The Collector | 18+

【03】Orvyn's Codex

Irritated that I'd let myself be fooled by a dashing face and a pair of strikingly blue eyes, I turned around and walked away. Mr. Mullins could handle whatever business this man was here for. I was out.

Barely two steps in, a powerful hand wrapped itself around my arm, sending another one of those jolty shivers all the way up to my shoulder. Although his grip was firm and enough to halt my escape, he wasn't hurting me.

I glared down at his fingers over the beige silk of my shirt, which made him release me right away. He lifted his hands as a sign of rendition and apology, but something told me he wasn't ready to let it go yet.

"Please, Miss Connelly. Can we go somewhere less...crowded?"

I looked around at the visitors, reluctant to comply. But as much as I didn't want him to get the sword, he was still a special guest, so I couldn't just abandon him in the middle of the Viking gallery and refuse to entertain him.

I held back a sigh, forcing myself to look up at him again. "We can go to one of the conference rooms."

"Actually, I would like to see the sword. If that's possible, of course."

"We don't allow outside people in that part of the museum."

"I'll behave." The half-smile he gave me seemed to confer the opposite. Ugh, this man was bad news, wasn't he? "I'll be out of your hair after that, I promise."

Well, committing an infraction to the museum's very strict rules suddenly seemed like an acceptable price. Mr. Mullins had told me to treat the man with the utmost respect anyway, so it wasn't entirely my fault.

"Alright, I guess we can make an exception for such an illustrious donator," I agreed. The irony I felt wasn't entirely hidden in my tone, but if he noticed, he didn't seem to care.

He followed me as I walked back to the private side of the museum, and we mutually decided on remaining silent. Once we'd passed the door labeled "Staff only," though, he asked, "Have you been working here for long?"

"Soon to be three years."

"You look awfully young to be three years into a historian job at the country's biggest museum."

"Well, I worked very hard, met the right people, and jumped on the opportunity when it came."

"Many others are doing exactly the same but failing, love."

It was the second time he used this pet name on me, and it irritated me more than the first time. I didn't like it when men I barely knew called me "love." It sounded belittling and condescending.

"My father worked with the museum for over two decades. He got me an internship that turned into a permanent stay."

"Ah, so strings were pulled."

I stopped walking at once, disliking his tone. "As I've said, Mr. Westergaard, I've given everything I have to get here. Although my dad made a phone call three years ago, he isn't the reason why I occupy my position now. I'm responsible for that, through dedication, hard work, and countless all-nighters of studying for my diplomas."

For the first time since I'd met him, I noticed doubt on his features. His eyes scanned mine for a quick instant, and then he returned to his confident attitude. "My apologies, Miss Connelly. I didn't mean to offend you, nor was I making a demeaning comment about your position here by questioning your abilities. I was merely trying to understand how a young person like yourself ended up with such a coveted job."

"That's ageism, then."

"Is it when one uses facts, statistics, and cold hard numbers to reach a logical conclusion?"