Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 72308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“At least he didn’t kill you.”
“I wish I were dead…” I threw my head back and took a drink.
“Did he ask for too much?”
“He said she wasn’t for sale—for any price. I offered him fifty million, and he didn’t blink an eye over it. He said she’s indispensable…whatever the fuck that means. The guy’s a fucking prick too.”
“Why’s he a prick?”
“He just is.” I took another drink.
“You tried.”
“And I’ll try again.”
Grave turned to me, alarm on his face. “Don’t kick the hornet’s nest.”
“There has to be something he wants.”
“You already asked.”
I slammed the glass down. “There has to be something.”
Grave pried the empty glass from my fingertips before I could shatter it. He pushed it forward so the bartender could refill it. “He’s in business with Roan, but that doesn’t mean anything. They could be allies or enemies.”
“What does that mean?”
“I know Bartholomew is an ambitious guy. Maybe he hands off his supplies to Roan to sell in Croatia. Or maybe he wants to eliminate Roan so he can sell directly in Croatia. There’s no way to know unless we ask. But the second you ask…”
“I’m showing my hand.” And that could be deadly.
“I don’t need to tell you it’s a bad idea.”
“I’m desperate.”
“Even if this works, that doesn’t mean Camille will cooperate.”
“She’ll have to cooperate.”
The bartender refilled the glass, and I brought it back to my lips where it belonged. “Two birds, one stone. We need to kill Roan anyway.”
“If that’s what Bartholomew wants…”
“I can always convince him to want it. Tell him to scale his business. Claim all of Europe instead of such a small part of it.”
“Maybe,” Grave said.
“I know that’s what he wants. I can tell by the way he looks, by the way he talks.”
“We’ve got one problem. How are you going to talk to him again? You can’t walk back in there.”
“Just watch Camille. She’ll lead us to him.”
The black SUV pulled up to the apartment.
“Here we go.” I inhaled a deep breath as I waited for Bartholomew to exit the vehicle and walk to the front door. Nothing happened. The SUV remained idle, exhaust leaking out of the pipe.
Minutes later, the front door opened and revealed a strip of light down the stairs and pavement. Camille appeared, in a rose-pink dress that showed her bare skin on either side of her belly button. It was a cocktail dress, but playful in color. It looked great on her, and for a moment, my gaze was transfixed.
Then she got into the back seat and disappeared.
The SUV drove right past us, and I looked straight ahead to appear less obvious.
“I don’t think Bartholomew is in the back,” Grave said.
“No. I think his guy is taking her to him.” I made a U-turn in the middle of the road and allowed a car between the SUV and me so it would be less obvious I was tailing him. After several intersections and a couple of turns, we pulled up to one of the lesser-known art museums in Paris. There were people outside in tuxedos and gowns. “Cocktail party.” Camille was already out of the car and walking up the stairs—alone.
“We gotta change first.”
We parked on a different street and fished our tuxedos out of the trunk. Once we looked our finest, we walked up the steps and through the entryway. We didn’t have invitations and we weren’t on the list, but thankfully they recognized Grave and assumed his missing name was just an accident.
It was a silent auction. The paintings were on display in the main room as well as in smaller adjacent rooms. People wrote down their bids on a folded piece of paper and dropped it into the lockbox, so no one knew what others had bid. It was more than a silent auction, but a mystery auction. Grave and I felt out of place walking in there together and without dates, but hopefully people wouldn’t notice.
“So, what’s the plan here?” Grave asked as he took a drink off the tray. “The second she sees you, you’re in trouble.”
My eyes moved across the room, catching sight of the pink dress. She stood beside Bartholomew, drink in hand, and together, they examined a painting without touching each other. His head was slightly turned to her as he spoke, but I couldn’t read his lips.
“You think he told her about last night?” Grave asked.
I was thankful Bartholomew’s arm wasn’t secured around her waist. If it were, I would lose my shit. “No.”
“Why not?”
“He’s not much of a talker.” I had barely a sip of my champagne before I returned it to a passing tray. “You need to pull her away.”
“Me?” he asked, slightly incredulous.
“Why do you think you’re here?”
“To do business. Not babysit.”
“Unless we wait all night for her to go to the bathroom, she’s going to see us.”