Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
The director also ignores Otto.
Otto follows my lead. He won’t slight me in front of the director–not when I’ve been sent here as the emissary of the Adalwulf family. Appearances are everything to Aiden, and diminishing his authority as bestowed through me in this situation would infuriate him.
Still, I do not doubt that the moment we’re out of this situation, Otto will assume an alpha role over me again.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I understand Mr. Adalwulf has arranged with the owner of the Tiara of Ix-Chel for you to have a private viewing while it’s on loan here. I do hope if you decide to purchase it, you’ll allow us to remain the custodian through this season, so it can be enjoyed by New York?”
Otto stiffens, about to take charge again. Oma taught me never to stammer an answer out when surprised by a question. I use her technique of turning the focus back on him and repeating his words. “You’d like the moonstone to remain here at the museum for the remainder of the season.”
I sense Otto settle back, clasping his hands in front of him, bodyguard style. He’s content to let me handle the business negotiations, at least for the moment.
The director colors a bit. Now he’s the one stammering. “Well, yes, we only just received it this week, and we’ve been advertising its arrival for months. It would be a terrible shame to let down all the people of New York who were so excited to see the precious artifact that only recently resurfaced in the world.”
I understand his desire to keep the tiara on display as an important historical piece. He doesn’t understand that it probably also contains great power.
I keep my tone regal. “I see. Well, I’m sure the seller can compensate you for your sunk advertising costs. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. I’m not even sure yet whether we’re interested. May I inspect it?”
“Yes, yes of course. Right this way.” Dr. Houserman extends an arm to usher me into the large open atrium of the museum.
I follow, pretending the excruciating pain building behind my left eye isn’t there. The pressure in my head is growing almost too fast for me to manage. Yellow and red horizontal lines squiggle in front of my vision as I walk, making every step in the Louboutin heels feel precarious.
“We’ll take the private elevator.” Dr. Houserman uses a keycard to open the doors to a small elevator marked “Employees Only.” I step in first, followed by Otto, who holds the door for Dr. Houserman. It’s so tiny, there isn’t room for the bodyguards.
“What floor?” Otto asks in a brisk, military clip.
“Ninth.” Dr. Houserman steps into the elevator and pushes the button.
Otto tips his head toward the stairs, and his men instantly pivot and charge up them.
The elevator doors close, insulating me a bit from the energy of all the crystals. I take a breath, my vision clearing.
Dr. Houserman gives us each a nervous glance. “They won’t be allowed in the viewing room.”
He’s worried we’re here to steal the tiara.
I have to play this down, or he won’t let me in at all, and Aiden will have a fit. “Not a problem,” I say smoothly. “The guards are out of an abundance of caution. We've had some death threats to the family recently, so my cousin’s extremely protective of me.”
“Your cousin?”
“Aiden.”
“Oh, I thought he was your husband.”
“No, no. I’m just the expert on gemstones.”
“I see.” His expression says he clearly does not see but is too polite to ask more. The elevator doors open. “After you, Ms. Adalwulf.” He extends a hand again.
Three security guards wait for us at the entryway to the exhibit room. Dr. Houserman murmurs something to one of the security guards, and he nods, pulling a velvet cord across the entryway to cordon it off from other visitors.
My bodyguards arrive on our floor in a stampede, their footfalls ringing out against the marble steps. I hold up a hand to halt them. “Wait here.”
They look past me to Otto who nods.
“You, as well,” Dr. Houserman tells him. “Only one person may approach at a time.”
Otto’s jaw clenches, but he takes a position outside the room.
He takes me to a glass display case positioned in front of a giant window. I imagine on a sunnier day, the natural light would enhance the glow of the red moonstone.
I suck in my breath. The pressure in my head grows stronger as we approach. I hear the whispers of the Grandmothers murmuring to me.
The tiara is cast in gold, a delicate weaving of slender arcing lines. In the center, a red-hued moonstone dangles, meant to enhance the wearer’s third eye. The moonstone’s properties are strong. I don’t even need to touch it to know. If this headdress was used in Mayan ceremonies, it would take on additional power through the belief of the people. What we honor as sacred becomes sacred.