13. Jenn

Chapter 13

Jenn

I dropped a cotton ball into the waste jar and straightened from my stooped position. I stretched my back, twisted at the waist, and rolled my wrists. I was a quarter of the way through the cleaning process, the bright colors of Wheatfield springing back to life.

No matter what the conservator had written in his notes, he’d used Merrivar varnish. After doing my own tests, I’d been able to grab a bottle of Merrisol mineral spirits to remove it, and the layer of grime came up quickly.

My body had been growing accustomed to this sort of work since I started with Aunt Penny, but between the poor sleep last night and my worries about the painting’s authenticity, my muscles were crying for a break.

I checked my watch. Emmett had left me three hours ago. Two hours ago, I’d taken the camera to Dante, who gave me digital copies of the UV photos, which I forwarded to Dr. Ferraro. He didn’t expect results until tomorrow, but he and his wife were on the case.

And so, I cleaned the painting. Fake or not, a thin layer of dirt coated it, as though someone had hung it over an open fireplace.

“Che cazzo,” muttered Dante from the next room. He’d left the door open once I no longer needed the dark.

“What now?” I called while wrapping cotton batting around another stick. “More of your father’s handwriting?”

True to his word, Dante made a ruckus while he worked. He talked to the payroll ledger, complained to himself about sloppy work, and recounted more than a few stories for me about clients from their gallery here and another in London. “It’s a good thing he didn’t teach me.”

“Don’t you have employees who can do that for you?”

“We do.” The wheels of his chair squeaked, and he approached, stopping in the door frame. “As someone once said, sometimes you have to do your own experiments, rather than rely on someone else’s work.”

“Wise words.” I dipped the swab into the thin, clear solvent and applied it to the next two-by-two section of the painting. The old varnish and dirt on top of it swelled as I agitated it with small circular movements. “Sounds like my experiments were more fruitful.”

“Sì, it does.” He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you want lunch yet?”

My back screamed Yes! , but I said, “Thanks, but no. I’m in the zone and only have forty-eight hours.”

He came closer, leaning on the table to see what I was doing. “You think it will take that long?”

“Not the cleaning itself.” I slid the cotton off the end of the stick and into the waste jar, then grabbed another small wad to clean off the residue. “The varnish I’ll use dries in twenty-four hours, so if you want it ready for the auction, I need to finish by tomorrow midday.”

“We’d hoped to have it ready by end of day tomorrow.”

Then they should have worked harder to find another restorer or conservator before Dante hired me.

“Just be happy it didn’t need retouching.” I disposed of the dirt-laden cotton ball and shook my head. “That would have meant letting the paint dry before I could varnish it.”

“I appreciate your honesty.” He stood up and leaned a hip against the table. “I imagine many others would have claimed the additional work was required.”

“Perhaps you should choose your contractors more carefully.” I began winding another swab.

“Contractors…” He hummed, a low sound like frustration. “And so many others.”

I rolled the Merrisol against the painting, glancing up at him as subtly as possible. His eyes were closed as he massaged his temples. Was I supposed to ask for more details? Ask if he was all right?

“Time to blow this—” Emmett came to an abrupt halt, one step into the room. A small white bag with the De Rosa Gallery logo hung from his hand. “Dante. I didn’t realize you were still here.”

“Mr. Stone.” Dante gestured to Emmett’s bag. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Not exactly, although I did find something interesting.”

Dante angled his head, prompting for more.

Emmett lifted the bag and smiled. “Jean-Philippe was quite convincing. That man deserves a raise.”

Dante returned the smile. He looked friendly enough—they both did—but I could feel the testosterone flooding the air. “I’ll advise my father.”

“Good.” Emmett turned his focus to me. “I’m ready to go. How much longer do you need?”

“I’ve only finished part of the cleaning.” I circled my hand vaguely over the area I’d completed, before wiping the last of the mineral spirits I’d applied away. “There’s a lot of work still left to do. You go ahead.”

Emmett came closer, dipping his forehead and raising his eyebrows. The look may as well have been a pat on the head. “Do you remember what happened yesterday? I’m not comfortable leaving you here alone.”

Of course, I remembered what happened yesterday. I’d barely stopped thinking about the way he’d held me in my hotel room. How he’d made me feel better. Kept popping into my room while I was preparing for today. How I’d glimpsed him heading to the shower this morning, wearing only his pajama pants, the strong muscles of his back inspiring one too many fantasies about running my hands up and down his body.

Down, girl.

“I’m not alone.” I gestured at Dante, the proof I’d have company.

Emmett frowned. “Can I have a moment alone with Jenn, please?”

Dante checked with me, and when I nodded, he left for the office.

I dropped my swab into the jar and folded my arms.

Emmett placed his small bag on the worktable and gripped my upper arms. He kept his voice so quiet Dante wouldn’t hear him. “I know you think this is ridiculous, but I’m worried about your safety. I’ve barely been able to think straight the entire time I’ve been here. Someone targeted you?—”

“Targeted?”

He let go of me, shaking his head. “That’s not what I?—”

“You said Rav called you paranoid?”

“He did.”

“And this is why? You said you’d walk me over this morning, but now you assume I’ll leave with you, even though I have a professional responsibility?”

Something flashed behind his eyes—something I’d never seen before. Worry? Fear? Panic?

No, Emmett Reynolds never panicked. He was always the picture of control.

His features softened, and he picked up the bag. “Why don’t we discuss this over lunch? We can walk to the Café de Paris, across from the hotel.”

I unfolded my arms and stepped closer to him, looking up into his deep brown eyes, full of faux concern. “Why?”

“Because I enjoy your company.”

Emmett had said I wasn’t allowed to stay in my own room.

Wasn’t allowed to stay with Jayce.

Wasn’t allowed to come to the gallery on my own or stay unless my quote-unquote bodyguard was there.

Going to lunch wasn’t about enjoying my company. It was about controlling me. Emmett was doing the same thing every other man in my life did.

I grabbed a fresh stick and a wad of cotton. “I’m in Monaco for work. I only have so much time to get this done. Going out for lunch is not a luxury I can afford right now.”

Was I overreacting?

Honestly, I hadn’t wanted to stay in my old room or even in a new one last night. Not alone. Having him in the next room was the only reason I’d been able to get any sleep at all.

I was overreacting.

But so was he.

Emmett stared at the painting, fumbling with something in his left pocket.

Dante entered the room. “Is everything all right?”

As I nodded, Emmett said, “When do you expect you’ll finish?”

“When they kick me out.” I finished rolling the solvent on, disposed of the cotton, and pulled off another chunk, wiping away the dirt from the painting.

Dante said, “We close at eight.”

I tried not to look, but I could almost hear Emmett’s jaw tighten.

He really was worried about something. What was he not saying? “I’ll swing by and?—”

“No need,” said Dante. “I also have a great deal of work to do, so I’ll still be here. I’ll be certain she makes it back to the hotel safely.”

Emmett didn’t look at Dante. Throughout the whole exchange, he just stared at me. It was unnerving. “I told Dante about the break-in at your hotel. And while I appreciate his offer, I promised my sister I’d watch out for you.”

Dante added, “Security will be here, as will two of our men reviewing the inventory. Plus, Jean-Philippe.”

Emmett gave me a smile that was somehow less genuine than the one he’d given Dante earlier. He came closer and kissed my cheek, causing my heart to bounce. “Call me ten minutes before you leave.”

The same thing my father used to say. I always had to check in. Always had to let him know where I’d be. Still, for some reason, I said, “I will.”

Emmett left, pausing at the door to look at me over his shoulder. That strange tension didn’t leave his face. What did it mean?

His shoes clacked on the polished floor and gradually faded away until the chime over the door announced his departure.

Air filled my lungs again. What was it about that man? How did he irritate me so much, yet every time he got close, my body reacted like he was a special drug designed just for me?

Dante leaned his elbows on the worktable across from me. “You cannot keep working for seven more hours without food. I’m starving. I’m going to order something, and I’ll order some for you. Eat or don’t eat, that’s your choice. But there will be food here for you within thirty minutes.”

I discarded the cotton ball, covered in its brown gunk. “That, I can do. Let me know how much.”

“Business expense.” The corner of his lips lifted. “You’re of no use to me if you can’t complete this painting.”

“At least you won’t be withholding food until I’m done?”

“I won’t. Plus, you and I are having dinner once you finish for the day. After reconciling accounts for so long, I’ll need a good meal and good company.”

“No, thank?—”

He held up a finger to stop me. “You will also be of no use to me tomorrow unless your belly is full tonight and you get a restful sleep.”

Were the bags under my eyes—which I’d tried to cover with makeup—that obvious?

“It’s a business expense.” He winked as he pushed off the table. “You are here for business, are you not?”

I was.

But somehow, it felt like he was asking for more.