Page 48 of Knot Your Karma (Not Yours #1)

Karma

Sterling Ashworth’s Beacon Hill mansion is basically what would happen if Downton Abbey moved to Boston and developed a serious spending problem.

The brass fixtures are so shiny I can see my reflection, which is unfortunate because I look like someone who definitely doesn’t belong in a house that probably costs more than my entire town’s annual budget.

“Okay, so this is definitely not what I expected,” I say, tugging at my blazer like it might magically transform into something appropriate for meeting actual Boston royalty. “I was thinking maybe a nice brownstone. Not a house that looks like it has its own Wikipedia page.”

“You belong here.” Declan’s hand settles warm on the small of my back, steadying me as I fidget with my blazer. The touch lingers a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Your expertise speaks for itself.”

“Rich people still put their pants on one leg at a time,” Reed adds, which is probably the most diplomatic way to say don’t let the fancy house intimidate you. “Granted, their pants probably cost more than my car, but the principle stands.”

“When someone of his reputation specifically requests you, that says everything,” Adrian says quietly, his hand steady on my shoulder in that way that grounds me immediately.

The door opens before I can knock, and instead of some fancy butler, Sterling himself answers.

He’s younger than I expected—maybe late forties—with distinguished salt-and-pepper hair that probably costs more to maintain than my monthly rent.

His glasses scream expensive, and he keeps fidgeting with them, which is oddly endearing for someone whose house could probably buy half of Rhode Island.

“Ms. Rose.” He clears his throat, pushes up his glasses, does this nervous fidget thing that makes him seem more human. “I—well, this is rather—thank you so much for coming. And please, your pack—” He gestures with slightly shaking hands. “Do come in. I’ve prepared refreshments.”

Pack. He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world, not like most people who dance around designation terminology like it might bite them.

“Thank you,” I manage, stepping inside with my guys close behind me.

Their scents wrap around me protectively, which I definitely need because this foyer has more crystal chandelier action than most people see in a lifetime.

It should feel intimidating, but somehow it doesn’t. “This is Declan, Reed, and Adrian.”

“Gentlemen.” Sterling shakes hands with each of them, but his attention keeps coming back to me.

He leads us deeper into the house, and I notice he’s doing this nervous finger-drumming thing against whatever surface is handy.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable. Karma, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve taken the liberty of preparing some documentation about the piece in question. ”

The sitting room looks like something from a magazine spread—leather furniture that probably costs more than my car, Persian rugs, bookshelves filled with what look like actual first editions instead of the kind of books normal people buy.

There’s an elegant spread of cheese and wine on the coffee table, along with what appears to be a high school yearbook.

A yearbook.

My stomach drops.

“Wine?” Sterling asks, already moving toward bottles that catch the light like they contain liquid gold. “1992 vintage. Rather significant year for me, actually.”

“1992,” I repeat slowly, staring at that burgundy leather yearbook like it might explode. That’s my mom’s graduation year, and I’m getting a very weird feeling about this whole situation.

Not bad but not good either. Just like an information bomb is about to explode.

“Indeed.” Sterling pours wine into glasses that probably cost more than most people’s monthly salary. “Please, sit. I thought we might start with some background before we discuss the compass. Though I suppose they’re connected, aren’t they?”

I end up on the leather sofa between Adrian and Reed, with Declan positioning himself where he can see both Sterling and the door, because apparently even in fancy Boston mansions, my pack maintains tactical awareness.

Sterling sits across from us, adjusting his glasses three more times before reaching for the yearbook with hands that are definitely shaking now.

“The compass,” he begins, then stops. More throat clearing. “Actually, perhaps we should start with this.”

He opens the yearbook to a marked page and turns it toward me. My wine glass tilts dangerously as my brain tries to process what I’m seeing.

It’s a photo of my mother.

Young, radiant, laughing at the camera with her arms around a boy who looks exactly like Sterling—just thirty years younger. The caption reads, “Lilli Rose and Sterling Ashworth. Most Likely to Stay Together Forever. ”

“Oh my God.” The words barely escape because suddenly breathing requires conscious effort. I reach for Reed’s knee without thinking, needing something solid to anchor me. “That’s my mom. You dated my mom?”

“Four years.” Sterling’s voice cracks slightly, and his knuckles go white around his wine glass. “High school and into college. She was—is—the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known. I was planning to propose when she met your father.”

My pack goes so still behind me I can feel their tension. Adrian’s hand finds my shoulder, Reed shifts closer to my side, and Declan moves where he can see both Sterling and the door—a wall of quiet support.

“She never mentioned you,” I say, because apparently I state obvious things when my brain stops working. “Like, ever. And Mom talks about everything—her job, her book club, her very strong opinions about reality TV. But high school boyfriends? Complete radio silence.”

“I wouldn’t expect her to,” Sterling says, and there’s so much regret in his voice it makes my chest tight. “It ended badly. My fault entirely. I was young and couldn’t handle rejection gracefully. Said some things I’ve regretted for thirty years.”

He gets up and moves to a glass case, handling whatever’s inside with the kind of attention most people reserve for handling explosives.

“Your grandmother, Elizabeth Rose, gave me my first job,” he continues, lifting away the glass dome. “What Goes Around—though it was called Rose’s Treasures back then. I was seventeen, arrogant, and completely unprepared for how much she would teach me about seeing value in forgotten things.”

Under the glass is a pocket watch that makes my breath catch. Brass and intricate, with a maritime compass rose engraved on the cover. It’s gorgeous, obviously valuable, and completely familiar in that way that makes recognition slam into me like a physical force.

“That’s from Grandma’s shop,” I whisper.

“Your mother gave it to me for graduation.” Sterling’s smile carries thirty years of regret and hope all mixed together. “She said it would help me find my way home, no matter where life took me. I’ve carried it every day since, though I’m not sure I ever figured out where home was supposed to be.”

He places it in my palm without hesitation, and the weight of it settles something restless in my chest. The brass is warm and smooth from years of handling, and holding it feels like finding a missing piece I didn’t know I was looking for.

“Okay, I’m definitely missing something here,” I say, looking up at Sterling’s hopeful, nervous expression. “Because this feels like way more than just returning stolen property and discussing maritime expertise.”

“When I learned that Elizabeth’s granddaughter had sold me a stolen compass,” Sterling says, hope flickering across his features before he tries to suppress it, “when I realized that Karma Rose was Elizabeth’s granddaughter and Lilli’s daughter—well.

It felt like the universe was being rather insistent about something.

Or rather, handing me my own Karma if you will. ” His eyes twinkle with that last bit.

“You ran a background check on me.” It’s not a question.

“Thoroughly. I know about your shop, your financial situation, your expertise, your pack.” He has the grace to look apologetic but not ashamed. “I also know you’re every bit as remarkable as your mother and grandmother.”

“And now you have some kind of business proposition,” I say, because I can see it in his expression. “Something that conveniently helps with my money problems while giving you an excuse to reconnect with my mother.”

Sterling’s laugh is surprised and delighted. “You really are Lilli’s daughter. She always could see right through people’s motivations. Yes, I have a proposition. Legitimate business, though I admit my motives aren’t entirely professional.”

He moves to grab a portfolio, and I can tell he’s nervous because he’s adjusting everything just so, everything has to be positioned exactly right or the universe might collapse, which honestly makes me like him more.

“I’ve built one of the most comprehensive private maritime collections on the East Coast,” he says, opening the portfolio to reveal photographs that make my hands shake.

“Museums consult with me, auction houses seek my authentication, collectors trust my expertise. But I’m getting older, and I need someone with your eye, your knowledge, your instincts. ”

The photographs show maritime artifacts so stunning they belong in the Smithsonian. Ship wheels, sextants, charts, compasses—pieces worth more than my entire shop’s inventory combined.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, then immediately clap my hand over my mouth. “Sorry. Holy... wow. These are incredible.”

“I want to offer you a position as my head assessor and acquisition specialist,” Sterling continues, his nervous energy settling into professional enthusiasm.

“Full salary, benefits, travel to locate pieces, unlimited access to the collection for research. You’d be working with museums, private collectors, auction houses—the kind of career most people in our field only dream about. ”

My brain basically short-circuits trying to process what he just offered me, because this is the kind of job that maritime antique experts fantasize about while eating ramen and wondering if they can afford both rent and groceries this month.

I can feel my pack processing this alongside me—Declan leans forward, elbows on knees as he considers angles, Reed’s leg bounces with contained excitement, and Adrian’s hand settles warm on my shoulder, grounding me while my thoughts scatter.

“The compass,” I manage, because apparently that’s where my brain decided to focus.

“Yours, obviously. Along with anything else in my collection that belongs to your family.” Sterling closes the portfolio. “I’m not interested in profiting from pieces with personal significance. I’m interested in right things ending up where they belong.”

“And my mother?” I ask quietly, though I think I already know the answer.

Sterling’s composed expression cracks slightly, and thirty years of longing bleed through his polished exterior. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping you’d mention to Lilli that you met me. That I’ve spent thirty years regretting how things ended. That I never stopped...”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to.

“She lives in Providence now,” I say, watching hope flicker across his features like sunrise. “She’s not bonded. My Dads left after the divorce when I was twelve.”

“I see.” Sterling does this nervous finger-drumming thing against his knee, and for a moment he looks exactly like that seventeen-year-old boy in the yearbook photo.

“Well. The offer stands regardless of any personal considerations. Your expertise speaks for itself, Karma. This position is yours because you’ve earned it, not because of any history between your mother and me. ”

I shift closer to my pack, somehow needing their combined scents and presence to process something this huge. This isn’t what any of us expected when we came here tonight.

“I...” I start, then stop, because how do you respond to something like this?

The job offer is legitimate, incredible, life- changing.

The personal connection is romantic and complicated and completely out of left field.

And somehow it all centers around a compass that brought my pack together in the first place.

“You don’t need to answer tonight,” Sterling says, pouring more wine like he’s afraid it might escape if he’s not careful enough.

“This is a lot to process, I’m sure. Take the compass—it belongs with your family regardless.

Take some time to consider the position.

And if you’d like to mention to your mother that you met an old friend who thinks about her fondly. ..”

He trails off, hope and vulnerability written across his face like an open book.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, because it’s the only honest answer I can give. “All of it.”

“That’s all I can ask.” Sterling moves to another glass case and removes the compass I sold to Sage months ago, handling it like the precious thing it is. “This should be with people who understand its story.”

When he places it in my hands, I feel the weight of more than just brass and crystal. This compass brought my pack together, led us to each other, and apparently led us to this moment where my mother’s lost love is offering me the career of my dreams while hoping for a second chance at happiness.

The compass needle does its little dance before settling north, which feels suspiciously like the universe making a point about directions and destiny, though I’m probably overthinking compass symbolism because that’s exactly the kind of person I am.

“Thank you,” I say, warmth spreading through my chest. “For everything.”

“Thank you,” Sterling replies, his voice soft with thirty years of hope, “for giving an old fool the chance to make amends. ”

As we prepare to leave, Sterling walks us to the door like someone who doesn’t want to seem desperate but doesn’t want the evening to end either. He straightens his already-perfect sweater and touches his glasses one final time.

“Karma,” he says as I step onto the front porch, October air crisp with possibility. “Your grandmother would be proud of the woman you’ve become. And your mother...” He pauses, hope transforming his entire face. “Your mother was lucky to have you.”

“Is,” I correct automatically, though my heart is doing complicated things. “She is lucky to have me. Present tense.”

“Is. You’re absolutely right.” Sterling’s smile could power the entire historic district. “Please, give me a call when you decide.”

I walk away carrying two compasses and approximately seventeen life-changing revelations.

Also, I definitely need to call my mother.

Like, immediately.