As the two older people shot verbal darts at each other, Vance watched Ann. Her mouth worked as if she were grinding her teeth and Vance couldn’t really blame her. It had to be hard, standing in front of this bunch, defending yourself against what was at this point merely rumor.
Finally, she turned to him and asked, “Vance? What about you? As the last remaining Waverly on the board, I value your opinion. Do you believe me?”
He studied her for a long minute. Vance knew that now the others were waiting to hear what he had to say. And he knew that whatever he said would swing sentiment either for or against Ann. His first responsibility was to the company and the thousands of people both here and abroad who depended on Waverly’s for their very livelihoods.
But he also owed Ann his support. She’d stepped into the role of CEO and done a hell of a job. She was smart and capable and had never given him any reason to doubt her motives or her loyalties to the house.
He wasn’t convinced that she was telling the complete truth, though. Like it or not, George had a point. That reporter had picked up on some tidbit of gossip as the basis for the story. But even if there was something between Ann and Dalton, Vance still didn’t believe she would sell out Waverly’s.
He’d like to have all the information before he took a stand one way or the other, but that wasn’t going to happen. What it came down to for Vance was this: Did he trust his gut instincts or not? Bottom line? He always went with his instincts. So he took a chance.
“I believe you,” he said loudly enough that no one could miss it.
He saw her shoulders relax just a bit in silent relief and he knew he’d done the right thing to support her publicly. But he wasn’t finished.
“That said,” Vance continued, looking directly into Ann’s blue eyes, “if this reporter continues to throw mud at Waverly’s, we’ll all need to be prepared.”
His silent message to her was, If I’m wrong about you, you had better have a good backup plan—because if it means saving Waverly’s, you’re gone.
She gave him a small, tight nod and Vance was pretty sure she understood.
“You’re right,” Ann said aloud. Shifting her gaze back to the rest of the board, she continued by saying, “Dalton Rothschild is not to be trusted. If he thinks there’s a chink in our armor, he will make a move.”
“Such as?” Edwina asked.
Ann gritted her teeth. “A hostile takeover wouldn’t be out of the question.”
Vance listened to the outraged shouts and furious whispers that rolled through the room and wondered why none of them had considered that possibility before. He certainly had. The implications of what this might mean were staggering. Rothschild knew that if he tried to simply buy out Waverly’s he would hit a stone wall. But if he thought to take it over by means of destroying the auction house first, then scooping up what was left, that was something else.
Ruin the house’s reputation, and then buy them out when the business was trashed.
Not a bad plan, Vance thought with icy calm. But one that would fail. He’d see to it himself. Gaze fixed on Ann, he watched as she waited for the tumult around the table to die down. When it didn’t happen fast enough, she rapped her knuckles against the cherrywood table as if she were a teacher trying to restrain a room full of kids. But it worked. When it was quiet, she spoke up again, cool and collected.
“I need you all to be on guard at all times. Keep an eye on our employees. If Dalton means business, he could be wooing an insider into spilling our secrets. We can’t take anything for granted right now. Waverly’s needs us—all of us—to be on our toes.”
Vance scowled at the thought. He didn’t like the idea that there might be a spy among them at Waverly’s. He’d known most of the people he worked with for years. A lot of them had watched him grow up. Looking at them now with suspicious eyes went against the grain. Besides, he couldn’t help asking himself why someone would betray Waverly’s. The house had always been a good place to work. The company took care of the employees. Hell, there was even a day-care center on the fourth floor so that mothers didn’t have to worry about their children while they were at work.
Children.
An image popped into his mind. The framed photo on Charlie’s desk. That of a small boy, grinning up at the camera, displaying two impossibly tiny teeth. Unease washed through him as the board meeting went on around him.
For a brief moment, he wondered if he should be suspicious of Charlie.
Ordinarily, he wouldn’t even have to listen to the voices rising and falling in the room to know what they were saying. The only two female board members, Veronica Jameson and Edwina Burrows—grande dames of society, each well into her seventies—were extremely protective of Ann. Maybe it was the whole “woman power” thing, but those two were always Ann’s most vociferous supporters.
“I’m sure you’ll know best how to handle this, Ann,” Veronica said, her thin voice chirping like a hungry bird’s.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“I’m sure you do,” Simon West carped in apparent frustration.
“I realize what a difficult situation this is,” Ann said, her voice briefly carrying over the rest. “But if we band together, I’m sure we’ll—”
“Band together? Against what? Some ephemeral danger? Or against you?” Simon, a shrunken, wizened man of about a hundred, slammed the tip of his cane against the tabletop to get everyone’s attention. Even Vance let go of his thoughts long enough to stare at the older man.
Simon had been at Waverly’s for as long as anyone could remember. There were some who insisted he was there at the dedication of the building 150 years ago. Vance smiled to himself at the thought.
Simon was furious and looked as if he were about to have a stroke. His eyes bugged out, his cheeks were splotches of red and spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth as he shouted, “Nothing like this happened before we allowed a woman to be in charge!”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Vance muttered. Sometimes the old guard was so old they forgot they were living in a shiny new world where women didn’t stay at home unless that’s where they wanted to be.
“That’s not helpful, Simon,” Ann muttered, and Vance had to give her points for patience. If it was him, he’d have grabbed the cane away and tossed it into the corner.
Then he rolled his eyes as Veronica and Edwina charged into the fray in defense of their CEO.
He glanced across the table at the empty chair. Vance’s uncle, Rutherford Waverly, should be sitting there. As the most senior member of the board, he should have been at every meeting. And right now, Vance would have liked to get his uncle’s take on all of this. But Rutherford had hated Waverly’s and everything about it ever since he and Vance’s father, Edward, had had a falling-out decades ago. Vance himself had hardly spoken to the other man in years.
But right now, he could have used a cooler head. An unbiased opinion.
“Whether or not we like what’s happening,” Ann declared, effectively silencing the last of the grumblers around the table by keeping her voice low and calm, forcing them to quiet down long enough to hear her. “The situation is here and we have to deal with it. If Dalton Rothschild is preparing for a takeover, all of us have to watching for any signs of treachery or betrayal. As much as I hate to say it, one of our people may be spying for the enemy.”
Once again, the image of his new assistant popped into his mind. What did he really know about her?
The fourth floor was part of Waverly’s and yet, so wildly different from the rest of the venerable auction house it could have been on another planet. Every other floor in the building was sedate, lovely,