The Doll Brokers Read Free Page A

never infringed on his territory. They were removed from each other because of his lack of interest in Hart Toy. Patrick, of course, was a different story. Of Felicia’s two remaining sons, Patrick had reason to despise her. She’d stolen his thunder, but Patrick did not have the capability or talent to grow the company or even run it. She would not feel guilty over that. But Jonathan was quite a bit different. He had the smarts to run the family business but wanted no part of it.
    Ann had always been aware that it would take her forever to convince Jonathan that she’d never asked for the things Felicia had given her. Years ago, she had relinquished that battle. He had always questioned her motives and no matter what she said it seemed he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, believe her.
    Jonathan Morhardt was his father’s son. Frederick had kept a step clear of Hart Toy, too, at least as much of it as he had lived to witness. He was a dreamer, and profit margins were alien to them both.
    â€œYour brother sent you,” Ann said now, forcing a tone of bored acceptance.
    â€œI haven’t spoken to him in weeks,” Jonathan offered.
    â€œThen what interest could
you
possibly have in my meeting?”
    â€œAs I said, I’m keeping an eye on things. I refuse to let you destroy everything my mother has built.”
    â€œOh? You think I’d act on my own?”
    â€œI don’t know what to think. And that’s the problem. So, tell me—how much of Felicia’s money
did
you spend?”
    â€œSeventy-five percent of what she authorized. Your inheritance is safe.”
    â€œI don’t care about the money; Felicia is my concern.”
    Ann reached for her drink, just to prove to herself, to him, that her stomach was fine. She had been living with the Morhardts—with Felicia and Patrick, Jonathan and Matthew—for all of four months when Jonathan first discovered her weakness. She wasn’t comfortable in their well-to-do home with its lush carpets and big rooms filled with beautiful things. She knew who she was—the abandoned daughter of a drug addict. Homeless with nowhere to turn, she’d spent those first four months in a type of dreamlike limbo, waiting for Felicia to turn on her, kick her out, become a person who would break her.
    Instead, Felicia had showed her nothing but gentle kindness. And in their home, on the eve of a party celebrating Felicia’s fifty-fifth birthday, she’d brought Ann a dress, a sleek, shimmering azure sheath that still hung in her closet. It had caught the blue of her eyes, had sculpted her skinny frame into something that was somehow voluptuous and provocative. Ann allowed herself to fall in love with Felicia the moment she slipped that dress over her head and gazed into the mirror. It was as if the actress had found the perfect costume. The dress transformed her instantly. And suddenly she saw herself as the person she could be. From that moment on she had strained and strived, and applied herself in every way to become a woman worthy of wearing that dress and to earn Felicia’s respect. It had been grueling work, and to all outside appearances it had paid off. Yet, too often, Ann would awaken in the middle of thenight with a question rolling around in her mind—was she merely an actress performing a role or had all that effort and Felicia’s steady hand actually resulted in a true transformation?
    How had Felicia understood that Ann was no longer a child, that she had ceased being a child when the unimaginable had happened, forcing her to flee Newark? Instead of dressing her in flounces and pink, Felicia had nudged her into becoming a woman to be reckoned with. But that night, the night of the party, even Felicia had been powerless to curb Patrick’s jealous tongue.
    â€œLook, it’s Lady Ann,” he’d hissed in her ear when she’d arrived at the bottom of the stairs. “Come to steal the