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“Hm?”Theo turns back to me.
“Before the wedding, I mean,”I say. “I know you just got back into town recently, but you never told me where you were.”
Theo turnsto lean back against the railing, as cool and charismatic as ever. “You really want to know the answer to that, kid?” he asks, smirking.
I cross my arms. “Try me.”
“Let’sjust say my father and I had some... disagreements about how this organization should be run,” Theo says. “He muscled me out. Didn’t want me involved in the day-to-day stuff any longer, so I left.”
“Soundslike you didn’t like the idea of being bossed around by someone else,” I quip. “I know the feeling.”
“I bet you do.”Theo presses his lips together pensively. “I spent the last five years overseas, playing the game, working my way back up the ladder. I did a lot of things I regret. I put in my time, and when I came back, I came back on my own terms.” That predatory look has fallen over his face again, and I can feel my breath catch in my throat. “And now that I’m back,” Theo says, his silver eyes burning as he turns back to face me, “I’m not going to let what I have here go. Not again. Not for anyone.” There’s hunger in his expression, and as he stares at me in the twinkling lights of the nearby buildings, I can’t help but wonder if he’s talking about his work... or about me.
ChapterNine
Iwasn’t expecting this job to be a breeze or anything, but by the end of my third shift at the gallery, I’m starting to see why Callie is always so damn tired at the end of the week. It’s not as much that the work itself is hard; once she shows me how to catalogue the paintings, use the scheduling system, and manage viewings, it becomes fairly straightforward. But the social side of it is something I never saw coming. You’d think, having grown up in a world of luxury, I would be used to dealing with people, but I’m quickly finding out that that’s not the case at all. I don’t know how to schmooze, to manipulate, to make people do my bidding. That’s all my dad’s job, and it occurs to me as I get ready for work on my third day that I never really did ask him how to play the game. Maybe, in some naive way, I thought I would never have to.
It’s later than I usually get up, and Theo is gone when I make my way into the kitchen, wondering whether a dress or a business skirt would be more appropriate. The first thing I notice is that a plate of pancakes is waiting for me on the kitchen table, along with a note that reads,Out on business today, but I’ll be back tonight. Enjoy. —T
The second thing I notice, after I get over the fact that he remembered how much I love chocolate chips in my pancakes, is the big parcel that’s waiting for me on the kitchen island. It’s wrapped in parchment and tied with twine, and I’m still a little foggy from sleep as I struggle to undo the knot. But the sight of it still sends a jolt through me, and as I give up on the string and start to tear at the paper, adrenaline surging, all I can think is,No way.
I tug the cover off, barely even registering the Sterling Gallery label on it, and the next thing I know, I’m holding the Robert Schaeffer painting I fell in love with at the gallery a handful of days ago. It’s just as magnificent now as it was then. The colors swirl and dance over the surface of the canvas, the brush strokes glistening in the kitchen lights, and as I marvel at it, I’m overwhelmed with joy... and more than a little confusion.
Where the hell did he get it? Andhow? Theo said Eddie Sullivan was one of the Emmerico syndicate’s top dogs, and I doubt someone like that is just going to hand a real Robert Schaeffer over to some in-law like me. A painting like this is easily worth millions—and that’s without even inflating the value for laundering purposes. The fact that it’s in my hands now is downright surreal, and I can’t help but wonder how many strings Theo had to pull to get it.
But the thought of owning a treasure like this is so enticing that it drowns out my worry as I creep through the apartment, trying to figure out where to hang it. Lucas’s over-the-top taste makes it hard to find a good spot; even if I found a bit of open space for it, it would just end up drowned out by all the other elaborate pieces in their gilded frames. Besides, I didn’t exactly get his permission…
But maybe I don’t need it,I think, Theo’s earlier words of encouragement ringing in my ears. I don’t have tolikebeing married to Lucas, but that doesn’t mean I have to always let him dictate the terms, either.
Resolved, I carry the painting back into my bedroom and put it in a place of honor on the wall, where I can stare at it every day. If Lucas has a problem with that, then... I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. That’s basically my answer to everything Lucas-related these days, but can you blame me? I can only handle so many problems at once, and right now, my biggest problem isn’t Lucas; it’s my rapidly-growing attachment to his older brother.
* * *
Theo beatsme home again today, and he’s still dressed in his business suit when I walk in the door. “Hey, kid,” he says, glancing up from the papers he’s looking over. A smirk spreads across his face when he sees my expression. “I take it you got my note.”
“Yeah,” I reply, dropping my bag and crossing my arms. “And the painting that came with it.”
He mirrors my posture, staring me down from his place at the kitchen table. “And...?” he prompts.
“And...” I can only shake my head.
“Do you like it?”
“Of course I like it,” I reply. “Iloveit. But I didn’t... I mean...” I run a hand through my hair. “I didn’t tell you about it to make you feel like you had to get it for me.”
“I know,” Theo replies as he walks to the liquor cabinet. “I wanted to.”
“But—”
“You’re overthinking this, kid,” Theo tells me, his eyes on his task. “You said you liked it, so I got it for you. End of story.” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “And now you have it, so... what can I say? You’re welcome.” He winks.
I feel a blush start to creep up my cheeks, and I do my best to suppress it, but it’s so damnedhardwhen he’s looking at me that way. I sigh. “I think we need to talk.”
“What about?” Theo asks, completely unfazed, rummaging for a moment longer before taking out a bottle of scotch. He holds up two glasses questioningly, and I nod. To hell with behaving; I need a strong drink.
“How the hell you got it, for starters,” I reply as he fills the glasses. “I thought Eddie Sullivan didn’t answer to anyone.”
Theo raises his glass to his lips, his eyes gleaming in the kitchen lights. “He answers to me,” he says.
