Page 18 of Baby for the Single Dad

* * *

The followingday at the office, I almost scream with delight when I receive a text message from Jo. She sent the contact number of the FBI agent in Washington. She called me earlier to tell me that she’d spoken to him, and he was okay with me seeing the Mayan sculpture and possibly displaying it at the museum.

Inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, I dial the number. It rings for a while before a man with a deep baritone voice answers.

“Good morning. This is Giselle Bartholomay. Am I speaking to Mr. Armstrong?”

“Yes. Josephine called to inform me about your interest in the Mayan sculpture,” the FBI agent says in a crisp but friendly tone.

Keeping my fingers crossed on my desk, I say, “Yes, I’m very much interested in the sculpture. You see, Mr. Armstrong, the Met is about to hold a Mayan exhibit, and it would be wonderful to add the sculpture to the list of art to be displayed. I understand that it’s a huge request given that it was recovered and has to be returned to its original country. But I was hoping we could have the privilege of displaying it before it’s taken back to Honduras.”

He’s silent for a while, and I hold my breath. “Well, I guess it’s possible as long as Honduras agrees to it. You’d have to follow procedure and fill out the proper paperwork.”

My head bobs vigorously. “Certainly.”

“But first and foremost, I think you should come to Washington to have a look at the sculpture and see if it’s worth the hype.”

“Of course. I’ll get back to you next week after I inform the museum and have their go-ahead. Perhaps we can arrange a meeting in Washington?”

“All right. I’ll be expecting your call.”

“Thank you for the opportunity.”

“You’re welcome. I look forward to meeting Josephine’s sister,” he says before ending the call. I find that a little weird. With the endearing way he said her name, I wonder if something is going on between him and Jo. Has she finally let go of her cynicism? I file the thought away to ask her later.

Unable to stop myself, I get up from my chair, put on some music, and dance around my desk, celebrating.

“Yes!”

Now I have to inform my boss and convince the conservator team that the project is worth pursuing. But I feel it in my bones. It’s all working out beautifully. Hopefully, I’ll get the nod to head to Washington with the right documentation to acquire the sculpture for the exhibit.

More than ever, I need to forget about everything else. Humming, I reach for the phone to call Jo.

CHAPTER9

MILES

The Board of Trustees meeting is in full swing, and all I can think about is Giselle. For the umpteenth time, I wonder why I didn’t see her yesterday in her ballet class. Is she avoiding me? Has she changed her dance lessons from Sundays just to avoid meeting me there? I know she definitely saw me with Ashlyn the other week and must have heard her call me Dad. What did she make of it? Is that why she doesn’t want to see me? If it wouldn’t seem unprofessional, I would have asked a member of the conservator team for her phone number with the excuse of wanting to plan an event at the museum.

Grudgingly, I drag my attention back to the meeting as the chairman is addressing the newly elected members. I absentmindedly clap my hands as they’re introduced to us again and their impressive profiles read. The scene reminds me of my own introduction to the Board a few years ago. After multiple generous monetary contributions and service to the museum, I was glad when I was approached to join the Board.

“All right. Our next agenda is the museum’s financial situation,” the chairman announces, nodding at the financial secretary. “Over to you, Mrs. Adams.”

The elegant woman nods and turns to her laptop, showing us charts and slides. There are nods all around the table. The museum isn’t performing badly, but it could do better. We discuss the financial situation, strategizing about different ways to raise funds needed for an efficient operation. We tax ourselves to do more individually.

While the discussion is still ongoing, I decide to seek out Giselle, even if it means asking Mrs. Winters to take me to her office. She might not be pleased with my actions, but I need to see her. And I won’t take no for an answer.

My head snaps up when I hear the next agenda item for the meeting. The conservator team has an issue to discuss with us. As soon as they’re called into the boardroom, my body stiffens when I see that Giselle is among them. From my position at the middle of the table, I study her.

She’s as beautiful as ever. Her lovely red tresses are bound in a soft knot at her nape, providing an unobscured view of her perfect face. The navy-blue dress she has on shows off her lovely figure and pale skin. A reluctant smile curls my lips when I notice that she’s keeping her eyes trained in the direction of the chairman, doing everything possible not to look my way. At that instant, I acknowledge that I desperately want to be alone with her again. I have to find a way to make it happen.

“Our new event planner, Ms. Bartholomay here, recently brought to my notice the recovery of a Mayan artifact,” Mrs. Winters, the head of the conservator team begins after they are welcomed into our midst. “We wish to discuss the possibility of obtaining this artifact for the upcoming exhibit on Mayan art.”

“That’s interesting. What’s the artifact?” the chairman questions.

Mrs. Winters nods at Giselle, and she takes over the presentation.

“The sculpture is from the ruins of Copán, often referred to asTheOld Man of Copán. It was made known in Europe in 1570 by Diego Garcia de Palacio. For a while, it had been hidden from the public eye. Having it displayed at the museum will be a huge boost to the Met’s reputation. My contact at the FBI is positive that Honduras will grant us permission to showcase the bust at the exhibit, provided we follow the proper protocol.”

---