8. Jenn

Chapter 8

Jenn

I towed my suitcase into the suite, walking ahead of Emmett, who carried my laptop bag. Apparently, the team had swept my bags, as well, in case whoever had broken into my room had done something to them. As the door closed, leaving us alone in a two-bedroom suite in Monte Carlo—how was this my life?—I asked, “Why does your team have equipment to check for bugs and… and stuff?”

He ushered me toward the room Rav had hastily vacated. Housekeeping had already been through to clean up. “We did a job once, where we recovered some jewelry a woman’s ex took. It turned out he’d hidden a GPS tracker inside the box we recovered everything in, because she’d been hiding from him.”

“Did he go after her?”

“Yes, but we’d found the tracker and suspected the ex was coming. Rav was there when he showed up.”

“And Rav took care of him?” I entered the bright bedroom, which had a huge bed and a view of the water. My room downstairs had been a standard single—queen-sized bed with a desk and chair. Here, I had all that, plus my own private terrace overlooking the harbor, including a lounge chair and small table. Space to walk around the bed and stretch out.

“He did.” Emmett stopped behind me, giving me privacy in my new room. “She never heard from him again.”

I abandoned my suitcase and pulled open the terrace door, inhaling the scent of sea air. The sun would go down in an hour, but the evening was still warm.

“Do you like the room?”

“I was fine downstairs.” All the same, I stepped out onto the terrace, leaning on the thick stone railing. The terrace faced southeast, and I could even see part of the Casino to my left. Five stories below, diners ate under large beige patio umbrellas. Beyond that, the avenue that made up part of the Monte Carlo Grand Prix course, parks, the yacht club, and then the water. People milled about, touring the city’s grandeur, oblivious to the chaos erupting around me.

“This is for me, not you.” He was closer now, his voice a low rumble that settled deep in my stomach.

This was a silly idea. I should have taken Jayce and Drew’s sofa or even Em and Rav’s. There was no need for Rav to leave.

“What does that mean?” I turned, resting on the railing.

Emmett leaned against the wide terrace door frame, hands tucked casually in his pockets, one leg crossed over the other. He was effortlessly cool, like always. “The way you reacted downstairs when I took you into your room. I think that scared me more than anything else.”

“The painting has me stressed out, that’s all.” No, that’s not all, Jenn.

Memories of his strong arms around me. His cologne. His warm breath on my ear.

The way he made me feel protected. Safe.

“Drew’s going to handle the part of our investigation I was scheduled for tomorrow, so I can go with you.”

I shot up from the railing. “You what?”

“Jean-Philippe was going to show me some Egyptian pieces, and if he doesn’t have what I’m looking for, we’re going to look through the inventory.” Right. He’d made his plan while we were at the gallery earlier. It felt like a lifetime ago. “I know you don’t need a chaperone, but I’d like to walk with you. We can grab some coffee on the way?”

Damn right, I didn’t need someone following me around all day. “That would be nice.”

“Speaking of food, do you want anything now? You haven’t eaten since we left the gallery, and it’s almost eight—dinnertime around here.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a full Emmett smile. The skin around his eyes crinkled, and the lines deepened around his mouth. But it was missing… What? The sparkle in his eyes? Something in his posture?

Was he stressed?

“How were you so calm earlier? The way you acted, sneaking around my room to find out if someone was there—the call to your team, who was there instantly?”

“Keeping calm is part of my job.” He pushed off the door frame, the smile transforming from stressed to forced. “I’m lucky when someone willingly hands over what I’m here to collect, but it rarely works out that way.”

“You’re expecting a problem with Jean-Philippe?”

“Not a problem .” He returned to the room, so I followed him. “My goal is to find the stolen scarab and negotiate the best possible price to return it. Getting worked up doesn’t help anything.”

That made sense.

“Food?” He pointed to where he’d placed my laptop bag on a chair by the door. “Or are you going to work?”

“Food’s probably a good idea.” I dropped onto the edge of the bed. So tired. More tired than I’d realized. “But I think sleep’s what I need more.”

“Understandable.” He let out a sigh. “But listen—if, when you wake up, you decide you’d rather go home than stay here, we’ll arrange for your flight home. This can be a one-night deal.”

My stomach clenched at the idea of a one-night anything with Emmett. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

He stared at me for a beat, as though he was about to say something. Instead of words, he tipped his invisible hat and headed for the door. He paused and said over his shoulder, “I’ll keep my door open. If you need anything, you come get me.”

“I will.”

“I’ll keep you safe.”

I know .

Before he left, I stopped him. “Did you tell Scarlett?”

“About your room? Or about”—he turned to me, waving a finger between us—“you staying with me?”

If he’d told her about any of it, she would have called. “Either one?”

He pursed his lips, and I almost combusted. They were full and so kissable, framed by his short beard. The way he inhaled, his broad chest swelled. Those clever eyes never left me.

Calm down, girl .

“I thought about it. But you’re a grown woman, and it’s not my information to share.”

“Thanks for that, too.”

He gave me one last smile before vanishing.

I collapsed onto the bed and forced out an extra-long breath. God. I was going to be sleeping one room away from Emmett.

You should call Scar.

And say what? ‘Hey Scar, I’m staying in Em’s room for the week. Nah, nothing’s going on, honest!’

If I told her about the break-in, she’d flip out. I’d break down—like I’d been working very hard not to do—and then it would be one thing after another until I confessed about Simon. It wasn’t the right time. Not yet. When I got home, I could sit with her and have the cry I needed. For now, I had to be strong.

Focus on the job at hand—identify if the Constable was a fake, and if not, clean it.

A white chandelier with dozens of crystals hung from an ornate boss on the ceiling. My original room had a similar one, which I’d stared at last night after dinner in the Rose Salon with the De Rosas. If I only stared at the ceiling, I might have believed everything was the same as before I went to the Casino last night.

My dream trip was turning into a nightmare.

What if I was wrong? Had I been in such a hurry I simply put the sketchbook into my bag upside down? When I’d suggested that to Jayce, she looked at Drew, who shook his head.

I didn’t know Jayce well, other than that she was a former gymnast, full of energy, and she talked fast. Scarlett had told me about Drew, their new hire, who brought unique skills to the team. No idea what she’d meant other than he excelled at containing Jayce.

Why are you staring at the ceiling when you should be admiring the view?

I rolled my head to look outside.

You’re tired. You should take a nap.

I could do a half-hour of work. Dr. Ferraro—Antonio, he’d insisted—suggested I start with an examination under ultraviolet light to check for evidence of past retouching. Maybe someone had worked on the painting between when their conservator made his notes and now. Maybe they’d used paints that melted under the solvent I used.

That should have been my first test today. Taking the notes at face value and assuming they were accurate was a mistake I’d never make again.

The De Rosa Gallery’s back room had an area I could close off for the test. I hadn’t seen any UV lights, but I hadn’t been looking. Surely, they’d have a flashlight, if nothing else. Or a camera with special filters?

That would be step one. It was a logical step and wouldn’t raise any concerns.

Antonio also offered to review any photos I took, so he and his wife could act as sounding boards. They’d been cagey when I asked for details about how they knew Scarlett, but they clearly held her in high regard. As though the offers to help were repaying a favor.

I stood and collected my laptop, popping it open on the small desk in my room. Some light research, and hopefully, my stomach would calm enough for dinner.

A gentle knock at my door sent my heart into my throat. I should have closed the door.

“You can work in the sitting room, if you’d prefer. The table’s bigger out there.”

I swiveled in the chair to see Emmett standing in the doorway again.

He’d switched out of his pale gray suit and now wore a heather blue T-shirt with dark jeans, bare feet instead of dress shoes, and hair just wet enough to drip onto his shirt collar.

My stomach did a few flips, and I imagined running my fingers through his hair.

Mmm, in the shower. Lathering it up for him.

Washing the suds down his…

Okay. That was not helping anything.

Emmett held up a clear bottle. “But if you choose to hole up in here, I brought you some water.”

“Thanks.” I walked to him and accepted the bottle of sparkling water. It had a French label I didn’t recognize.

“I can have some wine sent up?” His scent floated around me—not the dark cologne he usually wore, but something lighter. Citrusy. Hotel shampoo from his shower—a blend by a French luxury house I’d enjoyed this morning. “Or a meal?”

“Do you really think I’m in so much danger I have to stay here?”

His eyes softened, and he raised his arm as though to rub mine, but he dropped it again. “Rav says I’m paranoid. Hotel security claims they didn’t find anything amiss in your room, either.”

That wasn’t an answer.

“Besides, your room had no view.” He waved his hand vaguely toward the wall of windows. “You can’t come to Monte Carlo for the first time and suffer a view of someone else’s window.”

That wasn’t an answer, either.

One corner of his lips lifted, and he winked at me, causing a flush of heat to run through my body. If he wasn’t Emmett Reynolds, I’d think he was flirting. But he was Emmett, so I knew it was just him being him. Unfortunately.

“Where’s Rav staying?” Surely not in my old room?

“He was aiming for the Princess Grace Suite, but it was already booked.” He laughed, a warm sound that melted the edge of my worries. “We arranged another two-bedroom suite. He insisted he needed the space.”

“For what?”

“In case you tire of me and need another overprotective big-brother type?”

Big-brother type? What a punch in the gut. That’s what he is, Jenn. Nothing more. And remember you decided men aren’t worth the hassle? “Admitting you’re overprotective is the first step, I guess?”

“That it is.” He extended his arms to hold either side of the doorframe, stretching his shoulders and grimacing. Was he injured? “Last offer for food, though. I’m putting in a room service order and promise to stop harassing you after I do.”

“Some fruit and cheese, I think?”

He snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “Which needs a bottle of red to go with it.”

I held up the bottle he’d given me. “Or water?”

“Red wine, my dear.” He shook his head in mock sympathy and left again.

My dear? I rolled my eyes and huffed out an exaggerated breath, loud enough he’d hear it. Sarcasm was my last line of defense with him.

“Made you laugh,” he called from the hallway.

That man was going to be the death of me. I should have called Rav and moved in with him. Heat wouldn’t be flashing up and down my body every time he stopped by. My breaths would have been regular, as would my heart rate.

Focus on your work . I returned to my laptop and began studying for tomorrow. What equipment did the gallery have available? Which tests could I run? And how fast could I get everything done, so I could prove it was authentic and finish the cleaning?

The painting would go up for auction on Friday.

A memory came back to me, of the man with the scar across his cheek telling me I had to do good work, so Massimo would see a significant profit.

Should I have told Emmett about him? Probably. But if I did—if he thought suspicious people were lurking around the gallery—he would have dragged me back to Nice and thrown me on a plane himself. He wouldn’t have put me up in this suite, in a room next to his, and brought me food and wine.

I wanted to help the De Rosas. I wanted to make my aunt proud.

More than anything, I wanted to prove I had control over something in my life. I didn’t need men telling me what to do and what to think. My father had done that most of my life, and then too many of the men I dated thought they knew better than me about everything.

Including about fidelity.

Stop thinking about Simon the Asshole .

But that was precisely what happened here, wasn’t it? Emmett told me to stay with him. And I went along with it.

I cracked open the water bottle, and it hissed.

He told me to drink water. Told me I’d be getting red wine.

Shit.

I didn’t have control over anything. Not even my feelings for the man in the next room, who’d only ever pretended to want me once, fifteen years ago.

Tomorrow, things would change. I’d do my tests on the painting, prove I was capable…

And I’d damn well flirt back with Dante. That would show Emmett how much control I had.

Wait. Men are a hassle. You’re done with them.

But maybe Dante would be the distraction I needed. Better him than the ghost of a fifteen-year-old crush that refused to die.