His Secret Treasure Read online

  His Secret Treasure

  MINK

  His Secret Treasure

  MINK © 2020

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from MINK.

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  His Secret Treasure

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue I

  Epilogue II

  Also by MINK

  About the Author

  His Secret Treasure

  MINK

  Gaines Braeburn stole my box. He’s a no-good treasure hunter, and I will reclaim what’s mine. First, I have to attend a gala to get his attention. Then, when I do, it’ll be simple enough to seduce him… Nevermind that I’ve never done it before. I’m sure I can wing it. Then, once I have him in a heated stupor, I will retrieve my destiny and disappear. He’ll never know what hit him. Everything is going according to plan until I fall. Until he catches me. Until he starts to charm me. Maybe I’m not the one doing the seducing after all, because the closer I get to Gaines, the more I forget about why I’m here in the first place. But my claim won’t be denied, and if it’s a choice between my destiny and the man I’m falling for—what do I do?

  1

  Pandora

  “Are you sure you can afford this?” The sales lady eyes me in the mirror.

  No, I can’t afford this dress, but there isn't really much of an option. This is an all or nothing kind of place I’m in. I’m either going to get what I’m after or I’ll crash and burn. I’ve come this far, so no point in stopping now.

  “Can you spread it across a few cards?” I ask.

  She gives me a look of what I think is disgust.

  I bet she can’t afford the dress either. It makes my blood boil a little that she’s being so judgy. Then again, she isn’t the one trying it on and wasting someone else’s time. I smooth my hands down the sides. “Sorry.”

  Her eyes soften on me.

  “I just don’t want you to waste all your money on a dress.” She walks over toward me and pulls up the top of the dress a little. I am a touch on the top heavy side, but for once I think it’s going to work in my favor. This is a game of seduction, after all. One I’m not really sure how to play, but like most things, I should be able to wing it.

  “I need it.”

  “No one needs a dress. Especially one this expensive.” Her lips pull up in a half smile. “Don’t tell anyone I said that. I don’t think my boss would approve of me dissuading customers from buying things.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.” Now I understand she wasn't trying to be rude, but she was worried I was making a mistake. Maybe I am. There’s only one way to find out.

  She sighs resignedly. “If you have to have it, that’s okay with me, Cinderella.”

  “Pandora,” I correct her. I thought I gave her my name earlier when she’d introduced herself to me. She looks at me for a second before she takes a step back. Once again, I’m staring at her in the mirror.

  “I’ll put the dress on your credit cards. You can wear it tonight and then bring it back to me tomorrow. I’ll return it, no questions asked, and refund your money. Don’t worry about the paper tags. I can get them back on. Just try and leave the one on the care tag toward the bottom hem. That’s the only one that gives me trouble.” Her words surprise me, but I’m not one to pass up an opportunity, so I’m going to do exactly what she suggested. It may have taken me a moment, but now I get the Cinderella reference. If she wants to act like my fairy godmother then I’m going to let her. I could use one right about now.

  “That’s so sweet of you.” Something is playing in my favor for once. My cursed luck might be finally running out.

  “You going to need shoes and some freshening up? I can get the girls in the beauty department to help.”

  I swear I feel as though at any moment she’s going to whip out a magical wand and wave it around. I’m not sure what I did to deserve her kindness.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  She unzips the back of the dress. “Sometimes a girl can use a little help.”

  “Thank you.” I swallow the lump in my throat. I can’t get my makeup done if I’m crying.

  I give a silent thank you to my grandma. I know she has to have some hand in this. She was always saving the day for me and maybe she’s somewhere out there doing it again.

  “You remind me of my daughter.” Her eyes fill with tears that she blinks away quickly.

  I hold the dress to my body as I reach out and pull her into a hug to let her know that I appreciate everything she’s doing for me. She hugs me back tightly.

  “Come, I’m sure you have somewhere to be.” She helps me out of the dress. I pull my jeans and shirt back on before slipping my flip flops onto my feet.

  She arranges the dress on the velvety hanger and heads out of the dressing room. “Can I ask where it is that you’re going?”

  “Anonymous Love.”

  She stops walking to turn and look back at me.

  I almost run right into her.

  “You have a ticket?”

  “Not really.” A ticket costs more than the dress. It costs more than my rent for a year. But I don’t plan on letting that stop me.

  “You have a date with a ticket?”

  I shake my head no. “I’m going to sneak in,” I whisper to her.

  “It’s a red carpet event.” She gives me an incredulous stare.

  “Why is the carpet red? Does that mean something?”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Her stare turns sympathetic.

  “Yes,” I say instantly. I have to do this. Gaines Braeburn has something I want, and I intend to get it back. This is the first place I could find that he was going to attend socially. He’s either at his office or home. Both are impossible to get into. Believe me, I tried. The man doesn't go anywhere else. I think he needs to get a life. I guess if you buy all the beautiful things in the world and shove them into your fancy homes, you don't have to go anywhere. I figure the only way to get inside of his house is for him to take me there. That’s why I need a killer dress.

  “I can tell I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this.” She starts walking again. “That necklace you’re wearing could get you a ticket.”

  I reach for it. My hand wraps around the gold key that’s covered in jewels. It hangs from the thin chain. The chain might look delicate but it isn’t; there’s no breaking it. The necklace is locked around my neck, not that I ever want to part with it. It’s been with me for as long as I can remember. My grandma told me it would never leave me. It’s the only way to open the box. The box she said belonged to me. The one I know Braeburn has.

  I drape it against my chest. “You’d have to cut my head off to get it.”

  “M
aybe you shouldn’t say things like that tonight.”

  “It’s the truth.” I shrug as she leads me over to a high makeup chair in the middle of the cosmetics department. I think she might be right, though. Braeburn is probably looking for the key. He has the box, after all. My box. I want it back. Okay, maybe not back because I’ve never had it, but it still rightfully belongs to me. I want to know what’s inside.

  I’ve heard Braeburn’s not a very nice man. If he wants something he’ll get it one way or another. Based on the stories about him, he might not mind chopping my head off to get the key.

  I’ll just have to hide it from him and make him fall for me enough to take me to his house. I can get what I want if he desires me more than the key.

  “How do you plan to get into this event?”

  I arch a brow at her in the mirror. “Seduction.”

  2

  Gaines

  “Why can’t I just fork out the money, you have the event, and I remain at my home while you wine and dine more cash out of the one percenters who come to these types of things?” I’ve had this argument several times over, but I still put up a fight when it comes to my social calendar, as meagre as it is.

  “This is a worthy cause.” Mrs. Pettyford sighs and drapes a lock of her iron gray hair behind her ear in what I’ve learned is her ‘exasperated’ tell. “Every year the Anonymous Love event brings in a king’s ransom for the homeless shelters downtown. You keep them going by funding the gala, so just accept it.”

  She bustles to my closet, her starchy black uniform perfectly crisp as always. “Now, let’s find you a tux worthy of your name.”

  “I think we both know that isn’t an option.” My name. Which one? Mrs. Pettyford is the only one in the world who knows all my secrets.

  “The Braeburn name, then. If you want to be specific about it,” she chirps from the depths of my closet. “Did you get a date this year?”

  “Knock it off.”

  She laughs, but it verges on a salty cackle. “Didn’t think so.”

  I grumble some choice words, but she rolls right over them. “You should find someone and settle down. Make some babies for me to fuss over. I’m wasted in this huge house with just you to look after. Half the time, you won’t even let me do for you as I’d like.”

  “I do just fine for myself.”

  Another laugh. “Brooding, studying, going on secret trips and coming back with priceless relics you’ve saved from destruction. Always alone. Always shunning others. You’re lonely, Gaines. You need someone.”

  “I’ve got you.”

  “Bah! A widow twice your age who can cross-stitch, cook, and keep secrets isn’t a companion, young man.”

  She hasn’t called me “young man” in years, and her tone cuts a little deeper, as if she’s truly worried about me.

  “I’m doing just fine. We’re fine.”

  “Bah,” she says again, then keeps muttering under her breath.

  It’s time to escape this conversation. We’re having it far too frequently these days. I rise from the bench at the foot of my bed and trudge to my bathroom. A quick shave and a shower will have me looking good enough for the rich assholes at the event. Once I’ve shaken enough hands, I’ll be able to fade when the real entertainment begins.

  Shah is perched on my sink, his green eyes watching me solemnly as I pull out my razor and shaving cream. He’s a Persian, one with a particularly haughty look. It’s why I like him. He’s the real deal, not a pretender like me. Maybe having a petulant cat is the only way to keep a man like me grounded. Remind me of where I came from. He’s also a pretty good sleeping companion, until he gets a bit too diva and tries to lie on my head.

  “I won’t be gone long.” I slap some water on my face and get to work. He doesn’t move, his eyes watching every move I make from my shave to my shower to getting dressed.

  Before I leave, I walk to the back of my closet and work through the puzzle and series of locks that hide my greatest treasure. Shah prances to my side. I think he enjoys my secret room as much as I do. When I’ve finally dismantled the locks and the booby traps, I stride into the climate-controlled room with black velvet walls and smooth marble floors.

  Treasure after treasure line the walls, many of which would’ve been looted or destroyed in foreign conflicts. I don’t keep them for myself, even though I do enjoy looking at them. Each piece has detailed instructions of where it came from, where it belongs, and when it should be returned. Relics, art, jewels--all of it kept safe from the outside world.

  “Mrs. Pettyford thinks I’m playing God.” I shoot a glance at Shah. “That I should let these artifacts perish or be stolen or despoiled.”

  His tail twitches with disdain. He agrees with me, not Mrs. Pettyford, on the subject. Another reason I like him.

  At the back of the room is a box no bigger than a loaf of bread, its ebony surface inlaid with ivory and an intricate pattern of gold and jewels. I’ve never been able to open it. The locking mechanism contains an ingenious booby trap that, upon closer inspection, reveals that any attempts to circumvent it will destroy the contents. Worse, the box is lined with lead on the inside, so any attempts to guess at its contents via modern imaging technology have been futile.

  I found it at an estate sale many years ago, and it has intrigued me since. In fact, I’m drawn to it despite not knowing what’s inside or why this particular item caught my eye. As far as I know, it’s not a religious or cultural relic.

  Shah and I stand and admire it for a while, as we do almost every evening.

  “Enough gawking at things you don’t even intend to keep!” Mrs. Pettyford’s irritated voice filters into my sanctum.

  Shah and I exchange a look, then return to my closet, lock my vault, and find Mrs. Pettyford waiting for me in my room.

  “You could’ve spent a little while longer on your hair.” She reaches up, but there’s no way she can touch my hair. She’s barely five feet, and I’m all of six foot five.

  “It doesn’t matter.” I run my fingers through the unruly strands that need a cut.

  “It does. Photographers, looky loos, eligible ladies.” She frowns and follows me into the hall and down the stairs.

  “I won’t be gone long. Keep the home fires burning.”

  “I always do.” She sighs as I head out to the courtyard. “And try and bring someone home this time, will you? Be nice. Stop frowning at everyone. Don’t be scary. Don’t be … you know … you.”

  That instruction only causes my budding frown to bloom into a full glower.

  “Put yourself up for auction,” she continues. “All those rich bimbos will fall all over themselves to bid on a night with you.”

  I turn to her. “I do that every year.”

  Her brown eyes narrow. “Yeah, but then you always outbid the highest offer and take yourself home for the night. That’s cheating!”

  “It’s fair.” I wave a hand without looking back, then drop into my Ferrari. It’s a tight squeeze, but I manage it. Nothing beats the feeling of all that horsepower at my command, so I gun it down my drive and out into the night.

  I will do what I must, get the event going, bid on myself, and disappoint Mrs. Pettyford yet again. Despite her words, there has never been a “rich bimbo” that’s interested me, and tonight will be no different.

  3

  Pandora

  I really should have thought this plan through more. I stand across the street from the event still trying to figure out how the heck I’m going to get into it.

  One fancy vehicle after another pulls up, each one reminding me how prestigious this event is. Beautiful people exit the cars. All of them are wearing jewels and clothes that cost more than any of them will likely donate tonight. This is more of a fashion show than anything, if you ask me. They’re not here for the charity aspect but to one-up each other on their arrivals.

  Though you shouldn't ask me, because I’m rather salty about all of this. I’ve been standing here for ten minu
tes and I have no idea how I’m going to get inside. I also haven't seen Gaines Braeburn arrive yet. It would be my luck he doesn't show. The thought sends my stomach into a freefall, but I swallow down my worry. He has to be here.

  I wait for some of the traffic to clear before I run across the street. I almost trip over a small crack in the road, nearly ending my plan before it even begins. But I stay on my feet, catastrophe averted. Not to mention I won’t be able to take the dress back if it’s covered in dirt. I grab my necklace and give a silent thank you to my grandma for saving me again. Now, if she can only get me inside.

  I watch more people trickle from the cars. Most of them are couples. I can’t blend in with a couple. I need a group. Are there no single men around here? I’m not sure that would be so easy either. Would I just throw myself into his arms? That might not be such a bad idea.

  The main obstacle looks to be the cameras. Why is everyone stopping to pose for pictures? Then the people taking them shout out their names even though they know who they all are. This will be the end of my charade. No one will be yelling for me.

  My eyes drift further down past the photographers. Security is thick, but I don’t see anyone specifically checking for tickets. That might be because everyone knows who the stars and rich people are already.

  Just go, I tell myself. Walk down the stupid red carpet like you own the place. That’s how it’s done. You belong here. You’re here to get your box. You have the right to be at this event. I come up with every reason I can think of to make myself believe my own lies. But I don’t belong, right?