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I see the woman who let me in for an impromptu preview as well. She offers a polite smile of recognition, which I return. But I’m shocked when I hear a voice behind me say, “You’d better stop smiling right the fuck now, mister, or I will knock every single one of those Colgate white teeth out of your head and leave you looking like a blow-up doll ready for a dick in your mouth.”
My back goes ramrod straight, and I turn quickly. Poppy . . . looking amazing in a skirt and silk blouse combo, her thick red hair pulled back into a professional bun, and wearing black-framed glasses I’ve never seen her wear before.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss quietly.
Poppy smooths back a nonexistent stray hair and adjusts her glasses. “If I say checking up on you, would you find that adorable or stalker-y?” She flutters her lashes at me innocently.
“You can’t be here. You need to go,” I growl. “Now.”
She looks at me evenly, completely unfazed by my aggression, which is somehow so damn sexy. If I weren’t scared shitless that she’s going to get hurt simply by being here, I’d want to kiss the fuck out of her.
“Hmm, nope.”
She smiles, but it looks more murderous than congenial, and her butt is still sitting in the chair, not moving a bit.
“Poppy, this is serious business,” I plead, trying a different tactic. “Dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Yeah, I know. That guy over there” —she points to a local millionaire who collects everything from primitive pottery to midcentury velvet clown paintings— “looks super sketchy.”
She nods like she knows things, but she doesn’t have a clue. She doesn’t even know that I’m here for a job. I mean, me plus an art auction doesn’t take a genius to figure out, but she doesn’t know.
“Is there any chance I could talk you into sitting here and being quiet? Let me do what I need to do and don’t interfere.”
Before she answers, someone slips into the empty chair next to me. Fuck my life when I see who it is. “Hey, man.”
If it wouldn’t make a scene, I’d throw my hands up in the air. “Fuck, why don’t we hold a whole damn board meeting? The gang’s all here,” I mutter. “JP, what’re you doing here?”
JP looks cool as a cucumber, completely unfazed by this impromptu meeting between him and me, which makes me leery as fuck. Especially when he straightens his already straight tie. “It’s your lucky day. Boss man is ready to meet.”
“Today?”
JP levels me with a stare. “Now.”
“He’s here?” I say incredulously. “I’m in the middle of a job!” Not that it’s going to plan, by any means, but I’m not going to tell JP that. Or Mr. Big, for fucking sure.
“No shit. Now.”
My heart starts to race in excitement. This is what I’ve been waiting for, laying eyes on the infamous Mr. Big, the man nobody sees, nobody meets. He’s virtually a ghost while simultaneously buying and selling the bulk of the art black market. I look around again, considering the people I wrote off as lookie-loos, deciding whether they might be Mr. Big.
“Come on,” JP says. “Follow me.”
JP stands, and after a second’s consideration, I do too. “Where are we going?
JP angles his head, indicating a door off to the side. Once his back is turned, I give Poppy a hard look, silently begging her to stay put. I don’t want to leave her out here unprotected, but I don’t have a choice. I grit my teeth and follow JP.
Through the door, we’re in the back hallway. It’s ironic because this was exactly how I planned on swiping the statue, taking advantage of the post-auction hubbub to slip right in and do the deed.
JP knocks on a door I know well because I’ve already been on the other side of it. I glance up at the camera as we pass through it, noting that the light showing it’s recording is dark. In the room beyond, I see the familiar tables and shelves full of treasures. It should be crawling with people in here, ready to carry out the items for auction, return them for safe storage, and tracking each item precisely. But there’s no one here except for one man.
“Mr. Big, I presume?”
He dips his chin one time, one time only. “Connor Bradley.”
He’s smaller and younger than I predicted, looking suave and flashy in a designer suit. For a man who’s been the king of the art theft world and the region for almost two decades, he’s exceptionally ordinary looking. Brown hair, brown eyes, and not particularly intimidating in appearance. You could pass him on the street and think him one of thousands of businessmen and then instantly forget what he looked like.
