Page 6

His voice is low, deep and even, carrying easily without becoming loud.

“I have it in the secure archive,” Margaret tells him.

“Charles asked me to hold it until this morning. I’ll get it for you.”

“Thank you,” he says.

So this is Ross Kensington.

I know the name long before Margaret confirms it. Sebastian has mentioned his brother often enough over the years, and anyone working this deeply inside the Kensington collection learns the immediate family structure whether they intend to or not.

Ross Kensington. The older twin by seven minutes and the one everyone expects eventually to carry the heavier institutional load.

Margaret turns toward me before disappearing into the archive.

“Ross, have you met Blaire Wilson?” she asks.

His attention returns to me immediately.

“No, I haven’t,” Ross replies.

Margaret gestures between us.

“Blaire is leading much of the provenance review for the international audit. Blaire, this is Ross Kensington.”

I step away from the table and offer my hand.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Ross takes it. “Likewise.”

His grip is warm, firm, and brief, but I’m far too conscious of the contact. His hand nearly encloses mine, and a clean, subtle scent reaches me when he steps closer, something dry and expensive with cedar beneath it.

He releases me, and I return my hand to the edge of the table before I can do something ridiculous like rub my palm against my dress.

“Sebastian recommended you,” he adds.

There isn’t anything diminishing in the statement. No implication that I arrived here because his brother made a phone call rather than because my work survived several rounds of professional review.

“He put my name forward,” I say.

“The collection committee still made me earn the contract.”

Something shifts near Ross’s mouth.

“I’d expect nothing less from them,” he says.

“Good,” I reply.

His eyes hold mine for another second.

“Sebastian said you were good,” he says.

“I’d prefer the documentation to establish that,” I tell him.

This time, I definitely see the change in his expression. It isn’t quite a smile, but it’s close enough to make me wonder what the full version looks like.

His attention drops to the painting positioned on the padded supports behind me.