Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I cross the room to Marcus.
“Boss man,” he says with a wide grin, his eyes moving past me to Josie. “I see you brought a date.”
I glance back at her. “Yeah.”
“And you can’t keep your eyes off her,” he teases.
“I’m aware,” I reply dryly, not bothering to take my eyes off her.
“It’s bordering on embarrassing.”
“I’m aware of that too.” I turn back to him. “Is Connie here?”
Connie and Marcus often come to the gallery events. They’re my crew as well as my friends, and the invitation is always open. A way for them to step into the legitimate world of art and partake of good food and wine.
Marcus takes a sip from his glass and sets it on the bar. “She’s around here somewhere.”
“We all set for the run next Tuesday?” I ask casually, my voice kept low so only he can hear.
“We’re all good,” he assures me, and that’s all we need to discuss. He has my full trust.
Movement catches my eye and I see her. Connie in a plunging black dress with a black leather jacket. Her hair is styled, makeup dramatic. She’s a woman the room notices and many heads turn her way. Her eyes land on me and she walks toward us.
She and I haven’t spoken since Mikhail’s visit to the boat and her casual suggestion we hand over Josie.
“Be careful with her tonight,” Marcus suggests. “She’s still salty.”
“That’s her problem, not mine,” I growl. The last thing I want to do is deal with shit from her.
To my surprise, Connie greets me with a bright smile. Her hand goes to my shoulder and she leans in to give me a kiss on my cheek. It lingers too long and I’m the one to step back.
Connie doesn’t seem to notice and touches the lapel of my coat. “Look at you… all cleaned up and looking the legitimate businessman.”
“You look very nice too,” I say, because she seems to have left her hurt feelings outside and I’ll accept that.
Connie nabs a glass of red wine from a passing waiter, her eyes slowly sweeping the room over the rim of the glass as she takes a sip. “Big crowd.”
“Bigger than last month.”
“Look at you, Finn. Definitely a real businessman, but you’ll always be a high seas pirate to us.”
Marcus snorts and I shoot him a look.
“Be nice, Cons,” he says.
“I am being nice,” Connie insists.
“You’re being something,” I mutter.
Connie pouts, looking hurt. “I’m being nice, Finn. Let me be nice.”
“You being nice is weird,” I say, and we all laugh, the tension finally broken. I hate being on eggshells around her, but I can’t forget her threats aboard The Quartermaster three days ago.
Deep in my gut, I’m having trust issues with her and it’s making me twitchy.
Connie drinks and turns the glass in her hand. The dramatic makeup around her eyes catches the warm track light and makes her look like she’s been lit for film.
She surveys the packed gallery. “Seems like you have a winner with Margaret’s work.”
I nod, taking it all in. This is going to be a huge success by the time we close the doors. “Three of the New York galleries are starting to ask about her.”
“What’s her work going for?”
“I bumped her last month. Five to seven for the small work, twelve to eighteen for the large.”
“Not bad,” she murmurs. “But chump change for what we can make on our imports. I don’t know why you keep the gallery.”
Marcus and Connie make ridiculously good money running for me, and I also give them a cut of the gallery proceeds as a supplement. I share everything with them.
“The gallery is how we stay off the feds’ radar, Connie. You know this.”
“I know,” she huffs. “I’m just always going to be slightly amazed people pay you twelve grand for a blue rectangle.”
I glance at the painting right behind Connie. “It’s not a blue rectangle, it’s—”
“It’s a blue rectangle, Finn.”
Marcus laughs and I stare at Margaret’s piece entitled Blue Haven.
It’s a blue rectangle, and I laugh.
For about ninety seconds, the three of us—smugglers dressed up in our best finery—are easy with each other like we were still running the streets in our youth.
But I should know better than to relax because I see Josie making her way to me through the crowd, coming up just behind Connie. She crosses the floor toward us with her wine in one hand and a smile on her face that suggests she’s having a good time.
The lights catch the green sparkle of her dress and if I thought men looked at Connie when she passed, I realize it’s Josie who’s the showstopper here.
A flash of jealousy hits me as every man swivels their head or surreptitiously darts a glance so their wives don’t see the vision walking my way.
But her eyes are on me and me alone. I lift my arm without thinking, an invitation to tuck into me.