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“I understand your concerns,” he found himself saying to his ministers. “And I share them, but let me present the facts to you. The historical facts written by our people and not by the colonizers who sought to rape this land for all they could.”
He hadn’t noticed his secretary dropping the dossier in front of him, but he opened it now, “Next order of business…” The information poured into his brain and out his mouth.
The atmosphere in the conference room eased, and a few nervously relieved glances slid around the table. He took a mental note of each look. They would bend to his will. He would make sure of it.
His secretary looked at him over their heads and smiled. Soon, she mouthed.
* * *
A private basement in Vienna.
And there she was, so beautiful she took her breath away. Up until this moment, she’d been half afraid the sketch was a myth. So simple, yet so evocatively powerful that the reclining woman called out to her. Here was femininity in its glory and mastery. The powerful sensuality of those few simply dashed lines made by a master across canvas had called to her across all these years, and now it was finally hers.
She wanted to stroke the long, graceful sweep of her thigh to her hip, caress the gentle slope of her shoulder to her long, willowy arm.
Her assistant hovered nearby, his breathing an annoyance in her ear. “Lovely, isn’t it?”
No thanks to him. He had reported back failure after failure in his efforts to obtain this Degas. Finally, she had stepped in and used the money earned from the four animals she had married and buried to get what she desired.
“And she’s all yours.” The tone in her assistant’s voice had her turning and looking at him. Gone was the vaguely patronizing assumption of obsequiousness. He looked different as well, standing taller, his shoulders back, his stare as he held hers bold.
“Yes.” Perhaps she had underestimated the elitist little toad. “I stepped in after you failed.”
He inclined his head and smiled at her. “It was a pleasure to watch you work, madam.”
Had she imagined the flash of color across his irises? Work, such an interesting word and so open to interpretation. It had taken a few well-placed enquiries on her behalf by a firm whose name nobody dared ask to discover the leverage she needed. That leverage was currently safely ensconced in an apartment in Zurich and would be released once she was sure she had made her acquisition cleanly and with no repercussions. Even the most avid of art collectors had a weak spot, and in this case, it was the bastard’s children.
Of course, her assistant had been part of the distasteful business and the only loose end in a flawlessly executed plan. She despised the process of finding a new assistant. Why could people not remain loyal like they had in the days of her infamous ancestors?
“Shall we?” He motioned the artwork.
Earlier he had placed the necessary items to transport an object of such value out of this collection and into hers on the table behind her. She had been surprised by his forethought at the time. She did not let any of her thoughts show as she nodded.
She had not noticed before how attractive her assistant was. But she noticed now as his shirt defined the toned planes of his shoulders and back as he removed the artwork from the wall and laid it carefully in the traveling crate.
“She really is quite exquisite.” He stepped back and studied the sketch. “I can see why you wanted her so much. She is the very essence of feminine mystique.”
To hear her thoughts so neatly phrased surprised her for a moment, and she nodded. “Yes.”
“And as such belongs with like.” He flashed her a slightly mischievous smile as he began fastening the crate.
It had been years since a man had flirted with her, and she was slow to recognize the signs. His impudence both offended and intrigued her. “You risk much.”
He didn’t even pretend to misunderstand and chuckled. “I risk much for much.” Straightening, he looked right at her. “Together, there is nothing we cannot accomplish.”
* * *
Somewhere in the US
Life was about defining moments. The trick was in recognizing those moments when they presented themselves. But he saw his, like a neon sign blinking across the sky. In the days following him totaling the imposter’s car in his parking space, he had held his breath, waiting for the call or the knock on the door that would announce he’d been caught. They hadn’t come, and days had stretched into weeks. People in the offices around him had whispered and wondered about what could have happened until a new juicy office tidbit had snatched their attention away. He had gotten away with his vengeance, and now his path had become clear to him.
His immediate superior was jawing at him again. “We need to manage this outcome.” The woman’s helmet hair never moved, even as disturbed as she was. “This has the potential to go viral, and we don’t want that.”
“Indeed,” he murmured. Another politician caught between the thighs of a woman he shouldn’t have been anywhere near. It was all so damn tedious, all so pitifully predictable.
“I’ve prepared a statement.” Helmet hair produced yet another folder from beneath her armpit and handed it to him. “Go through this with him, point out the possible pitfalls.”
He nodded and looked interested, as if he hadn’t done this a thousand times before.
