Holden sinks into the sofa, and I sit beside him, leaving just enough space between us so we’re not in any danger of touching. “I didn’t mind it, really.”
“You sure? Seemed like you hated it.”
“Nah.” His eyes flick to the canvas. “What will you do with that piece? Another moneymaker?”
“That was the plan.” I blow on my tea. The steam curls around my nose and eyelashes, adding to the burn I’m trying to control. “Feels wrong after Kit helped make it so pretty. But that’s art. You throw a piece of yourself in, and then you let some stranger take it away.”
He makes a low thoughtful sound, a rumble of agreement, or maybe just acknowledgement.
I wonder if he sees the double meaning, the way we’re not so different from art. Regardless of how this ends, he’s going to walk away with a piece of me.
“I talked to the museum curator again today. That museum of Western art.” I steer us back to the conversation we need to have. “It’s no big goldmine and I know they’re a newer place, but I’ve got a good feeling. He talked a lot about their security, said they went all in with state-of-the-art systems. He also shared a decent profit-sharing schedule.”
“Good. I’ll have a look at their security.” He shifts, staring into his mug.
“Yeah, I’ll forward you the email. The payments will be a small boost for the next three years at least. Not that I need it, it’s more about reducing worries. Then I guess I can decide where to go from there.”
“Great news,” Holden says. “If it’s what you want.”
I try not to look at him and fail miserably.
What Iwantright now is sitting beside me in stony silence.
“It’s a start. I feel a lot better about this than Fairfax’s offer to throw it on the private market. Guess that counts for something.”
“Sure,” he agrees. “What’s the next step?”
“Well, I need to head back to New York to meet with them and hash out all the details, sign the contracts, and so on. Then it’s just a matter of turning it over.”
Holden’s expression darkens. The corner of his mouth turns down.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“C’mon. You don’t get to pull that lemon face for nothing.” I sigh and drink my tea now that it’s cooled. “Let’s hear it. What part do you hate? The museum or—”
“It’s not that.” His jaw flexes. “Just don’t like the thought of going back to New York City so soon. It’s Fairfax’s home turf.”
I frown up at him, trying to read what he’s really hiding behind his gruff, beardy expression.
“So what? We’ve already turned him down.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s the end of him. He caused us a major vulnerability. You could’ve gottenhurt.” He bristles, setting his mug down on an end table and bracing his hands against his thighs as he searches for the right words. “I spoke to him recently about the break-in.”
Oh, shit.
What? I shouldn’t be surprised.
I bite back my irritation, but those piercing brown eyes grab mine like he can sense exactly what I’m thinking.
“I know you wanted me to lay off it, but I couldn’t, Clee. Russian mercenaries were involved. Fairfax even said he’d identified the leak.”
“Okay, but they’re gone now. Aren’t they?” My blood cools.
“We don’t know. Hell, if it really was Fairfax’s own people, his partners, they had an easy ruse,” he growls. “I can’t rule out anything with his connections. And if he hears you’re bringing the egg back to New York City—”
“Wait, wait. Hang on.” I hold up my hand. “This is where we’re going with this? You think Fairfax was behind the break-in?”
