Read Online The Jewel of His Collection by Fae Mallory - Free Book Online Page B

to see your Madder paintings.” Martha beamed at her.
    “Madden,” Violet corrected automatically. “That’s great, Martha. And thanks for breakfast, but I’m late for work.”
    Martha shooed her on her way. “Stop by again tomorrow. I’m going to feed you right for this!”
    Once she got to the museum, Violet discovered that the bag held blueberry scones, and she had just enough time to eat one, moaning lustfully as the pastry melted in her mouth. Between the coffee and the sugar rush, even Leroy got a sunny smile as she unlocked the building and got her cash drawer ready for the day.
    For the first ten minutes, no one so much as walked past the door, leaving Violet nervously drumming her fingers against the front desk. At exactly ten past ten, the floodgates opened.
    “Our hours are ten to eight, Monday through Saturday, and noon to five on Sundays,” Violet recited into the phone as she swiped a credit card, handing it back to the gentleman in front of her with a warm smile and his receipt. “Yes, the Madden exhibit operates according to those same hours.”
    The moment she hung up, the phone rang again, and a new face replaced the man she’d been smiling at. “Owensport Museum, this is Violet. How may I help you?”
    A steady stream of customers came and went until her face ached from smiling and her shoulder felt bruised from bracing the phone receiver against it. Perhaps she should look into getting a headset because otherwise she was going to wind up with a permanent crick in her neck.
    By two o’clock, her stomach was growling, and Violet took advantage of a brief lull in the action to grab the final scone out of Martha’s bag. She’d just taken her first bite when the bell over the door chimed merrily, and she shoved the pastry out of sight beneath the desk, trying not to choke as she swallowed her mouthful without chewing it.
    Instead of a customer, a man clad in a navy jumpsuit walked in, an enormous bouquet of irises in his hand. “Violet Fabre?” he asked, checking her name off on a clipboard.
    Violet nodded in disbelief. “That’s me.”
    “Sign here.” As she scrawled her name on the clipboard, the deliveryman placed the flowers on her desk, carefully positioning the vase to show them to their best advantage.
    “Thank you,” she said faintly as he reclaimed his clipboard and left, leaving her alone with the irises. Hopping off her stool, she made a slow circuit around the flowers, smiling in spite of herself at the mixture of light and dark purple blossoms. As far as she could remember, no one had ever sent her flowers, and she was as flattered as she was puzzled by the delivery. Eventually, she spotted a small envelope tucked among the stems, and she plucked it out.
    “Congratulations on your first day as curator of the most popular museum in the country,” she read aloud. It was signed with Ian’s name.
    Since his paintings had brought this about, she should probably be the one sending flowers. Violet chuckled at the thought as she tucked his note into her top drawer, her stomach fluttering happily as she admired her irises. Sending Ian flowers, even as a thank-you, was out of the question. If she sent him flowers, he would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she’d fallen for him, and even though she was sure he would be kind enough to let her down easy, Violet couldn’t bear to expose herself that way. There was no way he could ever desire her, so he didn’t need to know how she felt. It wasn’t as if she were lying. She was just being realistic.
    Even though she couldn’t bring herself to replicate his gesture, the least she could do would be to call and thank him. It would be the height of rudeness to accept his offering without acknowledging it. She reminded herself of that as she dialed his number, knowing that all she really wanted was an excuse to hear his voice again.
    “Carlisle residence,” a crisp voice answered.
    “Hi, Xavier. It’s Violet Fabre. Is Ian