“Intriguing,” she said around a mouthful of pizza. “What did she say when you confronted her? And what does that have to do with your mysterious package?”
“She claimed to be some kind of Robin Hood, said she was going after scammers. I didn’t believe her.” He slid the folder over to his sister. “Then this showed up.”
Bronte wiped off her hands and opened the folder. Ezra sat back and ate some pizza while watching his sister’s reactions as she read. She didn’t speak, but her face said a lot.
“So?” she asked.
“So what?”
“What are you going to do? You were a total asshole and she’s not the bad guy here.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I think by definition, a criminal is a bad guy.”
“Shut up. That’s like saying someone who kills in self-defense is a murderer. It’s not the same. Based on what this says, she’s not doing it for self-profit. Maybe you should hear her out.”
“To what end?”
“I can tell you like her. And if what this says is true—and really, why would anyone go to these lengths to sell this—that topper is worth more than a lot of these other forgeries. Think of the good she can do.”
He should’ve known that his sister would’ve ended up in the same place he had. London had shown no qualms about throwing a ton of money at them for studio time. The spreadsheet showed college tuition paid for, and medical bills covered—it was a lot of good.
Even if they never had a chance as anything more than a one-night stand, he could help make a difference in the lives of others. He grabbed another slice of pizza and stood. “Fine. You win. I’ll make her another topper.”
“Really? And are you going to deliver it with a big side ofI’m an ass? Or do you have a huge romantic gesture planned?”
“Shut the hell up. I don’t have anything to apologize for. I was right.”
Bronte helped herself to another slice. As she danced out of the office, she sang out, “But you want her back because she likes your grumpy ass.”
Ezra grunted and rolled up his sleeves. London had wanted the topper done before this weekend, so if he started now, he could get it done. He didn’t know what had happened to the last one, but ever since he’d looked at the stress fractures of the ones that didn’t make it, he’d thought about how to change things to make it work.
He pulled an image up of the topper on his phone, but once he started working, he discovered that he didn’t need it. Working on the topper, he heard every comment London had made about the dimensions and the color. As he worked, he made the glass a little thinner than she had, hoping for fewer issues with stress fractures. About halfway through, Bronte came back.
“Damn, you’re fast. I told you that you should’ve helped her. It would’ve been a totally different situation.”
And if he had, it might’ve been done right the first time, and he never would’ve had so much time with her.
“How are you going to keep it from breaking like all the others?”
“I’m thinking about doing some hand annealing before putting it in the annealer. And I’ve made the glass a little thinner but not too noticeable, I think.”
He came around the table and studied the partially finished topper.
“Looks good to me. Do you want me to call her?”
“No. I’m just going to do this and have it delivered.”
“What? You can’t do that.”
“Why not?” He turned back to reheat the glass before twisting the spire.
“After all this, you’re just gonna walk away from someone you really like and who for some unfathomable reason is willing to put up with you and your cranky attitude? You’re hopeless!” She flopped her arms around and stomped back to the front.
He knew he was hopeless which was why he was just going to give her this topper, assuming he could get it to work. What chance could they have? She was a forger. He wasn’t even sure if she was a legitimate working artist or if this was it for her.
He didn’t think he could live his life worrying about what she was doing and if she’d get caught. Since he couldn’t control any of that, he focused on what he could do—make the best damn tree topper possible.
ChapterFifteen