Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“Kit, I’ve got to go,” he says gruffly. “Remember, you can’t say a single word about the egg, homework or not. And when Grandma tells you it’s time for bed, you listen, okay? No reading past lights out.”
The exasperated “Daaaad” that comes through the speaker makes me laugh. I bite my tongue.
“I know, I know. I’m the worst, keeping my brilliant daughter from burning her eyes out until dawn on history books.” He glances at me, then away, stiffening in his seat. “Love you.”
“Love you too! Even when you’re mean,” she chirps back through the speaker.
My heart.
Holden ends the call and turns back to face me, tucking his phone away.
“Just look at you,” I tease, shaking my head. “Father of the year. I’m going to throw your name in for the trophy.”
“Never asked for an audience or a title.” He snorts and closes the laptop next to him.
“Sorry. It’s just nice, hearing you talk normal.” I resist the urge to walk up and pound his chest to see if it echoes. “Maybe there is a beating heart in there somewhere.”
“And maybe you’re pushing your luck, smartass,” he throws back. “She’s a good kid, though.”
“You must miss her.”
“Sure do.”
“How about her mom? Your wife?” Oh, I shouldn’t. I know it but I just can’t help myself.
If there’s a good reason for that missing wedding band on his finger, I want to hear it.
But it’s hardly satisfying when his mood darkens so quickly, like the moon passing over the sun. It’s visceral, the way he draws himself in.
“No wife,” he growls.
Oh?
Oookay, so maybe that was fishing a little too deep. I still can’t imagine any sane woman wanting to marry him, but Kit’s existence implies there must’ve been a Mrs. Verity at some point. Or something close enough.
Right, though. Boundaries.
For a hot second, I worry I just trashed all that temporary truce stuff we worked out over breakfast.
Curiosity can’t be worth ruining. Especially when it could make this little partnership bearable.
I scratch the back of my head, unsure what to say.
An apology, maybe? Do I have to?
But his eyes are searing lasers, bright as the sun splashing a mountain. I’m pretty sure if I keep pushing, he’ll tear me a whole new mouth.
“Listen, I didn’t mean to get up in your business,” I try weakly.
“Whatever.” He folds his arms and hits me with another evil eye. “Did you come out here to eavesdrop or what? Any update?”
Charming.
At least he’s willing to move on, though. Small mercies.
“Actually, yes. I think I’ve found a guy. He’s an expert on European art with a specialty in the Mediterranean. He seems to know his stuff. I think he could even find us a buyer. He said he might be interested himself.”
“Got it.” Holden looks unimpressed. No surprise, but it takes the shine off my plans. “Where’s he located?”
“New York City. Feel like a trip tomorrow?” I smile. “I said we could meet him in the afternoon.”
He scratches his jaw as he thinks. “Yeah, that works. I’ll arrange transportation. Just give me an address to work with and I’ll handle the rest.”
Oddly easy. He’s being way more accommodating than I’d assumed.
“Just like that?”
“What else?” He shrugs. “That’s what I’m here for. I’m sure Leonidas’ old pilot and plane are still available.”
“Captain Marco? I thought he moved on to private charters now.”
“So we’ll charter him. We need as many familiar faces as we can get. Trusted faces.” He doesn’t look bothered by the logistical nightmare that might be on almost no notice. “When do you need to be there?”
I wince. “Tomorrow afternoon. Two p.m.”
“Got it.”
I stop and stare at him, clearing my throat. “No offense, but… this feels too easy.”
He narrows his eyes. “Do you want hard? You handle the art side. I’ll do protection. That’s how this breaks down. Hell, I prefer less complicated, but if that’s not good enough, Nile, be my guest.”
“No! Jeez, I just…” I wave a hand at him. “I don’t know, I just thought you’d be pissed at having to figure stuff out so soon.”
“I worked for Leonidas Blackthorn,” he says matter-of-factly, quirking a brow. He doesn’t smile, but it’s close. “You think I’m a stranger to making travel plans on the fly?”
“Guess not.” Now I feel dumb.
“But,” he adds, holding up a hand, “I will need more details. Who’s your man? What makes you so certain he’s the right person? Have you looked into him?”
“Calm down.” I roll my eyes. “Obviously, I did some fact-checking. I didn’t just throw darts at the list. He’s an expert on Russian and Greek history, and he’s a pretty big name in the art world. Clean reputation from what I can tell, no big money types buzzing around him. The vibes were good on the call.”
“The vibes,” he mutters, his mouth turning down. “That’s what you’re going on?”