Page 62 of The One-Night Heist

Convincing Agent Lowry to make Rowen my liaison had been the only way I could think of keeping him close, but this turn of events was even better. He had nowhere to run while we were investigating abroad, and knew as well as I did that if he disappeared on me, he would only paint himself as a suspect.

Not that I would ever let him take the blame.

Despite my manipulations, my goal with Rowen wasn’t to lure him to his downfall. I wanted to capture and dissect him, yes, but only because it would help me better know how to piece him back together with a sturdier foundation.

Even with the constant bravado, it was clear he didn’t fully believe in his own worth. It may have had something to do with how he was raised—to which I could wholly relate—but I suspected it was also due to others in his life, like Agent Markel, treating him like he didn’t belong among them.

In my opinion, Markel’s jealousy was proof of how indispensable he was, especially as I’d gotten the distinct impression Agent Lowry recognized his value on her team. During our call, she’d never claimed he wasn’t fit for the liaison role, only that he didn’t play well with others. I already knew that, of course, from our one-on-one interactions and having seen him on the job at The Andervelt. While he had become outwardly irritated at the incompetence of Markel, he’d spoken intelligently from a place of experience, and was polite to the clients who treated him with the respect he deserved.

He deserves respect in every room he enters.

And I’ll ensure he receives it from now on.

As focused as I was on my ultimate goals, the trick to winning this particular game would be to continue playing my cards close to the chest. Distinct fear had flashed over Rowen’s face when I hinted at my awful truth—that I cared about him, and wanted to keep him as close as humanly possible—despite my suspicions that he felt the same.

While there was an actual deadline for retrieving my art, I had no intention of letting him go once the job was done. This man could pretend to resist me and everything I had to offer all he wanted, but it wouldn’t make me back off.

I just want to peel him apart, layer by layer⁠—

“Why the hell are you staring at me?”

I shielded my smile behind my fist, although I was far from embarrassed to be caught in the act. “Well, Mr. Quincy, considering we’ve yet to take off, it’s the best view available.”

Rowen glared from across the aisle of my Bombardier Global 7500, and this time, I didn’t bother hiding my grin. Truth be told, it was incredibly enjoyable to rile him up, and I found it fascinating how he switched between hiding behind an emotionless mask and wearing his righteous anger like a badge of honor.

Especially as I’m far more used to dealing with those who always wear a mask.

It was exactly why I’d sent a set of monogrammed luggage to his apartment this morning. Aside from the satisfaction it brought me to use funds from my trust to shower this man with gifts, I knew he’d be unable to resist reacting to the “slight” in some way. I’d expected him to arrive much later than requested as a result, but when he’d instead shown up on time—with his delicious attitude and custom luggage on full display—I knew I was in for a treat.

The other shoe should drop any minute now…

“I’m sure your pilot will muscle their way to the front of the line,” he huffed. “It’s not like it’s a secret that most rich Manhattan assholes fly from Teterboro so they don’t have to wait for the unwashed masses to get out of their way. That and the total discretion when it comes to passengers and cargo…” I patiently waited as he tapped his tempting bottom lip. “Hey! I bet your art got smuggled out of the country on this very same runway.”

Oh?

I cocked an eyebrow and leaned over the armrest, wishing there wasn’t so much space between us. “Are you saying you’ve associated with ‘rich assholes’ in the past? I’m shocked. I thought that was a new development in your life.”

Rowen’s glare returned with a vengeance, and I hoped we’d get the go-ahead to take off soon, so I could somehow tempt him into the more private areas in the back of the aircraft.

“I have contacts on every rung of the social ladder, Giancarlo,” he replied, back to using my full name, much to my annoyance. His gaze lifted and he slowly scanned the club suite we were seated in. “Not that I’m in contact with any of them anymore.”

That last sentence was spoken louder than necessary, and I realized he was covering his bases, in case my private plane was tapped.

How can I get him to relax?

“You know as well as I do that the FBI cannot install hidden surveillance without a warrant from a federal judge,” I calmly stated, holding his gaze, willing him to trust me. “And we also both know my family name and net worth makes it so they wouldn’t even try.”

I broke eye contact to take a long drink of water, eager to wash down the taste that statement left in my mouth. It was all true—and I was thankful for it given present circumstances—but I was painfully aware most people didn’t enjoy even one iota of the privileges I did, especially not Rowen.

Although that all changes starting now.

The plane jolted into motion, speeding down the runway, and saving me from needing to comment further. Before long we were at cruising altitude, heading up the Eastern Seaboard and toward our destination.

And destiny.

“Well, fuck,” Rowen muttered, dropping his head back against the leather headrest after the pilot made his customary announcements. “There goes my chance to escape this pseudo-kidnapping.”

I had no idea if he was joking—probably not, knowing him—but I respected his perseverance at holding a grudge.