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Emma’s heart leapt into her throat. If Patrick came down to escort her upstairs, which he probably would given his chivalrous nature, he’d see the painting case and have questions about it. Her plans would be ruined.
It was too late, though. The doorman had already dialed a number and was now holding an old-fashioned corded phone to his ear.
“Yes, Mr. Daniels, I have one…” He tilted his head at her and Emma quickly supplied her fake last name. “A Miss Reynolds is here to see you.” There was a pause. “Yes. Thank you.” The doorman hung up and turned to Emma. “He’ll be down to pick you up in just a moment.”
“Oh. Great.” Emma’s mind raced through options for what she could do. “Could you please direct me to a bathroom?” She put on what she hoped was a friendly smile. “This is a date, and I want to freshen up. It’s windy today and my hair is a mess.” Emma gestured to her hair, which she hoped was cooperating. Oh, who was she kidding? It was always messy.
“Of course.” The doorman smiled again, although this time he looked slightly amused. “Just to your left.”
“Thank you!” Emma practically jogged to the bathroom. She had to get there before Patrick came down and saw her with the case. Thank goodness, she reached the bathroom quickly and slid in before there was any sign of Patrick.
The bathroom was deserted and Emma entered the first stall, then looked around for a place to hide the painting. To her relief, the ceiling had the same square panels that Emma had seen in several previous offices. She climbed on the closed lid of the toilet and carefully slid aside the panel directly overhead. There was enough space to slide the painting through the gap so that it rested just out of sight. Satisfied, Emma replaced the panel.
Now, she just needed an excuse to come back down to the lobby bathroom and retrieve the painting case sometime during the evening. Great. But the alternative was walking upstairs with Patrick and the painting, which would be much worse.
Emma made a quick attempt to tame her hair in front of the bathroom mirror, then returned to the lobby just as Patrick emerged from the elevator bank.
“Emma.”
Something about the way he said her name made her heart flutter.
“Hi.” She crossed the lobby to Patrick, who held out his arm to direct her to the elevators.
“Thank you, Carl!” Patrick called as he stepped into a waiting elevator. The doorman, presumably Carl, raised his arm in acknowledgment.
“I hope it wasn’t any trouble to find the place,” Patrick said as the elevator whirred into motion.
“It wasn’t hard at all.”
“I’m glad.”
There was a moment of quiet, apart from the sound of the elevator whirring. They were climbing very high into the building.
“I’m really looking forward to seeing your collection,” Emma said. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“I’m looking forward to showing you.” The elevator came to a slow stop on the thirty-eighth floor, and they stepped out. Emma expected a hallway lined with doors, but the elevator’s doors opened right into the entryway of what must be Patrick’s condo. Her eyes widened slightly. It was a good thing she hadn’t gone through with her original plan of hiding the painting case in the hallway on Patrick’s floor.
“Is this all yours?” she asked. As soon as the words were out, she realized it was a silly question. Of course, this was all Patrick’s. Just like with the helicopter ride and the painting bid, Emma was again struck by how wealthy Patrick was.
“Yes,” he said simply. “Please, follow me. I thought we could start with a quick tour of the collection before dinner, if you aren’t too hungry.”
“You know I always prefer art to food.” Emma shrugged off her winter jacket, which Patrick took from her to hang on a peg near the door, then followed him into the next room. It was a living room. The style was very masculine, all sleek lines and dark colors and exposed metal and brick. Yet the most striking thing wasn’t the décor but the painting hanging directly across from Emma. The woman, the ocean, the sky, the ships: it was all as familiar as the back of Emma’s paint-smeared hand.
“Wow,” she breathed. Patrick turned and smiled.
“Oh, yes. My main collection is in another room, but I chose a particular favorite to showcase here. It’s called Aurora.”
I know, Emma thought. I know all about it.
“It’s beautiful,” she said instead.
“I thought you’d like it.” Patrick grinned.
“Oh, I do.” Emma stepped close on the pretense of admiring the painting, though she was really looking for security features. She had researched painting security before this job and was on the lookout for motion sensors, cameras, or even a sturdy case or lock. But there was nothing. Either Patrick didn’t care about this painting or he was so confident that no one could enter his home and take it that he didn’t bother with security. Emma suspected the latter.
“This is actually a particularly special painting for me.” Patrick stepped beside Emma and confirmed her worries. “I told you I came to Chicago with some friends in my last year of college and that we looked at a few galleries. While we were here, I saw Aurora for the first time. My art major friend told me it wasn’t all that special, but I was blown away. Something about the colors, the style… I’m not sure. It just spoke to me like no other painting.”
Patrick’s echo, almost word-for-word, of Emma’s own thoughts on the painting struck her. As did the message that this painting was special.
