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The engine purred to life, and Lachlan put the car into drive.
“Do you think they bought it?” Saskia asked as they pulled away from the gallery.
“I know they did. They’ll believe it’s a reproduction once it’s hanging in my house.”
“I never said I’d steal the real one. I only promised the fake,” she said. It was important for Lachlan to believe this was all his idea. The more he thought he had to convince her, the more committed he’d be to the version of events she wanted him to see.
“We both know you’re going to cave and give me what I want.” His hand moved to her knee. The double-entendre was probably sleazier hovering in the air between them than when it had been safely cocooned inside the privacy of his own head. At least that was what she’d decided to tell herself.
He was fifteen years her senior, but that wasn’t why she didn’t want to sleep with him. Or maybe it was. Maybe it was that despite his wealth and fitness, he was skating dangerously into age-inappropriate. And she didn’t want to be any man’s amusing piece on the side to make him feel like he still had it. What could the two of them possibly have in common? None of their cultural reference points overlapped. There was nothing to discuss.
Except maybe art.
But he didn’t understand it in the way an artist did. He was a sideline spectator at best. And owning a Quill piece wasn’t going to give him the soul of the man who’d envisioned it.
Saskia sighed. “Okay, let me be clear. If you want even a chance that I’ll steal the piece for you, you’ll keep your hands to yourself. I’m about ready to walk as it is. I get plenty of work from people less grabby and more respectful of my personal boundaries.”
“That must be why you stuffed your purse with leftovers. Because you’re living so large.”
Saskia ignored the bait and remained silent for the rest of the drive. The last thing she ever planned to discuss with him were her meager finances. Up next toNiche Industries, her net worth was a joke. And they both knew it.
She was surprised when he pulled up in front of her building instead of his own sprawling estate. The way he’d been going tonight, she’d expected to have to escape his home like a refugee, barely clinging to whatever virtue she might have left, pressing her ripped dress tight against her body.
But her dress wasn’t even creased, and Lachlan hadmagnanimouslyallowed her to remain unmolested.
He turned off the ignition. “What is it about me that you find so repulsive, Miss Roth?”
Besides everything?
She wasn’t sure she could articulate it, at least not without pissing him off to the point she might have to dig through dumpsters to eat.
On the surface, all the columns of Lachlan Niche lined up right. He was a man who was beautiful in just the right lighting and angle, but the slightest shift changed the picture to something hideous—at least on the psychic level. To Saskia, Lachlan was like a holographic trading card—a suave, handsome businessman if you turned him to the right, monster skulking through dark alleys if caught by light on the left.
Either way, she didn’t want to be part of his collection—just another possession he kept in a case and bragged about to all his friends. But because he clearly seemed to think such a fate for her was an honor, it was pointless to try to explain it. It would sail too far over his entitled head.
She opened the car door before he could do the fake-gallantry and come around and open it for her. “Goodnight, Lachlan.”
He reached out, stopping her exit. “Saskia, wait. What about the job?”
Thirty-two dollars and eight-eight cents. Four packages of ramen. Three cans of beans. Crab puffs in her purse. Business wasn’t just on a downswing. It had cratered entirely. Honest reproductions weren’t the big business she’d been letting on. People only liked forgery if it was passed off as the real thing. And then they only liked what they believed was real.
“How much?” she asked.
“Seven million.”
“Sorry, no. If I get caught, I’m looking at prison time. You’re offering me just what the painting is worth. And I know you offered the owner more than that. You have to pay for the crime, not just the result. Seventeen.” She was outrageously overreaching, but he was arrogant and foolish.
“Twelve.”
Saskia smiled. “Sold, to the gentleman in the Bentley.”
The grip on her arm loosened, and his hand fell away. “I’ll call you in a couple of weeks. We can meet and finalize the plan.”
Right when she’d be in a gutter emaciated from lack of food. Possibly dead.
“I need an advance.”
Lachlan chuckled. She watched the devious glint come into his eyes again. She could practically see the sex-for-food offer coming. Would that be so horrible just until the job was done?
