Ajay walks with me to the elevator. “We’re getting so good at those.”
“Too bad we won’t need that skill when you come clean about wanting to spend more time painting.”
Ajay sighs deeply. “I know, I will. But, Priya, you have to see this amazing piece, it’s about—”
Before he can launch into an hour-long speech on the meaning behind his art, I cut him off. I love him, but I have work to do. And his work to do, actually. “Don’t tell me until I see it. I want to take it all in at once.” I try to soften the blow.
“Sure, sis. Bye.”
I get out of the elevator and take a few steps down the hall before I realize he’s not with me. But his office is on the same level as mine. When I turn to give him a questioning look, he looks sheepish.
“I’m just going to take a long lunch and get some painting done,” he says in a rush.
The elevator doors close in front of me before I can give him a lecture on how irresponsible he’s being.
He’s heard the speech before, so I don’t beat myself up for not making sure he gets it one more time.
Plus, I have a caper to plan.
“Ta-da!” I hold up two pairs of coveralls, showing Sonia what I came up with after lunch today.
“Why am I looking at a Rosie the Riveter costume? It’s not October.”
“We’re using it tonight, to find out what Carlyle’s is up to.” I shake the coveralls.
“And how exactly will this Halloween costume do that?” She sounds doubtful of my plan, which is frankly hurtful.
“Have some imagination. We’re going to dress up as building maintenance and infiltrate the Carlyle’s storage room.”
She still looks doubtful. “I’m lookout. So I’ll be the opposite of where you’ll be. Somewhere safe. Dressed not in that.”
“Fine, wimp. You can pretend to be a guest at the exhibition tonight and I’ll sneak in to the storeroom and check out what they’re working with.” I have been hoping to get her to join me in the storeroom, but if this is the best I can get, I’ll take it.
“Why do I agree to your shenanigans?” she asks me.
“Because we pay so well?” I ask her, already stepping into my disguise for the night. “I also got you some super sweet spy tech, to go along with the martini you’re going to order.” I finish zipping up the adult onesie.
This is exceptionally comfortable. I think I want to wear it forever. And it has pockets! If I have to change careers and be a mechanic or a military pilot to wear this more, I’ll do it.
I pull an earpiece out of my purse and hold it out to her. “So you can have me in your brain.” I hold it out to her.
“That’s terrifying.” But she takes it. “Where did you get this, again?”
“Well, when you have the best assistant in the world, you can get things done.” Our department assistant Roshni had looked at me in fear, but she’d done it. Without asking any questions. She’s getting an excellent annual review.
We get ready with a minimum of sass from Sonia. As a finishing touch, I put my hair up in a bun and cover it with a hat. There, I just need to look down a lot so people can’t get a good look at my face.
Sonia walks the short distance to Carlyle’s with me, passing our office on the way. I live near the office, which I acknowledge is sad, but also very convenient when I want to sleep in for a few extra minutes in the morning. And it’s cut down on me sleeping on my office couch.
In fact, my apartment, Loot and Carlyle’s are all on the same street, and it doesn’t escape my notice that as bitter enemies, we could probably get a trebuchet and some archers and conduct medieval sieges against each other. Or whatever normal, modern people do to their competition.
Sonia leaves me a block away from Carlyle’s, so the rich auction-goer and the maintenance worker aren’t seen coming in together, raising questions.
I walk around the back and notice a service entrance to the side of the tall New York skyscraper. Before I go in, I remind myself that I regularly face down the scariest man in the auction world: my dad. And if I can do that, I can handle anyone and anything.
Getting in turns out to be easier than I thought it would be. I spent all afternoon making up plausible reasons to be in behind-the-scene spaces of Carlyle’s, but no one asks me why I’m there, mostly ignoring my presence.
Thanks, uniform.
