Leigh Michaels - The Boss's Daughter

Cunning of him, to put it that way. Amy shrugged. “Now that’s a thought. You could just turn the business over to Mother for a while. After all, she’s lived and breathed it even longer than I have, and with her financial future at stake—”

Gavin’s eyebrows tilted. “You’re joking, surely.”

“Well, yes, I suppose I am,” Amy admitted. “But couldn’t you just talk to her? Explain what’s happened?”

Gavin shook his head. “I can’t see her being very understanding. And I can’t blame her, exactly—I got myself into this predicament.”

He was no doubt right about his soon-to-be-ex-wife’s lack of sympathy, Amy thought. Who could blame Carol Sherwood for still being furious over her ex-husband’s behavior? Amy didn’t think her mother would actually be shortsighted enough to put revenge ahead of her own financial interests. But Amy could understand why Gavin was hesitant to confess his predicament to Carol. If she did become vindictive, she’d be within her rights to demand her money even if it required Gavin to liquidate everything he owned, and he didn’t want to take the slightest chance of having that happen.

“And postponing the payment for a few weeks wouldn’t help much anyway,” Gavin said heavily, “if the business I’ve cultivated so carefully goes somewhere else in the meantime.”

Amy sighed. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

Gavin gripped her hand. “That’s my girl,” he said. “I knew I could count on you.”

Amy paused for a full fifteen seconds on the sidewalk, looking up at the block-square brown-brick building—originally a warehouse—that housed her father’s auction business, before she took a deep breath and pulled open the main door.

It had been nearly three months since she had set foot inside Sherwood Auctions, and just an hour ago, she’d have sworn that she would never walk through those doors again. But here she was anyway—pretty much resigned to the fact, if not precisely happy about it.

She stopped in the small entrance lobby. The half-dozen comfortable chairs opposite the reception desk were all empty, but that wasn’t unusual. It wasn’t exactly early, but the auction business didn’t really get moving till at least the middle of the day.

Behind the reception desk, a man in a dark suit was on the telephone, obviously scheduling an appointment for the caller with one of the auction house’s expert appraisers. That might take a while, Amy knew. Though she tapped the toe of her sandal on the marble floor, the action was more to give her something to do than because she was feeling impatient.

“Mrs. Gleason will see you on Thursday morning at ten,” the man at the desk said. “Thank you for calling Sherwood Auctions, Mrs. Carter.” He stood up. “Good morning. How may I help—” His question broke off abruptly as he got a good look at Amy, and he went on disbelievingly, “Ms. Sherwood?”

She didn’t blame him for being startled. “In the flesh, Robert.”

“But your father isn’t—” He sounded a bit apprehensive. “I mean, you do know about…don’t you?”

“About his heart attack? Relax, I haven’t been that far out of the loop. I just came from seeing him in the hospital. I’m here because…” She paused. Because I’m taking over. She hadn’t even said it out loud to herself, and at the last moment she realized she couldn’t get her tongue around the words to explain it to anyone else just yet. Not till she’d had a little more time to get used to the idea herself. So instead of telling Robert the truth, she said, “Because I need to see Beth Gleason. Has she come in yet?”

Robert nodded. “Go on up, Ms. Sherwood.” He pushed a button on the desk and the inner door unlocked with a soft buzz.

Amy was just a little startled that he hadn’t phoned Beth to come down to greet her. No one but the staff was supposed to wander around the building without an escort. In fact, considering the way Amy had departed almost three months ago, she wouldn’t have been too surprised if instead of casually letting her enter, Robert had vaulted the reception desk, seized her by the neck, and thrown her out onto the street. Even if her father had sentimentally left her name on the employee roster, the rest of the staff had to know the truth.

Amy stepped through the doorway and into the main lobby. While the reception area was elegant in a very understated way, the two-story-high lobby on the other side of the locked door—where no client or bidder or visitor ever went without an escort—had been deliberately designed to overwhelm. Though it contained nothing but a branching staircase with a cloakroom tucked underneath and a matched pair of elevators, the room often drew gasps from the first-time visitor. Quite an understandable reaction, Amy had always thought, since the staircase had been salvaged from a centuries-old manor house, the linen-fold paneling which covered the elevator doors from a minor palace, and the arched ceiling from a small cathedral. None of them were the sort of thing often seen in Kansas City.

Perception is everything in this business, Gavin had said, and he was right. It had cost him a fortune to create the image of a solid, wealthy, timeless business, but the investment had more than paid for itself. When clients who had been doubtful about what to do with their treasures saw this lobby, they abruptly relaxed, certain that they and their possessions were in good hands. Amy had seen it happen a hundred times.

She could have taken the elevator from the lower lobby all the way to the top of the building where the executive offices were located, but she much preferred to climb the stairs as far as she could. She liked to let her hand trail along the satin-smooth railing as she climbed, liked to see the view from the top step as a second and even larger lobby opened out in front of her. To one side, across what seemed an acre of carpet, was a pillared archway leading into the auction room where the rare and unusual items that were Sherwood Auctions’ specialty were put under the hammer. On the other side of the lobby, smaller doors led into a series of museum-like showrooms where prospective buyers could inspect the merchandise days or even weeks before the actual auction.

This morning the auction room was empty and the showrooms quiet. Amy paused just long enough to glance into the showrooms before she went on upstairs. The next scheduled auction, she concluded, must be furniture, for a classic highboy occupied the place of honor just inside the main showroom.

Upstairs, where the clients seldom came, the image of ancient success abruptly gave way to practicality. The fourth floor was a warren of offices, storage closets, and workrooms; she walked down two long corridors before stopping to tap at the door of a cramped office. A young woman wearing a lab coat and white cotton gloves looked up from a china figurine standing on her desk, her mouth dropping open as she saw Amy.

“Sevres?” Amy asked, pointing at the figurine.

Beth Gleason stripped off her gloves. “No. Unfortunately, it’s just a darn good imitation.”

“And now you have to break the news to the owner, who expected to make a small fortune on it?”

“My favorite part of the job,” Beth said dryly. “What are you doing here? You told me you’d only come back over your father’s…” Her voice trailed off. “Sorry. That’s not very funny just now.”

“Well, he’s not dying. In fact, for a guy who had a heart attack just a few days ago, he’s looking incredibly good.” Amy brushed packing fibers off a chair and sat down. “He wants me back on the payroll, only this time I’m supposed to run the whole show.”

“Take Gavin’s place? For how long?”

“Until he’s able to work again. A few weeks, he said.”