“I’m not taking the job,” I interrupt with more firmness in my voice and in my eyes. “Besides, don’t you have a gala to plan? It’s coming up, so why bother yourself with risky jobs?”
“I’ll worry about my business, and you worry about yours,” he snaps.
“That’s what I’m doing. You just don’t like my answer.”
“Then I’ll find someone else. You aren’t the only art thief out there.”
I shrug again as I sip from my bourbon. “Good luck with that,” I say.
Omar scowls, shakes his head, and gets up from the table. “It’s a shame your father handed the business over to you. I remember a time your family name was known for something other than cowardice.”
He leaves before I have a chance to say anything more, not that I care to bother. I have learned growing up in this business that you don’t take every job that comes your way. Not all are meant to be, or a wise choice. And if your gut says no, you listen to it.
Dex approaches the minute the Moroccan leaves. “Doesn’t look like that meeting went well.”
“Well enough,” I say as I signal for the waitress to bring me another bourbon. I’m not going to give the man power to ruin my time under the sun and soaking it up. “It’s a nice day to—”
“You son of a bitch,” I hear as my eyes focus on Valentina charging for me. She has the fake tiara in her hand and throws it down on my table.
Even in her rage, the woman is beautiful. Maybe even more so. The fire in her eyes seems to highlight everything in her that makes her interesting. She exudes power, confidence, and yet… there is something vulnerable laced beneath it all. The mixture of soft and hard is intoxicating. So, even though it’s clear she wants my balls in a vise right now, I can’t help but enjoy seeing her arrive.
I smirk. “I see you found my little present I left for you.”
“Since when would a tiara interest you?” she asks as she leans on the table toward me. It takes all my might not to glance down at her cleavage which is now on full display. But I’m trying to learn from my last interaction with the woman and not get distracted.
“Have a seat, Tink,” I say, knowing exactly what I’m doing by calling her by her childhood nickname.
“Don’t call me that,” she seethes as her eyes dart to Dex sitting across from me. Another person now knows her past secret, and by the narrowing of her eyes and the clenching of her jaw, she is not happy with my little reveal.
Dex gives me a warning look, clearly not finding the same amusement in this heated exchange as I am. “No conflict at The Rooftop. You know the rules. We conduct business only. Not personal.” He looks at Valentina, and then at me. “This looks very personal.”
I nod in understanding. I know Dex has a zero-tolerance policy for any drama at this place of business. Every criminal in the world has visited The Rooftop at The Whitney, and though we all may not act like gentlemen on the streets, we respect the decorum of this hotel.
“Valentina was just leaving,” I say. “She’s going back to Boston where she belongs.”
“The hell I am,” she spits back, too loud for our setting. “Why don’t you go back to London and drink your tea and eat your crumpets?”
“Enough,” Dex calmly says between clenched teeth. “Go to the thirteenth floor, to your hotel room, and conduct your business there.”
I open my mouth to tell Dex there’s no need, but he lifts his hand to stop me.
“Go. Now. Respect my rules.” The look on my friend’s face tells me he’s serious, and I owe it to him to honor his wishes.
I’m not surprised when Valentina silently follows me out of The Rooftop into the elevator. She’s always been one to follow the rules of the underground. I respect the fact that this woman does what it takes to remain a player in it, even if that means biting her tongue long enough to get me into a private room for the tongue lashing due to come.
“You’re a real asshole, you know that,” she says the minute we enter the elevator and the door closes.
“Why? Because I stole your princess tiara, or because I reminded you that you’re stepping out of your lane and out of your league?”
“Because you did that just to mess with me. You had no use for the tiara. I’m sure you don’t even have a buyer lined up. It was a personal move, and you know I’m right.”
“And it wasn’t personal what you did?”
“Not at all. I had a buyer for that painting just like you did. It was only business.”