Page 61 of Don’t Go Stealing My Heart

“Funny you should ask.” The words she’d rehearsed during her sleepless night slipped from her mind. All brainwaves went blank. Fan-freaking-tastic. “There’s been a complication.”

She could practically hear his spine snap straight. “What kind of complication?”

A prince of a man who sang like Elvis and kissed like a seductive king. Jack was a huge complication, but it was more than that. “Remember during the Monet job, when I procrastinated and delayed and struggled with my role in our business?”

“Of course, Orangelo. I’ll never forget that job.” The gravity of his voice hung between them. It was how he’d sounded when he’d sat vigil by her bedside, fresh stiches healing her stab wound. Neither of them would ever forget that.

“Thing is, I think I want out.” She cursed herself for saying I think. So wishy-washy. Cowardly.

His pause felt weighted. “What’s brought this on?”

She bunched her knees to her chest. “I don’t think I ever fully settled into things after that job. I did the work. I stayed focused, but it was because I felt…cornered? Like this work was my life raft and without it I’d sink.” With no one to keep her afloat or call her sweet citrus names. “There’s also a guy.”

A small laugh drifted through the line. “You fell for your mark.”

She’d become a cliché. “I did.”

“Does he know who you are? Why you’re there?”

“No.” She’d rehearsed this answer. If Jack sent her packing, she’d have to tell Lucien, in case her confession came to bite them in the ass one day. If Jack offered her a second chance—God, she hoped he offered her a second chance—Lucien never needed to know.

He sighed. “It happens, sweetheart. It likely won’t last, and changing your life because of it isn’t smart. Rash decisions lead to regret.”

Her only regret was not getting out sooner. “Even if Jack and I don’t work out”—if he decided he hated her or called the cops—“I still want out.”

“You’re willing to walk away from our work? Let the Delhi orphanage fall apart?”

A sucker punch below the belt. “If I don’t do it now, there will always be another emergency. Another kid who needs our help. Stepping away is gutting me, but I want a life. I want friends and a proper job. I want to plant roots.” In a forest, surrounded by all sorts of trees.

“Okay.”

He hadn’t skipped a beat, but her hammering heart had. “Okay?”

“What choice do I have, Tangerine? Your happiness has always been my priority. Yes, I’d rather we continued our work, but we both know what happens when you’re not focused.” The Monet disaster happened. “It’ll take me time to replace you, but I will. And it’s not like I haven’t sensed this brewing. Selfishly, I didn’t say anything. What we have works. But if this is what you need, I support you one-hundred percent.”

She flopped on her back, adrenaline leaching out of her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, sweet girl.”

“I’ll still find a way to do charity work. Maybe not at first, but I’ll figure something out.”

“As will I. I’ll do my best to cover the Delhi extortion.”

“We’ll still have dinners?” She tried not to wilt, but her voice sounded so small. “And can you keep Lucy until I figure things out here?”

“Of course on both accounts.”

“I also need to ask you another favor. A big one.”

“Anything for my Clementine.”

His use of her actual name inflamed the heat behind her eyes. “Don’t steal the Van Gogh. I know you need the cash, but it’s important to Jack’s family. Having it or anything taken from them would crush him and me.”

“I have a line on something else. Consider the matter closed.”

“And…” She swallowed roughly. “Is anyone else after the piece?”

A soft thumping sounded followed by a hiss and whir. Lucien loved his coffee machine. “As far as I know that Van Gogh is under the radar. It took me years to find it. But you know how things have been.”