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There.
He’d told the truth, but just enough of it that he wouldn’t piss anyone off with what he really thought of the idea of an exclusive club for a bunch of wankers who thought themselves better than everyone else.
“But...?” Vaughn wasn’t prepared to accept his textbook response. And he knew enough of Jordan to realize that if he poked a little harder he’d get the unfiltered truth.
“Why is this important? And why is it important now?” Jordan fidgeted in his chair, wired by the energy required to filter his thoughts and restrain his tongue.
Neither of which he was very good at.
“Because. I need to know.” Vaughn narrowed his gaze, his jaw set.
“Fine. You want to know the truth? Then I’ll tell you. Prescott George does quite a lot of good for its members and the community, but I happen to strongly disagree with its elitist, exclusionary nature.”
“We can’t all be principled artists with the luxury of living off our trust funds, now can we?” Vaughn seethed. His words were a direct hit to Jordan’s ego, and he knew it.
It was true. When Jordan had first left college, he’d been dependent on his trust fund. However, he’d quickly made a name for himself on the London art scene and had eventually come to San Diego, purchased a studio and started to grow his brand here.
He wasn’t exactly a household name, yet. However, he had public art installations in various cities in the US and in Europe. And he certainly wasn’t dependent on his family’s money any longer.
“There are plenty of self-made men like Chris Marland here, too,” Vaughn continued, referring to the San Diego chapter president.
“And I admire such men.” Jordan forced a smile. He refused to give Vaughn the satisfaction of knowing how peeved he was by his dig about him being a trust fund baby. “But we also have a great many members whose primary reason for joining the club is to enjoy the orgasmic pleasure of having someone else stroke their egos for a change.” Jordan’s smirk deepened when Vaughn scowled at his crude reference.
“Then why join the club at all?”
“Us nonconforming, trust fund babies must find some way to keep the parents happy, now mustn’t we?” Jordan checked his watch again and frowned. He put both feet on the floor and clasped his hands between his knees. “Now, are you going to tell me what this is all about or not? I’m in no mood for a guessing game today, mate. Out with it already.”
Vaughn cleared his throat and tipped his chin, his eyes meeting Jordan’s. “Got the initial report on the recent break-in here.”
“All right.” Jordan leaned forward. “What’ve you learned about the robbery?”
Vaughn released a long sigh as he reviewed the document again. “There was evidence of a residue left behind, quite possibly by the perpetrator.”
“What kind of residue?” Jordan was losing patience with Vaughn’s deliberate evasiveness.
He met Jordan’s gaze. “It was a powder often used in metalworking. The kind of thing a metal sculptor might use.”
It took a few moments for Jordan to get his meaning. Not because he was daft, but because he was gobsmacked that the man could even think of making such an accusation.
“You can’t possibly be accusing me of having anything to do with such a pedestrian prank? No, you must surely be having a laugh at my expense.” Jordan shot to his feet. “Any other day, perhaps I’d find it amusing. But today I’ve got no time for joking, mate. Got an exhibition at the gallery tonight, or have you forgotten?”
“I’m afraid it’s no joke.” Vaughn looked pained by the entire ordeal.
“You’re mad as a bag of ferrets if you believe this bollocks.” Jordan paced the floor. He gestured around the office. “Nothing here is worth my time. If I wanted it, I’d simply purchase it for myself.”
“Since you have such a love-hate relationship with the club, perhaps you did it as a joke. Or maybe as a way to piss everyone here off.”
“Do I look the sort of tosser that would risk getting nicked for a practical joke?”
“Then how do you explain the metalworking powder residue found at the scene?” Vaughn kept his voice calm. Controlled. Rather than settling him, it only made him want to punch the man in his smug face.
“That’s not my job, now is it?” Jordan folded his arms defiantly, then blew an exasperated breath as he flopped into the chair again. “Innocent until proven guilty and all that.”
“True.” Vaughn nodded sagely, tapping a pen on the blasted investigative report. He raised his eyes to meet Jordan’s again. “But then there’s the anonymous reports received by a local gossip blog.”
“Naming me as the culprit?”
“Hinting that the heist was an inside job.” Vaughn put the pen down and studied his reaction. “Put the residue and the news that it’s an inside job together and—”
“You and the wanker who set you on to this idea are completely barmy. So what if there was residue from my metalworking? I’m in here often enough, aren’t I?”
“I agree that you’re not a very likely suspect. You may be a pompous ass, but I doubt that you’re a thief.” Vaughn seemed relieved. “Still, I had to ask.”
“I understand.” Jordan hadn’t realized his heart was racing. His breathing slowed and he nodded. “So who do you suspect?”
“That’s just it.” Vaughn shrugged. “I don’t have any idea why someone inside our club would do this. Especially now...when we’ve been nominated as Prescott George’s Chapter of the Year. The timing couldn’t be worse.”
“True. That still puts us no closer to knowing exactly who the dodgy prat is who’d do something like this.”
“I just printed out a few copies of our membership list.” Vaughn shoved some papers across his desk at Jordan. “Got a few minutes to go over it with me? I’d love a second opinion on who might be responsible.”
Jordan groaned and checked his Devon Tread watch. He honestly didn’t have time for this tosh. But perhaps he should show some gratitude for Vaughn’s confidence in him.
He picked up the stack of names and pored over them. After a half an hour of comparing notes on various members of the club, Jordan’s phone rang again. This time it was his father. His mother had rang a handful of times earlier in the day.
Jordan sent the call to voice mail. He didn’t want to hear either of their excuses about why they wouldn’t be able to make tonight’s exhibition this time.
“This round of who’s the barmy bastard has been fun.” Jordan shoved his phone back into his pocket and stood. “But I’ve got a show to put on tonight. Shall I expect you and your lovely wife to be in attendance?”
“Miranda and I have a previous engagement tonight. I’m sorry we’ll miss it.” Vaughn settled back in his seat. “And I hope there are no hard feelings about our conversation today.”
“You didn’t have much of a choice, I s’pose.” Jordan shrugged. “But I can’t promise to be so forgiving if it should ever happen again.”
Jordan put on his shades and made his way back to his car. Time to focus on tonight’s event. The only thing he really cared about.
Chapter 2 (#u5554e811-bb65-5c5a-850c-781c1f420bfc)
Sasha Charles read the invitation to the Jordan Jace exhibition at his gallery, Sorella, for the third time. She scanned the website for the gallery and studied his handsome face.
Smooth brown skin. Intense, mesmerizing eyes. A brilliant, mischievous smile. There was something about the man that made her want to know more about him. Then there was his art. Public installations that stood several stories high against the San Diego skyline.
Powerful. Intriguing. Enigmatic.
Much like the man himself from what she’d been able to gather.
Sasha walked through her closet in search of the perfect dress. Something that was all business, but would still capture Jordan Jace’s eye when she walked into his gallery.
She lifted a dress custom made for her by one of her clients—a local fashion designer.
Sasha had been waiting for the right occasion to wear the dress. The navy, off-shoulder dress had a mermaid silhouette. The top was made of lace and there was a lace detail on the train.
Sasha held the dress against her and nodded. A sly smile curved the corner of her mouth.
Absolutely perfect. Jordan Jace won’t know what hit him.
Sasha laid the dress out on her bed, kicked off her shoes and got ready for the night ahead.
* * *
Jordan stood on the second level of his art gallery and surveyed the space. Tried to see it as a first-time visitor or potential client would.
He loved everything about Sorella. From its name to the raw elements that comprised the site. Exposed brick walls. Restored original wood floors. An open loft and staircase constructed of black steel.
The spare feel of the showroom allowed the art to be the real star. The paintings of some of San Diego’s best upcoming artists adorned the walls of the gallery. Sculptures cast in bronze, copper, steel, marble and clay anchored the space. And today a variety of his pieces took center stage on both levels.
Jordan worked with found elements of metal and reclaimed wood to create works of art that were truly unique. Pieces each viewer interpreted differently.
It was an honor to have public art installations in San Diego and the UK. To share his art with an entire community. Yet, there was something truly intimate about a buyer falling in love with one of his sculptures and making it part of their home or office.
It was a tremendous feeling his parents would never understand. Not that they’d ever tried. Instead, they’d treated his art as if it were a teenage indulgence. Something he needed to work out of his system before he finally gave it up and took a “real” job in their family business.
“How does everything look?” Lydia shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she stood beside him.
“Brilliant. You’ve done a bang-up job, Lydia.” Arms still folded, he glanced at the woman quickly, then returned to surveying the gallery for any missed details.
“Is there anything I’ve forgotten?” She stood ready with a notebook and pen.
“Is the bar completely stocked?”
Guests would be offered complimentary champagne and hors d’oeuvres. But they could order anything they desired from the bar anchoring the center of the room.
“Yes. They have all of the top-shelf spirits you requested.”
“Did we get that wine in from—”
“The wineries you visited in Baja last month during the Prescott George tour?” Lydia finished his thought. “Yes.”
“Very good. Has the caterer arrived yet?”
“She’s setting up now.”
“You’re remarkable, as always.” Jordan turned to face the woman. Lydia’s title was assistant, but truthfully, she did it all. She handled paperwork, managed the gallery, assisted with the curation of artwork and generally kept him on track. All without complaint. “And you look smashing tonight. As always,” he added with a broad smile that made her blue eyes twinkle.
Per his parents’ voice mails and text messages filled with excuses, neither of them would be in attendance tonight, though they were both in town. But an impressive list of wealthy and well-known residents of San Diego would be on hand. Along with a few out-of-towners who’d flown in just for the event.
Tonight would be memorable—regardless of whether his parents deemed the event worthy of their presence.
* * *
Jordan flashed his biggest smile for a wealthy patron who’d bought several of his sculptures for her homes in London and Los Angeles. Vivian Avery had been the first person to purchase a major piece from him who hadn’t been connected to or referred by a member of his family or Prescott George. Ten years later, she was still one of his most ardent supporters.
Tonight the older woman was in the market for a smaller scale piece right for her lavish New York apartment.
Jordan chatted with a few other patrons milling about the gallery. He talked with two other gallery owners who’d been pressing him to collaborate on a local arts festival. They hoped the project would bring a wider range of visitors to all three galleries. Jordan wasn’t willing to commit on the project just yet. But he was personable and showed just enough interest to keep the two other gallery owners’ hopes alive.
“Phenomenal event, Jordan.” His eldest brother, Marlon, exchanged his empty champagne glass for a filled one floating by on a server’s tray.
His brothers Michael and Joseph heartily agreed.
“Thank you for coming tonight. All of you, but you especially.” Jordan indicated his brother Marlon who’d arranged a business meeting in San Diego for the sole purpose of attending his event. “I know you have to be off soon to catch your red-eye flight back home.”
“Since he’s flying the private jet, Michael and I are tagging along.” Joseph nibbled on pâté on crostini. “We’ll be back here in a week or two.”
Jordan gave his brothers a quick hug. “I really do appreciate you being here.”
“Mum and Dad really did want to be here,” Marlon said quickly. “They’ve been trying to ring you all day to tell you as much themselves.”
“You shouldn’t brush them off that way. If for no other reason than they keep ringing the three of us all day. As if that will force you to answer your mobile.”
“I love them, but I’ve heard all of their excuses before.” Jordan winced, his lips pressed into a hard line. “Wasn’t much up for such utter tosh today. Had my fill of it for the day over at the Prescott George office.”
“What happened?” Michael crooked his brow.
“Nothing worth discussing,” Jordan said quickly. “And nothing for any of you to worry about.” He caught a glimpse of Lydia waving him over. “If I don’t see you before you leave, have a safe flight.”
Jordan answered a few questions Lydia asked on behalf of a client inquiring about a custom piece. He stopped to talk to the bartenders, then mingled with a few other guests. Then he noticed...her.
He watched the woman in a long, navy dress that hugged her lush curves. The dress was incredibly sexy without being too revealing. A line she trod remarkably well. Her movements were so smooth and fluid she seemed to float across the room.
Jordan’s attention was drawn to the smooth skin of her back and shoulders. Trailed up her long, elegant neck. He usually fancied women with long hair. Enamored with the thought of winding it round his fist. But the woman’s hair was cut into a short, pixie style that perfectly suited her impish smile.
A smile that indicated she knew something the rest of the world didn’t. A secret he suddenly needed to know.
As the woman sipped her champagne, her head tipped back slightly. Jordan found himself studying her throat. Her jawline. Her delicate cheekbones.
She walked around the sculpture she’d been assessing for the past few minutes, giving him an excellent view of her face.
Even better.
The woman was beyond fit. Even beyond stunning. Gorgeous, delicate facial features. Warm brown skin that practically glowed. Long, lean limbs.
Just cataloging her many fine attributes sent a shiver down his spine.
And she appeared to be without a companion for the evening. A dilemma he would most happily remedy.
Jordan wandered beside the woman and stared at the sculpture in silence for a moment. He sipped his champagne, then turned to her. “What do you think of it?”
“Me?” She gave him only a cursory glance, then returned her attention to the piece.
