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God, poking at the lovely agent was so much fun.
My assistant, Austin, elbowed me. “The Michalopoulos is up next.”
Right. It was an important piece of local art. I’d already pledged to show it at a local gallery.
I’d snuck into a museum once, when I’d been about ten, and living on the street. If anyone had noticed me in my ragged clothes, they would have kicked me out, but I’d been good at sneaking around. I’d managed to hover at the edge of a school group. All the school kids had been wearing nice clothes, with clean shoes and shiny backpacks. The art had been fascinating, as was the entire environment. Everything had looked so expensive and nice.
I’d heard the teacher say one of the paintings was worth five million dollars, and my brain had goggled.
I’d vowed to one day own expensive paintings, and let others see them. I’d also promised myself I’d have nice clothes, too.
I shook the memory off. I’d come a long way from that starving, desperate kid.
“And now,” the woman at the podium said. “We have a wonderful painting by renowned local artist, James Michalopoulos. It really is exceptional.”
I lifted my paddle. “Twenty thousand dollars.”
The auctioneer, who I knew well, smiled widely. “Thank you, Mr. Fury.”
A few other people bid, but no one wanted it more than me.
I always got what I wanted.
My gaze drifted back to London.
“And the painting goes to Mr. Fury.” The auctioneer banged the hammer. “We’ll have a short intermission. Enjoy the canapés and champagne. Please take the time to look at the beautiful jewelry that we will be auctioning off next.”
Rising, I straightened my suit jacket and tracked London as she circled the room. She was eyeing a few older gentlemen, who I assumed she was also investigating.
I made a show of looking at some of the jewelry in the cases. My gaze did snag on a necklace. I instantly imagined the silver chain with a teardrop emerald on London’s elegant neck. Preferably, she’d be wearing nothing else.
My cock responded to that image, and I sucked in a breath. Now was not the time.
“So, are you looking to buy some jewelry?”
Her tart voice made me smile. She was holding two glasses of champagne, and held one out to me.
I took it and nodded my thanks. “I’m just browsing.”
“Jewelry works just as well as art for money laundering.”
“I wouldn’t know.” So, she was scrutinizing art sales as part of her case? Good to know. It made sense how my name had come up. “I’m guessing I should call you London here? That you’re trying to keep a low profile?”
“Yes.” She sipped her champagne. “Are you really donating that painting to a gallery?”
“Yes. You can speak to the curator. He’s very excited.”
London made a harrumphing sound and sipped her own wine.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said. “I know you really want to see me in handcuffs.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Did I see a smile?”
“You did not.”
“I think I did. I think we’re becoming friends.”
