Page 262 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

TORMENTED BILLIONAIRE'S LOVE

CHAPTER1

RORY’S TREASURES

GRACE

“The Louis XV-style double-mirrored armoire is your best bet if you’re looking to impress your guests, and you’ll have more than enough room to store your knick-knacks in the display area,” I tell Mrs. Taber as she’s glancing through the furniture section of the shop.

Welcome to Rory’s Treasures.

It would be a thrift store if they created thrift stores for the sole purpose of supporting the owner’s unwillingness to pick up a marketable skill. This shop is Troy’s dream.

Troy Kramer is my boss and the owner/founder of Rory’s Treasures. To this day, I don’t know who Rory is. Every time I ask, Troy’s only answer is, “He’s the guy I named the shop after,” and then he’ll lock himself in the office the rest of the day.

That’s why I’m here on the floor when I should be up near the register. Of course, when there’s only one customer, that customer tends to grow in importance fast.

“This was owned by Louis XV?” Mrs. Taber asks.

Every time I talk about this armoire, I get the same question. Troy’s been telling me just to say yes so we can get the thing out of here.

“No,” I answer. “It’s in a style named for him, but don’t let that discourage you. From what I hear, these pieces are highly prized.” Of course, Troy’s the one I heard that from, so who knows?

“Yeah,” she says, opening one of the doors to the armoire. She says, “I think I saw one in Wal-Mart a while ago.”

“No, you didn’t,” I say.

She glances up at me.

Here is my problem: Honesty’s great, but correcting people is said to be impolite. I’ve readHow to Win Friends and Influence People. I fall asleep to it at night. Still, old Dale Carnegie hasn’t quite convinced me about everything.

“I could have sworn,” Mrs. Taber says.

“You may have seen a reproduction or something done in the style, but it’s not authentic,” I tell her. “This armoire comes with a certificate of authenticity.”

I try not to think too hard about the fact that the certificates of authenticity all showed up on the same day. I try even harder not to think about the fact that it was the day after I asked Troy why we didn’t have any for our genuine antiques. The signatures on each certificate do look surprisingly similar.

“Okay,” she says. “I’m just looking for an armoire, though. Do Ineedsomething ‘authentic?’?”

I know what I’m supposed to say; Troy’s been over it a thousand times like the problem is I just didn’t hear him.

“You don’tneedsomething authentic, no,” I answer. “Modern, less expensive armoires will look just as beautiful and work just as well. That said, this is a real conversation piece.”

When there’s no plausible deniability, there’s no plausible reason to deny the truth.

“In that case, I think I’ll just keep looking,” she says.

“Grace!” Troy’s voice comes from the office.

I don’t know how it is that he always knows, but he does.

Leaving Mrs. Taber, I make my way to the office doorway, saying, “Yeah?”

“You did it again, didn’t you?” he asks.

I shrug and widen my eyes to puppy-dog-levels, saying, “Did what?”

He lets out a long sigh, and for the first time, I’m noticing that there’s a line of flattened hair on the top of his head, going from ear to ear. “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to sell that stupid thing?”

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