Page 82 of This is a Kissing Book

Jules appears in my doorway with a stack of files, her expression carefully neutral for anyone who might be watching. “You’re back fast. In light of the meeting, I thought you might be interested in the insurance documentation inconsistencies,” she says formally, but her eyes are bright with discovery.

“I didn’t have a chance to look at it. What did you find?”

She closes the door behind her. “I had a little help. The office girlies came through. The insurance valuations for several recent acquisitions are inflated by thirty to forty percent above market value. Someone with executive access has been systematically overvaluing pieces for larger payouts … going back for at least eighteen months. All Civil War era works. All were authenticated by the same external appraiser and brokered at similar auctions. I can’t quite find the connection, but there is one. I’m sure of it.” She slides a file across my desk. “Look familiar?”

I scan the documentation, my pulse quickening. “These are all from estates that were liquidated quickly. Sellers who needed fast cash and didn’t have time for proper market evaluation.”

“Exactly. Someone has been deceiving desperate sellers and inflating values for insurance purposes. It’s fraud, Linc. But that’s not where it ends.” She swallows thickly. “As you see, some of them have then been sold at auction.”

I nod in understanding. “Jules, I think I know where the companion piece to our painting is.”

Her eyes widen. “Where?”

“There’s a charity auction this weekend at the Whitmore estate outside New York City. High-end collectors, private sales. It’s the kind of event where millionaires go to show off their cultural sophistication.” I lean forward, excitement building. “One of my father’s golf buddies mentioned a Civil War painting from the Fairfax Collection.”

“Do you think it could be the other half of the diptych?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“Do you want me to make your travel arrangements?”

I shake my head. “I’ll handle that if only not to rouse suspicion.” I sit on the edge of my desk. “But none of this answers why someone would go to the trouble of hiding part of a two-piece work.”

Jules blinks a few times as if thinking and then snaps her fingers. “If they’re selling them separately, they can inflate the values and collect insurance on both pieces individually.”

She’s sharp.

Letting out a shaky exhale, she drops into the chair across from my desk. “This is huge, Linc. If we can prove the connection between the paintings and link it to the insurance fraud …”

“We’ll have enough evidence to expose whoever’s behind this.” I pause, studying her face. “But it means we need to attend that auction. Together. As buyers with enough credibility to examine the piece closely.”

“I can’t afford to bid on a million-dollar artwork.”

“You won’t be Jules, the research assistant. You’ll be my … consultant. Art expert. Whatever we need you to be … my plus-one.”

Pink creeps up her neck.

An idea sparks. I make a rash decision. “Take the afternoon off.”

“What? Why?” She leans forward, concern scrolling across her features.

“Because you’re going to need to blend in with wealthy collectors whose wardrobe closet is bigger than your studio apartment. Plus, after everything you’ve done to help me, you deserve to be spoiled a little.”

“Linc, that’s not necessary⁠—”

I pull out my phone and start typing. “I’m making you an appointment at the spa on Beaubien. It’s not far. Full treatment. Then shopping. Whatever you need to feel confident walking into a room full of Manhattan’s art elite.”

“I can’t let you⁠—”

“You can and you will. This whole thing was my idea, remember? The least I can do is make sure you’re prepared.”

She stares at me blankly as if the words don’t compute. “Why are you doing this?”

Because I’m falling for you.

Because you’re refreshingly real.

Because I want everyone else to realize how extraordinary you are.