Page 72 of This is a Kissing Book

Drecken’s gaze, fixed on me, isn’t the only thing that makes my skin crawl. Has she been watching Jules, keeping track of her activities? She was at the gallery the night of the Civil War artifact exhibition. Did she notice us sneak off together? I file the questions away and make a mental note to be more careful.

That afternoon, Dad announces he’s taking me on a quick, mid-week business trip to woo a foreign investor at a resort in Sand Valley, Wisconsin. It’s not far and we’ll take the private jet, but the idea of being away makes me want to dig in my heels and stay. I know it’s really just an excuse for him to play golf with potential investors while I smile, nod, and pretend I care about quarterly earnings.

He claps me on the back and says, “It’ll be good for everyone to meet the future of Meridian Holdings.”

The two days drag by in a blur of schmoozing, forced conversations, and sneaking away to check NHL news on my phone … And to see if Jules texted. When I should be memorizing the names of global hedge fund giants, I find myself thinking about her. Wondering what she’s doing, whether she’s making progress on her painting copy, what her favorite movie is, book, color …

The only takeaway, other than that my father must spend a lot of time perfecting his swing, is a comment he made over dinner. We were alone briefly and he noted that I’d been spending some time in the archives. He asked if I’ve noticed anything of interest. Irregularities. He said to bring them to him, no one else.

Likely, he wants the letters if I find them. But why? It could be to protect his involvement with the fraud, followed by an empty promise to take action against whoever he pins with the wrongdoing. Sounds like a deceptive, if not losing, playbook.

When I finally return to Chicago on Friday morning, Jules appears in my office doorway with two cups of coffee and a knowing smirk. “How was your business trip?” she asks, settling into the chair across from my desk like she’s a client.

I roll my eyes. “Learned a lot about … synergistic market opportunities.”

“Uh-huh. Did you have a fling while you were at the resort?”

The question catches me off guard, and I nearly choke on my coffee before recalling what she said to me in the elevator. “What? No. Definitely not.”

“Really? No attractive golf caddy girls throwing themselves at the handsome young executive?”

“It was a sausage fest.”

Shaking her head, she laughs. “While you were gone, I kept busy. Our version of Echo & Answer is as done as it’s going to be. All we have to do is swap it out tonight and we’ll have the real McCoy back by Sunday night.”

She taps her phone and slides it across my desk. I look at the photos on the screen of the forged copy next to the original, and I’m genuinely impressed. Her version is remarkably detailed, capturing not just the image but the texture and age of the real one.

“This is incredible work. What other hidden talents do you have?”

“I can yodel.”

“Is that so?”

“No, but let’s count on the fact that during the gallery’s opening hours of eleven to two on Saturday, no one inspects the piece too carefully.”

“If I recall, the lighting in that wing wasn’t bright enough for anyone to notice the subtle differences. I didn’t at first.”

“The odds are in our favor.”

I rub my thumb over the penny I keep in my pocket. “Let’s hope so.” But my mind immediately starts cataloging all the ways this could go terribly wrong. Security cameras we missed. Unexpected guard rotations. Someone deciding to examine the painting more closely. The copy not being a perfect match.

“We can’t overthink this,” Jules says, whether to herself or me, I’m not sure.

“If we get caught⁠—”

She lets out a breath. “We won’t get caught.”

“But if we do, Jules, this isn’t just about losing our jobs. This is criminal. We could go to prison.”

She leans forward, her eyes serious. “If we do, we can just tell the judge and jury that it was a crime of passion.”

Considering that this whole thing is to find Lincoln’s lost love letters, I laugh. Then abruptly go quiet. “Jules, why are you helping me, aside from this unique skill set you seem to have?”

I’m about to make a joke about her committing forgery often, like a side hustle, when she looks abruptly away.

“Because maybe I want to believe in true love, too.”

Later that afternoon, alone in my office after everyone else has gone home, I find myself digging deeper into the files Jules had flagged earlier. Something about the insurance valuations has been nagging at me, and with Dad’s cryptic warnings still echoing in my head, along with feeling like Drecken’s eyes are on me, I decide to do some investigating of my own.