Gilded Secrets

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Vance muttered. Sometimes the old guard was so old they forgot they were living in a shiny new world where women didn’t stay at home unless that’s where they wanted to be.

“That’s not helpful, Simon,” Ann muttered, and Vance had to give her points for patience. If it was him, he’d have grabbed the cane away and tossed it into the corner.

Then he rolled his eyes as Veronica and Edwina charged into the fray in defense of their CEO.

He glanced across the table at the empty chair. Vance’s uncle, Rutherford Waverly, should be sitting there. As the most senior member of the board, he should have been at every meeting. And right now, Vance would have liked to get his uncle’s take on all of this. But Rutherford had hated Waverly’s and everything about it ever since he and Vance’s father, Edward, had had a falling-out decades ago. Vance himself had hardly spoken to the other man in years.

But right now, he could have used a cooler head. An unbiased opinion.

“Whether or not we like what’s happening,” Ann declared, effectively silencing the last of the grumblers around the table by keeping her voice low and calm, forcing them to quiet down long enough to hear her. “The situation is here and we have to deal with it. If Dalton Rothschild is preparing for a takeover, all of us have to watching for any signs of treachery or betrayal. As much as I hate to say it, one of our people may be spying for the enemy.”

Once again, the image of his new assistant popped into his mind. What did he really know about her?

The fourth floor was part of Waverly’s and yet, so wildly different from the rest of the venerable auction house it could have been on another planet. Every other floor in the building was sedate, lovely, elegant.

Here, though, it was all primary colors and the scent of crayons and cookies and milk. The rest of the building was usually couched in what felt like a cathedral-like hush. But here, there was laughter, giggles that bubbled up to the high ceilings and fell back down like a rain of daisies.

Every time Charlie stepped onto this floor, she felt a wave of gratitude to Waverly’s for taking such good care of its employees. If she had to pay for day care on her own, she wouldn’t have been able to save enough money to move into the two-bedroom apartment where she and Jake now lived. Not to mention the fact that she would have spent every minute of every workday worried about her son’s safety and happiness. Was he being fed or played with or hugged when he fell down?

At Waverly’s she didn’t have to worry about any of that. This space was completely childproof and safe. The women hired to work here had been vetted by HR and licensed by the State of New York in child care and early childhood development. Each child here was cared for and looked after and the nominal fee she paid every month was more than worth it.

She walked past the room that was set up with tables and chairs and two computer stations where older kids would come in after school and do their homework while they waited for the workday to end. She peeked into the nap room, furnished with a half-dozen cribs and two comfy rocking chairs, then slipped past quietly to stand in the doorway of the toddler play area.

Here again, there were bright colors on the walls and murals of fairy gardens and rainbows to enchant the kids. There were baby walkers for the infants, stuffed animals and games for the toddlers. There were shelves filled with books for the older kids and dozens of play rugs and pillows covering the wood floor.

An excited squeal greeted her, and Charlie reacted instantly. With a rush of love swamping her, she hurried across the floor to pick up her son and cuddle him close. He smelled like shampoo and bananas. She smiled when his little arms came around her neck and he dug his face into the curve of her neck. “Mamamamamama …”

It thrilled her to hear the babble of sound that defined the essence of who she was now. The old Charlie had faded away the moment she’d learned she was pregnant. The woman who had had vague, hazy dreams of success and flashy cars and beautiful homes had become a mother. Her dreams now were filled with plans for her son. With ways to ensure his happiness. With hopes for the future she could provide for him.

As she held that warm little body close to her, she told herself that Jake would never wonder if he was wanted. Would never be afraid.

Pushing all else but her baby aside, she looked into the dark blue eyes he had inherited from the father he’d never known. “Are you being a good boy?”

Jake grinned and her heart melted.

“He’s a terrific boy and you know it,” Linda Morrow said, coming up behind her. “Sweetest baby ever.”

“I think so,” Charlie agreed and gave Jake a quick kiss before setting him down on the rug again. When he screwed up his face to cry, she handed him a ball and he laughed in response. Nothing upset Jake for long.

“I was downstairs checking out the salesroom for Saturday’s auction and couldn’t resist stopping by to see him.”

“Oh, I get it,” Linda said, her gaze constantly shifting to take in the ten or so children scattered around the room and the other two women in charge of them. “That’s the beauty of working at a place like this. Being able to see your child during the day, reassure yourself …”

“Am I that obvious?”

“All good moms are,” Linda told her with a wink. “You know your baby’s safe here, but your heart insists on seeing for yourself once in a while.”

“Wish it was more often,” she said wistfully as she watched Jake crawl in a mad rush toward a giant, purple, plush teddy bear. In a perfect world, she’d be a stay-at-home mom with a dozen kids. She’d always wanted a big family. But since she had to work, she was grateful that she’d found a job doing something that she loved. Being part of something as fast-paced and exciting as the world of high-end auctions was a dream come true. Except for the not having enough time for her son thing.

“Jake took a step this morning all on his own.”

“He did?” Charlie’s heart gave a sharp, painful twist. She hadn’t been there to see that first step. She’d missed it and that memory was now Linda’s. The sting of that knowledge cut deep, but she quickly reassured herself that stolen moments didn’t make up a lifetime and that she would have years of memories of Jake’s “firsts” to take out and relive again when she was a doddering old woman.

“It was only the one step,” Linda was saying, “then he got this incredibly surprised look on his face and dropped like a stone.” She smiled. “But he’s getting it, and pretty soon he’ll be running everywhere.”

“He will, won’t he? God, it’s all going by so fast.”

Charlie watched her son go up on his knees, lift his arms, then fall forward onto the stuffed teddy bear with a wild giggle. His first step, then running. Then he’d be in school and then graduating and then college and marriage and a family and—Charlie laughed at her own thoughts. He was barely thirteen months old and she had him practically retired.

Plenty of time to build memories, she told herself. “I’ve got to get back to work,” she said and reluctantly turned for the door. She stopped, though, and asked, “Did he eat the watermelon chunks I sent with him today?”

“No, but he scarfed down the banana,” Linda told her.

One thing wasn’t changing. Jake would eat nothing but bananas if given half a chance.

“Okay, then.” She looked at her son one more time, as if to remind herself just what she was working for, then left the playroom behind.

Back at her desk, Charlie got caught up on Vance’s mail, the requests for authentication from the fine arts division and the incoming provenances on the next auction to be held, the Ming Dynasty porcelain.

She skimmed each one on her computer screen before sending them to the printer. It was fascinating to read about artists who had lived and died centuries ago. Who had created such beautiful, fragile things that had survived through the years.

What must it have been like to create such a long-lasting legacy? Had they expected their art to survive all this time? Or had they thought only of making a vase worthy enough of purchase so they could feed their families? No one would ever know, but Charlie loved imagining the lives of those long-dead artists and wondered what they’d make of seeing their treasures here, in a modern auction house.

While the laser printer hummed along, a ding sounded, alerting Charlie to an incoming email. She switched over to the mail program, clicked on the header INFORMATION REQUIRED and then froze.

Her gaze locked on the screen, her heart stopped. Breath was trapped in her lungs.

And fear rose up to take a bite out of her soul.

Four

Vance left the boardroom, still considering everything Ann had said. He wanted to believe that there was nothing between her and Dalton Rothschild. He also wanted to believe that there was no hostile takeover in the works. The thought of any of Waverly’s employees secretly working for the enemy was a hard one to take.

But worse was the thought that had been circling in his mind like some twisted tornado. No matter how he tried to dislodge the thoughts, they kept coming back.

If he was going to suspect an employee of betraying the house, then he had to take a good, hard look at Charlotte Potter. Relatively new to the company. New to the position of his assistant, which would give her access to all kinds of sensitive information about Waverly’s.

He stalked down the long hallway toward his office and the scowl on his face was fierce enough to have others scatter with one look at him. A path was cleared for him and Vance barely noticed. His mind was racing. Was Charlie a spy? Or was she as innocent as she looked?

Vance stopped dead and paid no attention to the people forced to walk around him. If there was something going on here, he had to find out what it was.

Charlie’s gaze locked on the few simple lines of type.

I know who you really are. Forward to this address all of V. Waverly’s files for the last five years of business or risk facing charges of being an unfit mother.

“Unfit?” Her stomach churning, Charlie lifted one hand to her mouth as the tidy little world she’d built around herself crumbled.

Fear was roaring inside her and it was hard to breathe. She wasn’t an unfit mother. She loved her son and she would fight anyone who said differently. But while her fear and fury pumped hot through her veins, a voice in her mind whispered, The past is there, Charlie. You can’t change it. Can’t hide it. If someone finds out …