of irritation flickering in his eyes as they settle on me. “Are you always so cynical? Or have I done something to offend you?”
“I don’t know. Have you?” I ask pointedly.
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Look, yesterday was . . . unprofessional of me. I get it, and I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention. I didn’t know what else to do, though. I don’t sing or dance and I couldn’t think of any stories. You sounded like you were going to die.” He smiles, and has the grace to look somewhat sheepish. “It worked.”
It did. Too well.
Unprofessionalism. That could be my excuse for tearing up these forms. Then again, I’m equally to blame. And I’ve been ordered to keep up appearances.
I hold a reluctant hand out. “Where do I have to sign?”
He smiles. “Already marked with flags.”
“I’m assuming these are the exact documents that my advisor approved?”
“They are, but I’m in no rush. You should read through before you sign.”
“No thanks,” I grumble, scribbling my signature over and over. I’m in a rush. To get rid of him.
“There’s a lot of stuff in here,” he muses, scoping out Celine’s apartment. “Are you going to have a garage sale or something?”
“Oh, hell no! She’s having Celine’s brilliant and talented friend work his buns off to sell this valuable collection at a silent auction in the esteemed Hollingsworth showroom,” a petulant-sounding male voice announces. Hans stomps his heavy boots on the doormat. “Someone took pity and let me in downstairs. My delicate skin was not made for this weather!” he whines, unwinding the red plaid scarf hiding half his face. It’s just barely below thirty degrees Fahrenheit out there and yet he’s dressed for a trek through Alaska.
“Oh, goodie! More people,” Ruby says with a smile, sneaking up behind him as he peels off a bulky fur-lined coat. “You must be Hans. I’m the neighbor across the hall, Ruby. Celine and Maggie both told me so much about you. You look like you could use some tea.” She holds up a cup in her hand.
“Crown Staffordshire?”
“1938.”
Hans nods with approval. “Very nice.”
Ruby grins at us with excitement. For a lonely old woman, this is now a full-fledged party. “I’ll be back in a moment with another cup.”
After disrobing from his winter gear, Hans gets his first good look at Jace. His eyes widen and flash to me. Yes, he recognizes him from the picture.
I do quick, begrudging introductions. Thankfully Ruby quickly reappears with a fourth cup and another plate of shortbread. She insists on pouring for the men and I watch, thinking how bizarre this all is. In the apartment of a dead girl, the friend helping me sell off her life’s work on my left, the guy who paid for her sexual services but pretends not to know her on my right, and the old crime fiction novelist who thinks this stinks of murder across from me.
Having tea.
All we need is Grady here, smoking a joint.
“Are these the catalogues you were telling me about?” Hans picks up the five journals sitting on the coffee table, so full that none of them close completely.
“Yup.”
He inhales, his eyes lighting up as he fans the pages and colored pictures flash past. “I’ll bet she has a page for every single item she ever bought. Talk about OCD, but I love that girl. Cuts our work in half, at least.” He sticks them into his leather satchel.
I sit quietly sandwiched between the two men on the couch while Hans chatters incessantly and Ruby watches like a hawk perched on its post. I would expect nothing less from a writer.
“So, what are you doing here, Jace?” Hans’s bony elbow digs into my ribs, making me jump.
“Maggie needed to sign some paperwork for the investments she’s making through me,” Jace explains politely.
“Are you investing the money we make off Celine’s collection?”
“No, I’m not going to risk losing that,” I mutter. “It’s going directly toward a local project.”
“Hey . . .” Jace’s hand lands on my knee. “I don’t lose my clients’ money. I thought you trusted me.”
I want to slap his hand away. And in the time that I consider it, Grady appears in my doorway. It takes all of two seconds for his eyes to zero in on Jace’s hand.
“Hi, Grady.” I stand quickly, moving a few steps toward him. “What’s up?”
He smiles—a tight smile—and holds up a drill. “Ruby just called me down, about a kitchen cabinet hinge needing fixing?”
“Oh, that’s right. I did.” Ruby’s eyes twinkle. “But why don’t you come in for some tea first?” She produces a fifth cup from somewhere, as if she anticipated this. I’m sure that’s why she also left Celine’s apartment door open.
Grady’s work boots, unlaced, clomp against the floor as he saunters in, the late-day scruff along his jawline reminding me of the other night. In his dark faded jeans and Black Sabbath T-shirt, he’s about as polar-opposite to Jace as a guy could get.
And I’m becoming that much more attracted to him because of it.
I feel myself blush and duck my head as Ruby introduces Grady to everyone—because I clearly have no manners anymore.
When I dare look up again, Jace is sizing up Grady, and Grady is glaring daggers at Jace, and neither Ruby nor I miss the exchange. The only one who seems oblivious is Hans, too busy stuck in a hot-guy haze to stop smiling. “So what local project were you talking about, Maggie?”
I turn to level Jace with a gaze. “Helping steer women away from prostitution.”
Jace coughs against his mouthful of tea. “Is that something your friend was passionate about?”