Page 35 of Phillip

“All right.” He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, and he shifted his weight, swaying like the wisteria overhead lightly blowing on a breeze.

“How long’s it take to answer the door?” he muttered.

“Are you nervous?”

“I don’t get nervous.” Then he flashed her an impish grin. “Are you?”

“No comment.”

Surprised, he gave her arm a reassuring squeeze when the door swept open.

A well-dressed woman with silver hair tied into a bun greeted them. “Good afternoon.”

“Hello,” Ashley said. “Ashley Cartwright and Phillip Blackthorne for Mr. Paget.”

“He’s expecting you. Please come in.”

They were led into the expansive main hall then shown down another. Given Phillip’s upbringing, wealth didn’t catch him off guard often. But Robert Paget had always been different, and his home in King Harbor was exactly as he’d imagined—times a thousand. Everything Robert Paget was known for collecting seemed out on permanent display.

The collectibles were legendary and had been detailed in numerous profile pieces. Newspapers from theNew York Timesto theSouth Beach Heraldhad dedicated countless pages of print to his eclectic collections of rare plants, beautiful art, and historic maps that had guided history. But the collection that had garnered the most attention over the last several decades had been his cars.

Then, with a grand sweeping gesture from the silver-haired woman, the double doors of Mr. Paget’s office opened. His office matched his hallways. Collection displays lined the walls. In Phillip’s opinion, it tried a bit too hard to be impressive. But he was the one here making the ask, so his assessment didn’t mean much at the moment.

“Welcome.” Robert Paget rose from an oddly carved desk as they entered his office.

Phillip slid his hand across Ashley’s back, eyeing Paget as he stayed across the room.

Ashley stepped from his touch, drawn to one of the many distractions throughout Paget’s office. Phillip supposed that was why the man remained by his desk, letting visitors drool over his displays. Phillip let Ashley meander, and he approached Robert for a handshake. The grip was cool and corporate, somewhat surprising given the overelaborate décor, but their exchange bordered on terse.

Ashley approached Robert, and they exchanged a greeting that struck Phillip as personal and friendly.

“I’d heard about this desk,” Ashley said, studying the carvings.

Phillip didn’t think it deserved the awe that it seemed to inspire in Ashley. The carvings in the wooden structure didn’t follow a pattern. Tunnels, bridges, hills, and drops covered the desk without an obvious design. “It’s interesting.”

“Ms. Cartwright.” Mr. Paget produced a small silver ball from his jacket pocket and offered it to Ashley. “How’s your mother?”

She took the silver ball, showing it to Phillip as she studied it. “She’d doing well. And your family?”

“The same.”

The silver ball was as interesting as their small talk. Phillip wanted to get down to business.

“Drop the ball in the divot at the corner,” Robert directed Ashley.

Small talk and a demonstration, but he feigned interest in whatever was about to happen.

Ashley did as told. The heavy ball made a rich sound as it dropped, picking up speed, and spun through the carved maze that was the desk.

Phillip tracked the ball, privately admitting the desk to be awesome as he tried to figure out where the momentum came for the ball to continue its pace.

Somehow, the ball surfaced on the top of the desk by Paget’s side.

“That’s amazing,” Ashley gasped.

Phillip’s eyebrows arched. “That was impressive.”

“That’s art,” Paget added.

---