“No leeway?”
“Someone has to relocate the mud at the dig site. That someone is me.”
I meant to escape back to the safety of the back, but Bachelor #103 followed me. “You’re no stranger to hard work, are you?”
I returned to my spot and set my new mugs on the top of my bag, which contained the jade necklace. Stretching out my leg, I concentrated on the dirt caking me. When I worked with fresh soil, my magic warmed me. Time had cooled the mud, chilling me while I shaped it. I missed working at the sites; everything felt alive and warm, full of potential.
I gave the lifeless dirt new life, pulling more and more from my cargo pants until I had enough to shape into the temple where the necklace had been found. “This is the main temple at Joya de Ballesteros’s Site C. It’s where we found the necklace, and where I go to from here.”
“You’re an earthweaver!” Bachelor #103 leaned closer to examine the sculpture. “It’s so detailed.”
I held it out to him. “As long as you’re careful with it, it’ll hold its shape.”
“For how long?” With a light, gentle touch, he took the temple from me, turning it over in his hands.
“I don’t know. None of my sculptures have failed yet. That’s why I’m on the good teams. I can reinforce structures with my talent for however long is necessary. The initial weaving is tiring, but when I do a working, it lasts.”
Bachelor #103 cupped his hands around the temple. “Thank you. It’s lovely.”
“I’m not sure you’re worth a whole quarter. I should’ve paid a nickel.”
I enjoyed his laughter. “You have no fear of elites, do you?”
“I’ve never done anything worth catching an elite’s attention. I have a moderate talent. I’ve never broken any laws. Why would I fear you?”
“Money. Fame. Fortune. Things you don’t seem to have that many in this room control.”
“Considering I came here to take the money you all don’t need so we can continue our dig, yes, I’m aware.”
“You’re an interesting person, Summer Cassidy.”
I was? I’d heard plenty of men tell me I was off my rocker, and I’d lost count of the derogatory terms I’d been called because I wouldn’t put out for every interested man. None of them had called me interesting.
The uncharted waters disconcerted me, so I went with blunt honesty as my first line of defense, not even certain if I needed to be worried about Bachelor #103. “I’m also a gold digger out for a fortune so I can get my doctorate, hopefully before I’m forty. It’s not looking promising.”
“Surely you have twenty years to go, then.”
I gave him credit for a smooth delivery, although I did have a reputation of looking a lot younger than I was. “Try eleven.”
“I need to go eat my feet for assuming your age. I apologize.”
Hell must have frozen over, and I wished I had something to check the temperature with. “I’m used to it.”
Bachelor #103 frowned. “A year between dissertation attempts?”
“Two at my university. I’ve failed twice so far. I took a slower degree route so I could log time at dig sites. I deserved to fail the first time. My second fail, they nailed me on a technicality. I’ll fail my third attempt this winter; I’m challenging the historic status quo and suggesting magic played a critical role in the rise and fall of ancient empires. I don’t mind much. I have an internship, which pays for all my schooling credits and housing. With my talent, it’s a guaranteed renewal. Since I’m specialized in archaeology in North and South America, I’ll get to work a good site. My internship’s too expensive to waste at the dud sites.”
“Sounds like they’re failing you to get your talent on the cheap.”
I couldn’t argue with him; the thought had crossed my mind many nights after a long, hard day of digging in the dirt. “Most internships are at dud sites. I’m working major excavations. It’s not a bad deal for me, especially when the scholarships are factored in. I’ve even gotten some credits on major finds. Once I get my PhD, I’ll be able to establish my reputation quickly. I might even get to lead a dig within a year of obtaining my doctorate. Most have to wait years for the chance.”
I was spared from having to defend my choices; the auctioneer called my number. I set the mugs at Bachelor #103’s feet, dug the box out of the bag, and hurried to the podium. At the auctioneer’s nod, I revealed the jade necklace, holding it up for the gathered elite.
I hated myself for even trying to sell the priceless relic.
“This is a marital collar from the Nahua empire, discovered at Joya de Ballesteros’s Site C, a temple city built by the tribe most know of as the Aztec. I’ve been authorized to sell this piece to fund further excavation and research of the site.”
I took a few moments to explain the meanings of the engravings describing a man’s love for a woman in a culture known for human sacrifice.
The instant the auctioneer opened the auction for bids, Bachelor #103 raised his hand. “Ten million, but you have to have dinner with me tonight after we have coffee.”
My eyes widened, and my mouth dropped open. He wanted to pay how much for what?
“Sold!” a woman called out from the back.
“And sold,” the auctioneer announced, hitting the podium with his gavel.
Bachelor #103 strolled towards me, my bag slung over his shoulder, his hands in his jacket pockets. “But I would’ve paid more.”
“Pay more, then,” the auctioneer replied, stepping away from the podium. “I’ll be processing payments in the lobby. Don’t leave the hotel without paying for your items.”
“What?” I blurted.
Bachelor #103 chuckled, a low, sensuous sound. “I just paid ten million dollars to make sure you have a successful career as a gold digger. Well done. I can’t help you with your doctorate problem, but that should make sure you have no financial problems with your internship.”
“Ten million,” I whispered, my breath catching in my throat. For that much, we’d be able to dig for a long time without having to sacrifice any other precious treasures to pay for our research and excavation work. “Why was the auction cut off so abruptly? I don’t understand.”
“I believe Her Majesty is having too much fun for anyone’s good. I’ll speak with your supervisor and make arrangements for a new flight for you.”
The woman was a queen? “That was a queen?”
If my eyes widened any more, I’d be at risk of losing them.
“Texas’s queen, yes. She’s one of two people with the right to end an auction. His Majesty won’t; he enjoys competition. She likes meddling whenever possible. You didn’t recognize her voice? Don’t you watch the news?”
“There’s limited electricity at the dig sites,” I mumbled.
“Of course. I’m an idiot.”
“You’re a pampered gentleman. Have you even touched dirt before today?”
He laughed, such a cheerful sound I could listen to him all day. “I’ve discovered a new appreciation for mud.”
“Are all elites as strange as you?”
“It’s possible. Do you really not know any others?”
I shrugged. “I can’t imagine people with money or rare, strong talents want to dig in the dirt day after day. It’s not glamorous. They also don’t become archaeologists or historians. It’s not prestigious or profitable.”
“Take it from me, Summer. Glamorous is overrated, profit is inevitable when you have rare or strong talents, and sometimes, interesting is more important than prestigious. There’s something to be said for loving what you do. Money can’t buy happiness.”
I snorted. “Sure it can. I’m happy. Thanks to you, I still have a job.”
Bachelor #103 spent twenty minutes with the auctioneer, and when he finished, he showed me a receipt for the purchase of the necklace. “I’m a fan of history, and I promise it won’t rot in a vault. I’ll be selective about which museums are allowed to display it, but I’ll let you k
now when it’s being shown to the public.”
I couldn’t have asked for better terms; if Site C had been mine to control, I wouldn’t have sold a single piece, but I felt a little better knowing someone who would treasure the necklace had purchased it. “Thank you.”
“You’re right. Things like this do belong in a museum. I’ll even sweeten the pot. Visit me sometime, and you can study it all you want.”
Temptation had a name: Bachelor #103.
I needed to change the subject in a hurry, else I’d think about things I had no business thinking about. “You promised to talk to my supervisor.” Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I checked the display. “Otherwise, I need to get to the airport.”
“Name and number?” Bachelor #103’s phone was a lot nicer than mine, and once I gave him Owen’s number, he stepped away to place the call.
The conversation took longer than I thought it should, and when Bachelor #103 returned, he said, “It’s all taken care of. I’ll take you to the airport in the morning, and I’ll be providing you with a hotel room for the night.”
I grimaced as a plethora of possibilities occurred to me. I took a stab at guessing the excuse Owen had used trying to ruin my evening. “Owen told you he didn’t have room in the budget, didn’t he?”
“Exactly so. I corrected him, but I’ll be taking care of your bills in case he decides to be a twat.”
A laugh escaped before I could contain it. “He is an ass sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?”
With so many ways Owen could screw up a deal with an investor, I went with the most obvious one. “He was an ass to you before you told him your had purchased the necklace.”
“Before and after.”
My supervisor was a fucking moron. One day, if I ever got to lead a dig site, I’d ensure I never expose my team to such blatant stupidity. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You love what you do. He doesn’t. He just wants prestige.”
Shrugging, I trailed my fingers over the box’s lid before handing it and its precious contents to its new owner. “You judged him pretty quickly.”
“I’m usually a good judge of character. It didn’t hurt he made it easy to tell he’s an ass. Be careful around him.”
“I am.” I shouldered my bag, careful not to break the pair of mugs inside. “The last time an ass tried to cop a feel, I buried him neck deep in dirt and left him to stew in his piss for a few hours. I told the team the next time one of them got any ideas, I’d show him an untraditional human sacrifice. I’d even be nice and let him live after he dined on his own testicles.”
“Ouch.”
“No one is stupid enough to bother me. I set traps around my tent. No one wants to be humiliated by the only woman in the camp. I’ve made it clear it’s not worth the risk.”
“Good for you. What do your traps do?”
“Think quicksand but less lethal. If someone comes near my tent, they’re trapped. I really don’t like being bothered.”
“That’s good to know. Would you please join me for coffee and dinner, Miss Cassidy?”
“I’d be delighted.”
Bachelor #103 offered his arm, and snickering over the idea of mud-covered me accompanying an elite gentleman anywhere, I left the hotel with him.
Chapter Two
We walked to a coffee shop several blocks from the hotel, and once we were inside, Bachelor #103 removed his mask. I understood why the woman might believe he was too old for me; stress lines across his brow added years to him, and while he smiled, he seemed worn and tired.
If I had met him on the street, I wouldn’t have believed he was an elite. From head to toe, he was average in all ways, although I liked his tousled brown hair, which matched his eyes. There were plenty of brown-haired, brown-eyed men in the world, but I’d never met one so perfectly matched with himself before.
I couldn’t afford to think of him as anything other than a filthily wealthy elite. I didn’t need the trouble of pointless heartache and disappointment. “Since I’ve already taken you for ten million, do you have a name, or will I be calling you by your number all night long?”
“Landen. I’m being rude again. Sorry.”
With how tired he looked, I wouldn’t blame him for his oversight. In his shoes, I wouldn’t want the rumpled, muddied seller of a priceless relic knowing more about me than necessary.
I really had to work on my presentation.
Forcing a smile, I waved away his concern. “Not at all. You weren’t supposed to give anyone your name, but it looked like the people there knew who you were.”
He chuckled, and the lines across his forehead eased. “The woman who wants the replica made talked me into coming. Without her asking so nicely, I wouldn’t be here. Queen Jessica likes meddling, and that I bid on anything at all gave her ideas, especially since you’d paid a quarter for a coffee date with me. That was slick, by the way. After your bold bid, no one else would bid even if they wanted to; some things are just too funny and clever to undermine. That’s how these auctions get, although this is the first year it’s been as cordial. They’re usually a disaster, which is why I avoid them.”
I picked a table tucked in a corner, sat down, and plunked my bag down, pulling out the wretched mugs. “As I’ve already swindled you out of ten million, it’s time for my next conquest. I do believe you owe me coffee, sir.”
With a pleasant laugh, he picked up the mugs. “How do you want yours?”
Challenging men had become a way of life for me over the years, a way I held my ground and survived when I’d otherwise be discarded once I’d outlived my usefulness. How would an elite play the game?
Would he?
I wanted to know, so I smiled and replied, “Surprise me. How a man orders a drink for a woman tells a lot about him. What sort of man are you, Landen? Let’s find out.”
Landen hopped in line and waited with promising patience. Had I been with my team, my boss would’ve expected to jump the line, entitled to being first served due to his rank and position on the dig team. I would’ve come in dead last—or recruited to fetch coffee for everyone.
I was thankful we didn’t head into civilization often.
When he returned, he set one of the mugs in front of me along with a little dish and a single stick of true cinnamon, not the fake cassia junk most places served and pretended was cinnamon but wasn’t.
If the coffee was black, he’d score full points. I’d seen cinnamon before but had always been too cheap to buy the real stuff. I’d take the stick with me when I left; I bet could get at least five more uses out of it before it lost its flavor.
Under no circumstances would I waste real cinnamon.
I gave my coffee a brisk stir and took a sip.
Landen had ordered it black, and the cinnamon undertones hit me in all the right ways. I swallowed my happy sigh before it could escape and tip him off he’d made the right choice.
That, too, was part of the game men and women played, and it’d been a long time since I’d found someone interesting and with good taste in coffee.
“How did I do?”
I stirred my coffee again, and because I wanted to enjoy the cinnamon’s warm bite, I licked the stick to claim it as mine without question. “I’ll give you a passing grade. The real test is this: what are you feeding me for dinner?”
“Another test?”
“Yep.”
“Well, you’re honest. Do I get to ask what you like?”
“Something hot and inaccessible at a dig site.”
Landen arched a brow, sat down with his coffee, and drank it like it might escape the awful boot if left unsupervised for too long. “How does steak and seafood sound?”
He scored a few more points for understanding obvious and common dinner choices in the Royal States weren’t readily available in the middle of the jungle. “I like steak. I like seafood.” Since I couldn’t just give him an easy out, I added, “I also like fast food and delivery.”
&
nbsp; “Are you going to bury me neck deep if I suggest we take advantage of room service at the hotel and dodge traffic?”
I needed to be careful around Landen. Was there anything more attractive than a sensible man? I didn’t think so. Had I known elites could be sensible, I might’ve been more interested in meeting one. It’d been easy to believe in the stereotypical prejudices, and I’d always imagined elites were snootier, richer versions of my boss, ready and willing to step on anyone who got in their way.
Later, when I had some quiet time to think, I’d have to put some serious thought into my misconceptions of the upper castes.
I took another sip of my coffee, matching his brow-lifted expression. “That depends. Is it good room service?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t tried it. We’d have to live dangerously. They might even have alcohol.” A grin made a brief appearance, erasing at least a decade from Landen’s age, leaving me to wonder just how old he actually was. At first look, I would’ve pegged him at forty-five, but his smile transformed him into someone a little closer to my age. He took another drink from my ridiculous mug and set it down. “I have a two-bedroom suite, so if you’d like, you can take the second bedroom. I don’t have any mud for you to set your traps in, but the door does lock. When I’m not feeding you the wonders of room service, you can regale me with tales of the Nahua. You can even tell me the complete story of the necklace I purchased, so I can make certain the museums get it right.”
“Really?” I squealed, and with one word, lost the game we’d been playing. With wide eyes, I clapped my hands over my mouth. “Sorry.”
“Never be sorry for being excited about something important to you. Consider yourself a queen. If you want anything, I’ll do my best to make it happen for you.”
Had I been anyone else, had I been someone who hadn’t been taught from my first step to accomplish my goals through the deeds of my own hands, I might’ve taken him up on that offer. He had the money and influence to change everything for me. He could make my dream of a doctorate a reality if I dared to ask for his help.
He knew a queen. He had an interest in my life’s work.
The Captive King Page 2
