The Lost Art: A Romantic Comedy

by Jennifer Griffith

  She shouldn’t demand to keep him to herself. She should share. Zoe deserved love. Even if it appeared destined for disaster. The chances that Kellen McMullen would allow himself to be snared in Zoe’s net, despite her looks and her smarts and her top notch job, when others with less flight-instinct (and fewer dollars to guard against) wouldn’t be caught… well, they were slim.

  Ava frowned. She shouldn’t belittle her friend that way. It wasn’t kind. Zoe could have Kellen. She deserved love, she wanted to please her mother by getting started on the grandbabies, and she’d possibly been preserved from lesser matches for just this moment. Zoe deserved a fun life with someone like Kellen McMullen.

  Then why didn’t Ava feel like forking him over?

  “I read somewhere that his shoulders were so broad he has to have all his suits tailor-made because off-the-rack suits tore when he tried them on.” Zoe hadn’t relented, and then the elevator doors slid open, and there, before them, right at Ava’s desk, stood Enzio Valente.

  * * *

  Ava’s knees got so wobbly she couldn’t stand and had to lean on Zoe for support.

  Zoe shot a hushed whisper into Ava’s ear. “I can see what you mean. Gorgeous. But I wouldn’t call him your dream man’s doppelganger quite. Still, look how his skin glows. It’s like he’s been visiting the sun and brought some back with him.”

  Enzio looked up from where he stood behind Ava’s desk at her cubicle. He made eye contact with Zoe first, who shook out her long brunette locks and stepped toward him. Then his eyes landed on Ava’s, where they stayed, even though Zoe strode toward him with purpose. His jaw dropped a little, then he clamped it shut and shoved his hand in his trousers pocket. He came toward the women, his eyes only on Ava.

  Ava’s mouth went dry. Unkind words echoed in her head, things he and his friends had said about her. Memories of her determination to prove them wrong resurged, as did memories of the look on Jerk’s face when she shut him down by shoving those words back down his throat.

  She should make Enzio pay the same price.

  But he was so beautiful. Like Apollo. And Adonis. And Mr. Golden Sun all rolled into one.

  No! He was mean. And low. And he’d been missing since the painting went AWOL. Ava intended to find out why.

  “I’ve brought you the financial report on the exhibit. Initial outlays. Remaining expenses. Madge asked me during this morning’s staff meeting to leave it on your desk for you.” He was a step closer to her than her usual space bubble allowed. “You look different, Ava Young. It is Ava Young, isn’t it? Binter told me you’d done something different with your hair.”

  So. That mouth-off Jerk had a name.

  “I’m Zoe.” Zoe shoved her hand in between them to shake Enzio’s. He took it but only glanced at her for a moment before turning his attention back to Ava. “I’m here to ask questions about the loss of the Church painting. From News 4, Denver.”

  Enzio nodded at her, letting his eyes flicker toward her. “You can talk to my boss. I’m just a hack.”

  Ava couldn’t help herself. She swelled with the triumph of conquering him. He’d barely blinked since she came into his line of sight. The red dress accomplished its work in fine fashion. A tiny rustle of triumph wafted through her. Success is the best revenge.

  “I like hacks. They usually know more than they let on.” Zoe had switched into job mode. “Can you tell me how much the painting cost? You’re in finance, right?”

  Enzio sighed and turned his attention to her. “Estimates say anywhere from $1.1 million to $11 million. One of its size hasn’t gone up for auction in a few decades.”

  Before Zoe could ask another question, Mr. Phelps called on Ava’s line. “Oh, good. You’re in. Come down here. A-sap.” Which meant immediately, nothing to do with “possible.”

  “I have to go. Mr. Phelps requires.” She said this to Enzio. “By the way. You haven’t been around for a while. Don’t be a stranger. Have a lemon bar?” She handed him one on a tissue and left him standing, staring after her. It took all her strength not to laugh diabolically.

  He called after her, “I’m taking you to lunch today, Miss Young. Meet me downstairs at one?”

  Ava didn’t consent or deny. But she definitely planned to consent. She’d use whatever feminine wiles she could muster and get him to open up about where he’d been all week. Oh, Agent Ford would be so proud of her!

  Zoe trailed along. “Can I come see your boss now? And I can totally see why you’d want to check out the existence of special prior claims on that one. But I think you have nothing to worry about, babe. He’s all yours. Did you see how he turned to putty? It was almost pathetic.”

  Pathetic, no. Satisfying, yes.

  “That’s not the art-expert look-alike. That’s the catalyst for the makeover.”

  Zoe stopped in her tracks.

  “What? That’s the guy who said…the thing?” Even Zoe couldn’t repeat the sheer meanness of it aloud, and she was practiced at delivering terrible things.

  “Technically, no. His loser buddy said it. But he didn’t refute it.”

  “And you’d kind of liked him, so it stung all the worse.”

  Right. Zoe got it. And Ava planned to make him eat his words over and over again. Not in a vengeful, ruthless way because that wasn’t who she was. But she’d like an apology nonetheless. Several of them.

  She could likely evince one or more over lunch.

  They arrived at Mr. Phelps’s office. “I’d like to let you meet the boss right now, but I think there’s a place for the press corps. It’s downstairs in the coat check. No one needs a coat this time of year in Phoenix, so they’ve transformed it.”

  Zoe acceded, and Ava strode in and sat down before Mr. Phelps. “Lemon bar?” She held out the plate, and he took two.

  “My wife is starting to question the extra pounds. I’m going to have to ban your cooking. Lighten up, would you, Young? It’s getting out of hand.” He said this through successive mouthfuls. Then he took another. “Nice red dress, by the way.” He chomped some more. “I don’t know what you’ve done to Kellen McMullen, but he’s threatening to pull all his money out of the exhibit again unless you agree to leave town with him tomorrow.”

  “But the FBI has ordered us all to stay in town.” Ava thought they’d settled all that last night.

  “I know that, and you know that, but McMullen acts like he doesn’t care what the FBI says.” He harrumphed. “It’d be nice to have enough money to be able to thumb your nose at federal officials, but the rest of us are not in that category.”

  “I’m not going to defy the wishes of the feds, sir, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “It puts us in a tight place, Miss Young. We’re not in a position to lose our chief donor again, either.” He looked conflicted, screwing up his chin and lower lip, and running a hand through his comb-over. “See what you can do to appease him, Young. Take one for the team.”

  Chapter 12

  At her desk she flicked on her phone. Eighteen texts? She breezed through them, all from Kellen, and culminating with a threat that he was coming after her at the museum if she didn’t respond immediately. That one was from an hour ago. He could be there any minute.

  “That coat check? Boring as a room full of dead gophers.” Zoe made a gagging sound. “And just as smelly. Geez, people. There’s such a thing as clinical strength deodorant available on the open market these days.” She plopped down beside Ava in the cubicle. “I can’t take another minute. We’re friends, right? Give me access to someone. Anyone. Please?”

  “You might get your wish, Zoe. I had word that Kellen McMullen may be here shortly. Do me a favor, though. No fawning.”

  “Are you kidding? I do not fawn. Flirt, yes. Fawn, never.” Zoe dug around in her purse and pulled out a hand-held voice recorder. “But after what I heard downstairs in Stinkville, my conscience wouldn’t let me flirt or fawn. McMullen is guilty as sin.”

  * * *

  The accusation rum
bled through Ava like an earthquake. Kellen was on the hook for the theft? But he could have bought the painting a hundred times over and still had change for a Van Gogh.

  Zoe let her tone get confidential. “They’re saying it’s a well known fact Niagara was McMullen’s favorite painting. That he’s an art aficionado, plus he blabbed all over the tabs that he intends to make one of those ridiculous tight-rope walks across Niagara Falls one day. He’s a man obsessed.” Along with the voice recorder, Zoe had pulled out a nail file and began to smooth her thumbnail. “I’ll rake him over the coals if you let me at him. There’s a crack in every liar’s story, and it’s my superpower that I know how to wedge my way into it and break it wide open. Just give me ten minutes.”

  Ava kept her breathing steady, against all odds. Worry zinged back and forth inside her stomach, chest, and almost rattled her teeth in her jaw. Kellen, a thief? Then again, he had been pretty insistent she leave town with him as soon as possible. And he hadn’t seemed the least bit concerned when the painting went missing.

  Suspicious to the nth degree.

  At the start of the day, Ava had had no intention of “letting Zoe at him.” She’d wanted to keep Zoe and her brunette curls as far from Kellen’s notoriously wandering eye as possible. But now, she’d better let Zoe have her chance. If Kellen were guilty, Ava couldn’t let herself want him anyway.

  But if Kellen were innocent, but still easily swept into Zoe’s wiles, it’d be far better to let it happen now before things went any farther between him and Ava. Not that they were going to go any farther. No. Well, unless her job made it necessary, for a while. They could date, could end up dating. And in time, if that were the case, Kellen would have to meet Zoe and her gorgeousness. Every guy Ava ever liked met Zoe and fell for her. Might as well see if there were sparks for her on Kellen’s part from the beginning. If he was going to fall for her, better now, before Ava let herself get in too deep.

  Not that she would. Or could. Not with Kellen. Even though he kissed well. She was not getting attached.

  Especially if he were guilty of taking a priceless masterpiece.

  She didn’t have more than two seconds to arrive at this decision, because the elevator doors opened and out slid Kellen McMullen.

  Instinct made Ava duck behind her cubicle wall. Zoe, however, flipped around and marched toward him.

  “Mr. McMullen. Zoe Inverness, anchor at Channel 4 News, Denver. Hello.” And within thirty seconds, Zoe had maneuvered him into the empty office near Phelps’s, right where Ava had been raked over the coals herself yesterday by Agent Ford.

  She sat down at her desk and bit her nails.

  “I told you, go see Ving for those.” A billow of bad perfume accompanied Harmony Billows, who stood over Ava’s desk. “Biting them doesn’t help at all. He puts a thick layer of acrylic on top of them and you’ll break your teeth if you don’t break the nail biting habit.”

  “Thanks, Harmony. I have another appointment with him next Friday. He’s hard to get in to see. He’s the best, like you said.” Ava pulled herself together and pasted on as genuine a smile as she could muster. Harmony didn’t reciprocate. Instead, she crouched down and resumed her usual hiss.

  “I told you, paws off Riccardo. He’s not available.” She grabbed one of the last lemon bars and took a bite. “At least not to you. Never to you, miss I-used-to-wear-clogs-but-I-don’t-now-but-I’m-still-the-girl-who-used-to-wear-clogs.” Harmony straightened up and flounced away with the lemon bar leaving a trail of powdered sugar and crumbs on the terrazzo flooring behind her. Like Hansel and Gretel. Leading to the witch’s house.

  “Thanks for the heads up, Harmony. That’s really generous of you.” Kill her with kindness, that’s what Ava would do. “You looked really pretty in your bridesmaid dress.”

  Truth was, Ava hadn’t seen any bridesmaid picture. But Harmony didn’t need to know that. The announcement stopped Harmony dead in her tracks, like she’d been hit with a freeze ray. Ava could feel the seething begin. After a moment, Harmony spun on a heel and whirled at Ava.

  “What in the world were you doing thumbing through his photo albums, Ava Young? You have no business being in any portion of Riccardo’s life.” Her eyes blazed, and Ava was relieved for an instant that laser vision was only in comic books because otherwise, Ava would be toast.

  “I saw a few photos with him this morning was all, Harmony.” There was an implication there that Ava didn’t intend to make, but she also didn’t retract it instantly either. “Don’t you think he’s one of the most courageous men you’ve ever met?”

  Harmony’s eyes narrowed to slits. Her temples pulsated. A soft scream rumbled in her throat, and for a second Ava worried she might have pushed her too far. Then Harmony snapped into action and reached for Ava’s computer. In a few seconds, grainy images appeared all over her screen—photos of Ava and Kellen shaking it at the belly dance restaurant last night, including a half dozen of Kellen’s mouth on Ava’s.

  “You. Do not. Deserve him.” Harmony made a fist and relaxed it. She marched away, a perfume wake and the disturbing photographs the only remnants of her visit.

  * * *

  The alarm on Ava’s phone sounded, telling her it was one o’clock—time to go down and meet Enzio Valente in the lobby and go to lunch. She should be more satisfied by the prospect. Grateful for it, really. After all, it was what she’d wanted from the start of this whole makeover shenanigan that had set off a strange chain of events bringing both Kellen McMullen and Agent Ford into her life. Without her new look, Kellen most likely wouldn’t have made the investment in the exhibit. Without his investment, the exhibit wouldn’t have come to Phoenix. Without the exhibit in Phoenix, the Niagara painting wouldn’t have been stolen. Without the stolen painting, Agent Ford wouldn’t have been assigned to the museum.

  This was all Enzio’s fault.

  Well, wait a minute. In a way, it was all her own fault that a priceless masterpiece had now gone into the underground.

  Hard to believe it was only yesterday that they’d had the terrible news. The FBI and other investigators on the job had better work fast. Whoever was selling it might have it at the South Pole by now, for all anyone knew. But then again, it was hard to move something of that size and value very quickly. According to all the art theft blogs she read, the more expensive and high profile a piece, the longer it needed to sit in cold storage while the fervor over its loss died down. It could be buried somewhere for years. Decades.

  Unless the thieves were impatient and wanted their payout fast.

  She didn’t know which to hope for: a hidden treasure, buried, or a moving target. Both seemed really tough.

  Downstairs, after applying a modicum of lipgloss, she met Enzio. He did the European kiss-hello—which she awkwardly reciprocated—and took her by the arm.

  He was shorter than she remembered. With these red stilettos, she was an inch or two taller than he was. At least she didn’t put a big tease into her hair this morning and made things potentially awkward and uncomfortable.

  Ha! Imagine, she, Ava Young, queen of the low-maintenance girls, putting Enzio Valente, king of the sun gods, at any kind of social disadvantage! It was too rich to even consider. And she wanted him to feel very comfortable. Talkatively comfortable. Spill his guts comfortable.

  “Where do you like to eat?” He handed her into the passenger side of his car, a two-seater of a make she didn’t recognize. “Something chocolate, for sure?”

  “Oh, no. Not chocolate.” Anything but chocolate. “Do you like Italian food?”

  He sped them to a local spaghetti factory, where she ordered the shrimp scampi, and he had some kind of pomodoro or other. Someday she should take an Italian cooking class so she recognized all the foods. They tasted so good. Why wasn’t every Italian alive just as big as a house?

  “What do you think of all this missing art business, Mr. Valente?”

  “Call me Enzio. And I think it is par for the course.” His accent wasn’t who
lly Italian, now that she was listening without the filter of the initial shock of his handsomeness. In fact, he sounded more Midwestern than anything.

  “Meaning what? That if an expensive painting exists it will be stolen?”

  “Meaning that I researched this after the Church went missing, and it turns out that great works of art go missing about ten times as often as ever are reported.” He’d done some research. Huh. She wondered what that entailed. Probably surfing the net during work hours. Not doing his accounting job, which even Binter the Jerk claimed he had few skills at.

  Ava frowned and twirled some noodles on her fork. “Are you saying the museum administration made a mistake in letting on to the press that it had been taken? There really was no way it could be kept quiet, not with the patronage we already had lined up to see it and all the publicity the exhibit had received.”

  “No, I’m sure you’re right. But it’s more likely to be recovered if it’s done quietly.” He forked up a mouthful of his lunch. She noticed a gold bracelet dangling on his wrist, just beneath his jacket sleeve. Something about it didn’t work for her. His beauty might have ticked down a notch, if she hadn’t averted her eyes and stared at his perfect teeth for a bit. “At least according to what I read.”

  Ava didn’t like that he was critical of the way the museum handled the situation. It was the best Phelps could do under the circumstances. And with Agent Ford assigned to the case at the Glastonbury’s insistence, chances were higher than ever of a recovery.

  “I think the FBI has it well in hand.”

  At this Enzio just raised an eyebrow and a shoulder. “It’s making a holy terror out of the finance department, I’ll tell you that much.”