Page 98 of The One-Night Heist

“As you can plainly see, Monmouth and Divani realized me selling Mother’s art collection was a threat to their plans, and so conspired to thwart my efforts to raise the funds.” Giano helpfully pointed at where Lucy had faked an entire, time-stamped email thread between the two men. “Divani knew the keypad code to my apartment as an emergency contact and just yesterday, Monmouth threatened me over the situation at a watch retailer in Rome—with multiple witnesses. Both were also quite noticeably absent from my art viewing party.”

“Probably because they assumed being seen there would make them a suspect.” I oh-so-earnestly added. “It's what happened to me, after all.”

That last part was partly meant to be a dig at Franz—who was slouched at the far end of the table—but he was too busy glaring at the hat still perched on Mick’s big head. Of course, there was another incriminating email in the stack, from Monmouth to Divani, implying Giancarlo Luxford’s connection to an ex-art thief should be enough to get us both locked up and out of the way.

Gotta clear my name while we’re at it!

A clearly exasperated Bob Decatur removed his glasses and set them aside before rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I must say, Mr. Quincy, I’m still unsure how exactly you managed to get my client released from custody. It was my understanding that la polizia would only discharge him to a member of my staff.”

Whoops!

That part would have to remain a mystery. By the time Daddy Pinstripes had sent the email to Decatur and company, Lucy had scrubbed their staff page clean of the faux employee profile she’d added for the occasion. I also hadn’t actually handed out any of my Dan Cooper business cards to anyone other than Giano and Franz, so no one saw anything but a peek they couldn’t prove at a later date.

Never let them touch the cup.

The question now was whether the suits in this meeting would insist on operating by the book, or would they be willing to play by my rules?

Maximum damage before we light up the bridge on our way out of town.

“I told them the truth,” I lied. “Said I worked for the FBI Art Crime Team.”

Bob stared at me, while his entire army of rich bitch attorneys stared at him, waiting for their boss to speak. Franz dropped his head into his hands with a groan while Mick snickered, but Giano was deadly quiet.

Shit.

For one terrible moment, I wondered if I’d fucked up. I mean, I knew I’d fucked up, in increasingly significant ways, but I wasn’t sure if dicking around with Giano’s lawyers was a step too far.

Don’t tell me I have to apologize again…

Gross.

The silence continued for another excruciating moment before my billionaire slowly stood and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Why are you questioning Rowen when that’s not what I pay you for?” he growled, and I swear, I started ovulating.

Apparently, Bob Decatur was used to dealing with mild threats from his clients as he nodded once and continued on as if nothing had happened.

That’s what Giano pays him for, I suppose.

“Mr. Luxford, we’ve already corroborated alibis for both you and Mr. Quincy for the night of the robbery. Between that and Agent Lowry acknowledging that the accusations were based on little more than hearsay from an Art Crimes Team employee who may have also leaked those accusations to the press, well…” Bob clasped his hands on top of the conveniently damning evidence. “Frankly, it’s up to you if you want to simply take down your shareholders for burglary, grand theft, and corporate conspiracy or pursue a defamation settlement with the FBI.”

Why not both?

Further proving he was the perfect man for me, Giano rested his other hand on the boardroom table before leaning forward, smiling wolfishly. “All of it. I want our names cleared, for whoever leaked these baseless accusations to face the consequences, for Rowen to be officially released from his contract with the FBI on grounds of a hostile work environment, and for those responsible for the disappearance of my art to be found guilty of their crimes.”

Easy, Moneybags.

Don’t give me a boner in the boardroom.

As hot as Ruthless Billionaire Giano was, there was only one problem. “Unfortunately, Agent Markel—because we all know it was fucking Markel—won’t lose his job,” I sighed, thirsty for blood but wanting to be pragmatic. “Federal agencies and their employees are shielded from most litigation, including defamation lawsuits, if what they said was said while acting within the scope of their employment.” I grinned sheepishly at the army of wolves in the room. “I know that from personal experience, unfortunately.”

Bob Decatur actually cracked a smile. “That’s correct. Sovereign immunity protects federal agencies and agents. However, from your tone, it sounds like this… Markel may have had a personal vendetta against you. I would say that falls outside the scope of employment, wouldn’t you agree?”

Okay, I like this shark.

Giano straightened and squeezed my shoulder, but when I glanced up at him, his gaze was still locked on his lawyer. “Yes. At the very least, I want Markel to personally—and publicly—apologize to Rowen, and I want him to mean it.”

Jesus.

I think I’m pregnant.