Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

VIVIAN

" A nything you want… sir."

I gave the skinny Gucci salesgirl the stink eye as she eye-fucked Var.

Not that I blamed her. The man was dirty, sexy hot. Especially in that suit. With all of his tattoos and his long hair pulled back into a low ponytail, he looked like a thug with expensive taste, and I was here for it.

Except that I wasn't.

I was here for my paintings.

Yup, the paintings.

Var didn't take his eyes off the wall of purses, completely ignoring the girl who was duck-lipping so hard she would injure herself soon.

"Get her whatever she wants," he said, without even looking at her.

Arching my back so I could look behind Var, I stuck my tongue out at the salesgirl.

She gasped.

Var's head pivoted in my direction, but I just smiled innocently, before pointing to the wall. "I think the ivory patent leather Jackie shoulder bag should work with this dress," I said sweetly.

Keeping his intense sapphire blue gaze on me, he tossed over his shoulder, "You heard her. Go get the purse."

With a rather unladylike snort, the salesgirl turned in a snit to go retrieve the purse.

I'd have to check for spit marks inside before we bought it.

After buying me two pairs of shoes, a pair of gold straps to go with the cobalt blue dress and a stunning pair of red fuck-me heels to go with the python lace one, I told him I couldn't possibly spend the rest of the day lugging around a black leather purse while wearing my new dress as I strutted into Gucci.

"So are you finished? I do have things I need to do at the office."

I pretended to examine some nearby belts. "That depends. Have I made my point?"

Var chuckled as he raised one eyebrow. "That it's expensive to act like a Neanderthal male and question your wardrobe?"

"Exactly."

Originally, I just planned to mess with him. I figured once I started selecting seven-thousand-dollar dresses and insisting on matching three-thousand-dollar shoes, he'd cry uncle and admit my dress was fine. Then it became fun teasing him as I tried on outfits and lifted my skirt up to show off different pairs of shoes, always flashing a little too much thigh.

He wrapped his arm around my middle from behind. "Worth every penny. I can't wait to trash whatever you wear tomorrow."

My stomach twisted.

If all went well, there would be no tomorrow. It shouldn't take me too long to find where he had stashed the paintings in his office area. As soon as I did, I planned on returning to the warehouse. If I were truly being watched by that other scary Russian, that would trigger him into coming out of the shadows.

I'd tell him where to find the paintings and let him deal with figuring out how to retrieve them.

I gave myself a mental shake.

Two scary Russians.

I'd actually casually said that to myself.

I had two scary Russians in my life right now. Both were likely criminals.

Jesus, when I send my life off the rails, I really aim for the ditch.

Shifting out of his grasp, I put the belt rack between us. "So tell me, how does a Russian Mafia dude make money these days? I mean prohibition ending must have put a real crimp in your revenue all those years ago."

He leaned his elbow on the top of the rack. "I'll tell you if you tell me something."

The space between my shoulder blades tightened. "Sure."

"How does a girl afford a three-thousand-dollar, two-bedroom apartment in Lincoln Square, with no roommates, on a temporary secretary salary?"

I swallowed. "I prefer assistant."

His gaze narrowed. "Answer the question."

I shrugged as I turned away to look at the shoe display. "Oh, you know. The usual way."

He followed me. "Actually, I don't. Tell me. Because I find myself wondering if perhaps Abakar hired you for that Art History degree you have from that fancy college."

Crap.

Had he figured out I was the art forger? Was he playing me the whole time I was playing him?

I pivoted so quickly I had to grab onto a nearby shelf to steady myself. "How do you know about my art degree?"

"I know everything about you," he warned as he stepped closer. "I want the truth, Vivian. Did Abakar pay you to select targets for the art forger to paint? Is that how you can afford all your purses and shoes and that apartment on your own? Were you the one who chose the auction houses most likely to overlook a forged painting?"

Before I could answer, skinny duck-lip returned with a carefully wrapped purse in a Gucci shopping bag. "Your purse, sir."

Again, he didn't even look at her. "Bill it to the Four Monks."

The girl blinked. All signs of an attitude were gone. She practically genuflected as she backed away slowly. "Yes, yes, of course, sir. Absolutely. Right away," she rambled as she scrambled to move away from us.

I nodded in her direction. "I'm guessing she knows what you do for a living."

"Most do. Now answer my question, Vivian."

My having an art degree would be too big of a coincidence. His explanation was better than admitting I was the forger he was looking for. Still…

"Why do you want to catch this forger so bad? Are you planning on turning him over to the police?"

He moved closer, pushing into a dark corner of the store. "Why are you protecting him?"

"Who says I'm protecting anyone?"

He placed a finger under my chin. "I do. And I'm always right."

"Not in this case. Abakar told my… agency… that he wanted a… secretary… who had art experience because they'd need to understand gallery invoices and how to fill out the international custom forms. He never asked me about the specific artwork, and I never met the forger."

I mean, technically you don't meet yourself.

In a panic, I continued to expand the lie. "And for your information, I get rent help from my parents."

"The parents you never call?"

I frowned. "How would you know—" I gasped. "My phone! You went through my phone!"

"Of course I did. I had to monitor it in case someone important called you, like your mother."

Or the forger.

I scoffed. "And interrupt her bridge game down in Florida? Not likely. I want my phone back."

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out my phone.

I almost squealed in excitement when I saw the pink pearl case. Then I got mad. "You've had it with you this whole time?"

He shrugged.

Snatching it from his hand, I opened it to make sure he hadn't seen any incriminating texts. Thank God, I never did business on my phone. Only through the fake Etsy shop I'd set up for "custom artwork" commissions.

As I scrolled through the text messages, something was off.

There were messages missing.

Then I opened the contacts.

There were contacts missing as well.

I held the phone out between us. "Did you delete all my male contacts and text messages?"

He turned his wrist to look at his watch. "We have to go. I have a meeting."

Pulling the Gucci shopping bag from my grasp so he could hold it with my other purchases, he placed a hand on my lower back and ushered me out of the store.

Of course, his car was exactly where he'd illegally parked it without so much as a ticket.

"This isn't over," I warned as he ushered me into the passenger seat.

He refused to respond.

As we pulled into the parking lot, he turned and held out his hand. "Give me your car keys."

I'd just finished putting my wallet, makeup bag, and keys in my new Gucci purse. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to have one of my men move it inside where it's safe."

"Oh. I guess that would be okay."

I handed him my keys.

"Go up to the office. There are stacks of new membership applications that need to be filed."

I gave him a mock salute before getting out of the car.

How hard could it be to find five stupid paintings?

It wasn't like he could roll them up and stick them in a cupboard somewhere.

Technically, with the real Russian Mona Lisa accounted for, all five of my forgeries were worth nothing, not even on the black market.

So it wasn't like they truly needed to be kept under lock and key.

I lifted the last painting on the wall in Var's office to check for a wall safe.

Nothing.

He would be back from his meeting at any moment.

A floor vault.

Maybe Var had one just like Abakar. Clearly Var knew where to look for the paintings, and not many people had the money or resources for a floor vault, so perhaps he knew because he owned one himself?

I stomped on the carpet where I was standing. Solid.

I took a few steps and stomped again.

Still nothing.

A few steps more and another stomp.

"What are you doing?"

I screamed as I grasped my chest.

Var was standing on the threshold.

"I was… I was… um… breaking in my new shoes!"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, they were a little tight and so the best way to break them in is to stomp around on the carpet."

There was no freaking way he was going to buy that.

Var shrugged and walked past me. "Whatever. Close the door on your way out."

As I walked past him, his phone rang. I grasped the doorknob and made a show of closing it… just very slowly.

With his back turned, he didn't even notice me.

"No. No word on the forger yet. Did you pull the Masaccio from the German auction?"

Aw, they found the Masaccio. I liked that one. I'd forged what looked like an artist's sketch of his masterpiece Madonna and Child with St. Anne. Collectors loved to peek behind the curtains and peer in at an artist's method through sketches like that. It would fetch as much as a painting, but it would also not be put to the same level of scrutiny.

"I know the Triad are pissed. I'll call Haoyo and smooth things over."

The Triad as in the extremely dangerous Chinese Triad gang?

"They need to understand that all operations are paused until I take care of the forger."

Take care of the forger?

I knew what that meant in mafia-speak.

Crap.