Page 13 of Quinn, By Design

“What dots is it you’re connecting?” Niall studied her; under the makeup, there was genuine colour in her cheeks. If sparring with him had provided some of her colour, he’d let her play this game out.

“You need money,” she stated.

“Everyone needs money from time to time.”

“Do you accept Grandpa’s generosity prevents me from earning money from this site?” For a wealthy woman, she was fixated on money. But she wasn’t the first woman he’d met with a calculator for a heart.

“Yes.” If Cam had been alive, Niall would have roared at him for putting Niall in this position. Her granda was a man who’d understood hard work didn’t always deliver a living wage.So, what the hell was Cam playing at?

“You say you respected my grandpa, liked him, dare I say, admired what he achieved?” Now she’d shifted to wheedling, and seeing her beg for anything sickened him.

“Cameron McTavish was a fine man, who above all else wanted to see you secure.” All the lovely colour drained from her cheeks, and Niall cursed himself for being the cause. “Why does that upset you?”

“Because he and Gran already gave me security—a bed, food, clothes, an education.” She gripped her hands tightly.

She’d needed a bed! What the hell kind of childhood had she had? “From what Cam said, you don’t have much of a family. No cousins, no aunts, no uncles.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” She reached for his fruit platter, resting her hand against it. To some, a burl was a deformity on a tree. With the right touch, it became an object of beauty. Touching the wood seemed to steady her.

“No family,” he repeated his point. “He valued the family he had. He loved you. It’s normal to look after those you love.”

“I promised to keep McTavish’s in the family.” She used the shop as a shield. Or maybe as a comfort blanket.

“You’ll get no argument from me.” He held up his hands.

“I’ve got a proposition for you.” Colour crept up her cheeks, and wasn’t that fascinating?

Lucy McTavish didn’t like his frames, didn’t approve of his mismatched crockery, but body chemistry wasn’t as reliable as good sense. She’d just acknowledged an attraction. That makes two of us. Reluctant—definitely—but simmering below the surface just the same.

“Abusinessproposition. I’ll buy you more old frames if you give me what you currently have in stock and all future pieces you produce.”

“You don’t sell frames.” Whereas despite not using the name Quinn, Niall had made peace with his need to make bespoke frames for a short time. “My current stock is promised to Leopold’s, and I build to measure.” Niall had a personal yardstick for dignity, and his integrity wasn’t for sale.

“Don’t you owe Grandpa anything?”

“I owe myself self-respect.” He kept a leash on his temper. “If I reneged on the deal with Leopold’s, I’d have no credibility in the marketplace.”

“They’re just frames.” She drove him crazy, stroking his creations as if she had some special connection to them, while badmouthing items the punters couldn’t get enough of. She also fascinated him.

“You’ve just trashed my work and my morals. What would you do if I asked you to repudiate a sale to a new customer because a regular customer asked for the piece.”

“I’d explain the piece is already sold.” Her bum polished his chair while she practised haughty disdain.

“You can see yourself out.” He pushed back from the table. Blackmail was an ugly word. “There’s not much point in making an apology only to insult me again.”

“I’ve got a serious cash flow problem,” she blurted out.

“You’ve just inherited one of the oldest, most respected antiques businesses in the city. The premises are elegant, the stock high quality ...” he stumbled to a halt.

For no reason he could name, Niall recalled Cam’s sick room. Filled with personal possessions—Cam’s favourite paintings, items of furniture, photographs of his wife—an intimate space kitted out as a well-equipped twenty-four-seven private hospital. A doctor called twice daily and nurses were on permanent call. It would have cost a fortune.Well, feck!

“Happens to the best of businesses from time to time.”

Happens to me most of the time.

“I’m sure Henry has some ideas, if not your accountant. Have you tried the bank?” He’d started to babble. Resuming his seat, he tried another bite of the sandwich. A bad idea. The bread and cheese congealed into a hard-to-swallow mass. Cam couldn’t have foreseen this, but Cam’s pipedream about a foundation with Niall in the major role had somehow tipped his granddaughter into debt.

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