Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“Like taking candy from a baby,” Mia says softly, offering me a cocktail napkin to give us more time to confer without drawing suspicion.
“Excellent,” I confirm with a small smile and nod. “What I would give to see his face when he finds it gone.”
“Like I said, focus. This job has nothing to do with Atlas Giannopoulos and everything to do with our bank accounts.”
Mia and I have had this discussion before. I don’t like it any more tonight than I did the last time.
“And I told you I’m never going to solidify my reputation as the best until I can beat him at his game.”
“I didn’t know improving your reputation was our main goal,” Mia snaps. Her snark is strong tonight.
Leaning in closer as I put the still half-full flute back on her tray, I whisper. “Don’t be obtuse. You know damn well the best acquisition jobs come from the world’s elite. It’s a world he was born into. Hell, he had the family business handed to him on a silver platter by his father.
“But Atlas doesn’t know the first thing about hard work or having to carve out a career from the ground up, fighting hard for every victory.”
Mia doesn’t need to remind me to stay calm this time. I recognize I’d let my voice get too loud when an older woman in an ugly hat glances in our direction.
After the woman looks away, Mia calmly says, “You know what else Atlas doesn’t have to deal with?” I don’t reply. I know she’s going to tell me whether I want her to or not. “This vendetta. It’s all in your head. Look at him over there.” Mia nods across the gallery in the direction where my nemesis is leaning in, intimately laughing at something with the museum’s beautiful curator. I hate the twinge of a foreign emotion that feels like something close to jealousy.
The fucker has balls; I’ll give him that.
Mia continues on. “He doesn’t let himself get distracted like you do. One day, it’s going to be your downfall.”
“I’m not distracted,” I lie. “I’m pissed.”
“Why? You’re coming out on top this time,” Mia points out.
As good as it feels to know that it bugs me that he won’t know with certainty it was me who beat him at his own game.
Shaking my head, I try to get back on subject. “What’s the timeline for the final extraction?” I ask, glancing as nonchalantly as I can at my watch.
“I’m going to set the next step into motion as soon as I return to the kitchen. I just came out to tell you I’m leaving now that the food service is complete, and I can depart without being missed. I want to be out of here with the asset before the event ends and they go to secure the paintings from tonight’s public exhibit down in the vault for the night.”
“Good… but…” I pause. Maybe Mia is right. Maybe I’m making this too personal.
But I so rarely get an opportunity like this. I can’t resist.
“I need you to delay fifteen minutes—“
For the first time ever, I see Mia step out of her undercover persona while on the job as she cuts me off. “We have a plan. We need to stick to it.”
“We are… I’m just adding one tiny step.”
Her eyes harden as she glares at me. “You’re just going to fuck this up, you mean.”
It’s a challenge, and I won’t back down. Plastering a smile on my face for anyone who might glance our direction, I nudge her. “Never mind. You just stick to the plan.” I reach and grab the flute of the remaining champagne from her tray, suddenly feeling the need for more alcohol. After downing it, I finish with, “I’ll meet you at the rendezvous at the appointed time.”
I walk away from her before I say something I might regret. She is a professional, someone I rely upon and work closely with. In many ways, she’s the closest thing I have to a friend, which makes it even more shitty that I’m not going to listen to her warning.
Before I can change my mind, I head toward the hall where the ladies’ room is located, stopping to chit-chat with a few people along the way to make sure I’m publicly seen and remembered just in case the police get involved. I’m careful to time my jaunt to the restroom just as there is a distraction across the gallery, making it easy to slip down the darkened hallway that leads to the employee stairwell.
Taking another look at my watch, I realize I’ll be cutting it close. The fake security feed I inserted into the building’s camera network will only be in place for another twenty minutes. After that, the computer program is set to destroy itself, like a virus, removing any trace of its existence and leaving behind hours of recorded nothingness in its place for the police and insurance investigators to wring their hands over.