Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
“Was the new manifest made public?”
“Not unless the person who made the swap leaked it,” Franco answered.
We were interrupted when one of our guys signaled they were about to unload the crates.
“Should we send it back?” Franco suggested.
I shook my head, then ran my hand through my hair as I blew out a frustrated breath. “No. This could be a setup of some kind. If we send that crate back, there’s a chance that the other pieces will be inspected.”
Those paintings had been done by one of the forgers Charles worked with in France. He was very skilled, just not as good as me. If someone knew what to look for, they’d be able to figure out that there was another layer on the canvas.
“We need to move our asses and get these crates back to the gallery before anyone sees anything. Then I’ll talk with Rafa about what to do next.”
“Sure thing.”
Franco had only taken a few steps when my eyes landed on a name. What the fuck?
“Franco.”
He immediately spun on his heel and marched back over to me. “Sí?”
“Chez Tortoni was insured by Sterling Ellis’s company.”
“Figlio di puttana,” he hissed. “He’s setting us up.”
8
KERRIGAN
As much as I was enjoying my whirlwind romance with Aston, it hadn’t left much time for me to hang out with Melanie. Not that she was around at night very often since that was when most of her gigs with the catering company were. But I got lucky tonight since she had a rare night off while Aston was busy elsewhere.
We didn’t see each other every day, but he’d been vague when I’d asked what was taking him away from me this evening. Something about an important deal he needed to close, but he hadn’t mentioned which piece he was brokering.
I hadn’t pushed since I understood that the success of Belladonna Gallery meant that he’d need to be close-lipped about some of his clients. Most serious collectors didn’t want anyone outside their small circle to know about their deals, so discretion was just a part of the business.
Pulling my thoughts away from the man who’d consumed them since we met, I focused on stirring a pot of homemade marinara sauce while Melanie chopped fresh basil beside me. Music played softly from her Bluetooth speaker, and the apartment was filled with the cozy aroma of garlic, tomatoes, and toasted bread.
After she dropped the herbs into the sauce, she got to work on dividing the dough that she’d let rest for the past thirty minutes. “If you’d told me that you were an aspiring chef while we hashed out the details of our roommate agreement, I definitely would have agreed to pay more for access to all of the delicious food you make.”
Melanie shook her head with a soft laugh. “And I would’ve paid you to be my guinea pig.”
“You say that as though you’ve ever made something I didn’t like.” I popped a slice of tomato drizzled with balsamic glaze into my mouth and hummed with pleasure as the flavors burst across my tastebuds.
“Only because you have great taste.” Her hands moved quickly as she rolled out the dough and began to cut it, leaving behind ribbons of fettuccine that curled slightly at the edges, soft and golden. “In men, too.”
My mouth watered in anticipation of the meal I was helping her prepare, but those three little words made me look up from the pot. “Is that your subtle way of asking for gossip?” I teased, dipping a spoon into the sauce and giving it a taste.
“You’re damn right it is. Spill, Kerr. What’s it like dating Mr. Tall, Dark, and Frencher-than-thou?”
I laughed, nearly choking on the delicious marinara. “Frencher-than-thou?”
She looked up from the pasta dough and tilted her head to the side. “He kissed your hand the first time he met you. And you said that it sounds like he’s quoting poetry when he flirts. If that’s not the Frenchest thing I ever heard, I don’t know what is.”
“Fair point.” I rolled my eyes with a grin. “He knows everything about art, but not in a snobby way. It’s more like he’s lived inside every masterpiece. Ridiculously smooth, which I should’ve expected with how he kissed my knuckles when we met. And he looks at me as though I’m the only thing that exists. Which is…”
I tried to think of a word that accurately described how being with Aston made me feel but couldn’t come up with anything.
“So romantic,” she sighed with a dreamy look in her eyes.
“But also intense. In a way that should feel overwhelming, but it doesn’t. Probably because he’s so thoughtful. And generous.”
Melanie gave me a look that was equal parts impressed and wary. “That sounds almost too good to be true.”
I paused, tugging my bottom lip between my teeth. “I know. I keep thinking the same thing. But he hasn’t given me a single reason to doubt him.”