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“Perfect.” She took a forkful of the roasted beef and pureed celeriac that the chef had prepared and nodded thoughtfully. “I like this. But, and I hope you won’t be offended by this, I think I might like pizza better.”
Patrick chuckled. “I can see why.”
“Not you, though.” Emma shook her head and gave him a teasing smile. “You were probably raised on this stuff. Have you ever even eaten pizza?”
“Hmm, maybe once or twice…” Patrick picked up the joke. “It usually has caviar on it, right?”
“Sure, sure.” They grinned at each other. Patrick was glad that things were back to normal between them, with the awkwardness of the almost-kiss now passed.
Still, as they finished dinner, made another turn around the gallery, and then returned to the helicopter for the flight back to Chicago, Patrick didn’t try to kiss Emma again. He didn’t even hold his arm out to her. He wasn’t sure if she wanted that. And when he finally dropped her off at her apartment under a cold, clear night sky, he settled for a friendly smile and a thank you for the evening together.
It would have been enough for Patrick. Yes, he still wanted to kiss Emma, but her hesitance back at the gallery had been a clear sign that he shouldn’t push her. The evening had been great, kiss or no kiss.
But then, just as he was about to turn and make his way back to the taxi for his own journey home, Emma grabbed his arm. Slowly, she lifted onto tiptoes and pressed a light, warm kiss to his cold cheek. Immediately, a wave of sensation traveled through him, from the place her lips had touched all the way down to his toes. It was just a kiss on the cheek, but it was still one of the best kisses Patrick had experienced.
Slowly, Emma drew away and gave him a shy smile. “Good night, Patrick. See you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Emma.”
On the ride home, Patrick couldn’t get that kiss out of his mind. He kept picturing Emma rising onto her toes, her dark eyes sparkling as she pressed her lips to his cheek. He had always thought the best feeling in the world was acquiring a new painting or cashing in a particularly successful investment, but now he knew that he’d been wrong. The best feeling was getting a simple kiss on the cheek with Emma outside of her apartment on a cold October night.
Patrick was really starting to look forward to Friday.
CHAPTER 11
EMMA
Emma could hardly focus at work the next day. Thank goodness she was ahead with all her assignments, or it might have been a real problem that her thoughts kept drifting to Patrick.
One moment, she was replaying their almost kiss in the art gallery, or the way it had felt to walk arm in arm with him, or his deep chuckle when she said something that amused him. The next, she was thinking about Aurora. Then she was daydreaming about the visit to Patrick’s home and the glimpse she would get into his life — and perhaps the opportunity to kiss him again, properly this time. And then she was back to thinking about Aurora and how it wasn’t fair of her to kiss Patrick at all, not when she was about to steal from him on behalf of his nemesis.
By the time five o’clock came, she was so tired from her pinballing thoughts that she packed up and went home without waiting to ride the elevator with Patrick. In fact, she hadn’t seen him at all that day. Emma felt a stab of remorse that she hadn’t gotten to spend any time with him, then another stab of guilt about what she had to do.
At this rate, she was probably going to collapse from stress before she had a chance to steal the painting at all.
Back at home, Emma shucked her winter gear and stood in front of the Aurora forgery. It was almost finished, which was good since she now had a timeline for when her mini-heist would happen. All she needed to do was a few finishing touches on the colors in the skyline. Emma knew it wasn’t a perfect replica of the original. She had a life-sized image of it, printed on good quality paper, pinned to her wall beside the forgery. If Patrick spent a lot of time with the painting, he would recognize the differences quickly — especially with the extra touches Emma had made. Again, she had to hope that this painting wasn’t particularly special to him.
Emma sighed. Over the last few weeks, Aurora had become special to her. There was something about the painting that spoke to her. In the beginning, she’d found it relatively simplistic, but the more time she spent blending colors and deepening shadows, the more she enjoyed the painting. The woman looked so brave, so hopeful, so small in front of the backdrop of the ocean and the sky. Emma couldn’t help feeling a little like her, facing off against powers beyond her.
The fact that she liked Aurora only made the thought of stealing it worse. Emma didn’t know what Aleksander planned to do with the original, though she suspected he would end up selling it. Or, she hoped he would. Surely, Aleksander wasn’t spiteful enough to destroy it.
Emma took up her brushes and got to work on the final touches. As she painted, her mind continued to spin from Patrick to Aleksander to Aurora to her plans to steal the painting. By the time she went to bed, she was exhausted, but she still struggled to sleep.
She went through the next few days almost on autopilot. She saw Patrick a few times, which always lifted her spirits, but mainly she was focused on completing her work, perfecting her plan, and making sure the forgery was as professional as she could make it.
Finally, Friday rolled around. Emma left work a little early and hurried home, her heart in her throat. She would have liked to think that her nerves were just about the heist she needed to pull off, but she knew that her feelings for Patrick had complicated what she had to do significantly. If only Patrick had been a jerk like Aleksander, this might have been easier.
Emma changed into a dark purple dress, did her hair in a half-up, half-down style that contained her curls well enough, and put on a little makeup. Then she steeled herself and carefully packed her forgery into a painting case. She was lucky it was a relatively small painting, although the case still felt bulky and unwieldy under her arm.
Patrick had offered to pick her up, but Emma had declined. She needed to arrive alone so that she could sneak the painting into his building without his noticing. So, instead, she hailed a cab and gave Patrick’s address. In the back seat, the painting resting on the seat beside her, she watched Chicago roll by. The modest buildings of her part of town quickly gave way to sparkling residential buildings that looked so beautiful and expensive that Emma would have worried about walking near one for fear of damaging it.
When the cab pulled up outside Patrick’s building, Emma paid and tipped the driver, then carefully slid out, the painting under her arm. As she entered, she came up against her first obstacle, a doorman, just as she’d noticed while scoping out the building a few weeks ago.
“Hello, ma’am.” The doorman smiled at her politely. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, please. I’m here to see Patrick Daniels. Could you direct me to his apartment?”
“I’ll just need to buzz him and make sure he’s expecting you.”
