“What am I going to do with myself, boys?” I admitted out loud.
It was some time before I peeled myself off the floor, deciding that curling up in a chair in my library with a book was the best way to blank this out. I begrudgingly climbed the stairs from the parlor floor to the third floor and fell into one of the two oversized chairs. Mr. Beans and Bill followed, taking up their usual places in the room.
I reached for my book on the coffee table. It took 15 minutes before I could stop rereading the same line, and before long, everything else fell away into a romantic world I ached to live in.
CHAPTER 7
Nash
“What thefuck,Nash,” Betty entered my office in a flurry of clacking heels, slamming the door behind her.
I pressed my eyes closed to hide my eye roll. “What the fuck,what,Betty.” It was late morning by the time I’d made it into the office at Beaumont Antiquities. It was the day after the heist.
Her hand went to her hip as she stopped in the room.
Betty looked threatening in a long black pencil skirt and light blue starched shirt, rolled at the sleeves and collar popped, framing her pinned up black hair. Being a lawyer seemed a better fit for her than art restoration. I couldn’t figure out how she restored art in those clothes.
“Youknowwhat,” she shot back, her free hand midair as though struggling to decide whether to give me the finger, or wave me off.
I leaned forward in my office chair, steepling my fingersagainst my jaw. “Clearly I don’t, Betty.” I was feigning ignorance. “Please elaborate.”
She took a few more steps forward, leaning toward me. “APERL,Nash?” Her whispered hiss of words sliced into me.“Are you kidding me?It may as well have been a Matisse for heaven’s sake.” She threw her hands up, spinning away and pacing back toward my door. “I thought we made a deal—nothing this new, nothing this—what the actualfuck.”
I raised my eyebrows at her free use of such colorful words, but didn’t otherwise respond. It wasn’t out of character for her.
Her shoulders fell in defeat. “Do you even care about the risk? Nash, PERL is too public, too hot. And why? This isn’t like you, likeus.Why not track down the damn Monet the Nazis stole in World War Two, butPERL?A fresh and very alive emerging modern artist?”
I sat back then. “PERL is not emerging, Betty, PERL never emerged. It just existed one day like the eighth wonder of the world.”
I saw the muscles of her jaw clench; her patience with me frayed.“Whatever.”She pressed her hand to her forehead and looked at the ceiling. “Why are you such afucking twat waffle?”she hissed in a whisper scream.
Again, I didn’t respond.
She changed tack, coming at me from a new angle. “Beaumont is furious.”
“Beaumont is always furious,” I replied coolly.
“Henry Barns is one of our top clients and collectors; this won’t look good. He’s going to have a cow and blame it on Beaumont, as he should.” She gave me a sharp look.
I stood, adjusting my suit coat and buttoning it. “How do you figure? Do you even know Henry? The man will revel in the attention. Pompous eccentric loves a good story, and his story just got better. Who wouldn’t want to be a victim of theft in his circle? The attention he’ll get? It doesn’t affect him financially either, not in that tax bracket.”
What Betty needed to remember was that everything of Henry’s was over-insured. He’d be just fine. The man was a billionaire.
I walked up to her, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Bee, everything is going to be okay, yeah?”
She looked at me then, letting out a long breath as though I’d squeezed it out of her. “Beaumont wants to see you,” she grumbled.
“I didn’t expect any less,” I replied, smirking.
“How can you be so calm about this? You don’t even look like you lost sleep last night.”
I chuckled. “You didn’t inherit the same genes I did. You got Mom’s panic, and I got Grandpa’s calm. The only thing that’s the same about us seems to be our obsession with lost priceless art and jewels, dear sister.” I flicked her nose.
She slapped my hand aside and rolled her eyes, reminiscent of her teenage years.
When she’d learned what I’d been doing—stealing behind everyone’s back—she swiftly took an interest. Her sharp wit and ability to be innovative streamlined the process. My sister, younger than I, often mimicked me. In this sphere, however, we finally balanced each other, sharing our skills. The more thrilling the heist, the better.
Her only shortcoming was her inability to deal with the pressure. In the end, though, she relished the thrill more than the sting of anxiety, and we’d fallen into a habit of planning, stealing, and solving mysteries like Sherlock Holmes and Watson.
