The Chase

by Vanessa Fewings

  “Don’t make me show you what I’m capable of, Zara.”

  I stood stock-still, staring at her.

  “I don’t have time for this.” She huffed out her frustration.

  No, I didn’t do bullies.

  She headed for the door.

  “Please tell your client we’ll be in touch,” I called after her.

  I left my office and strolled toward the east corridor, needing to put distance between us. I’d reassured Tobias I was going to proceed with discretion and wanted him to believe me. And if I was forced to sign anything, I’d need Adley’s approval first.

  I found Elena in the conference room chatting with a middle-aged couple, and even from behind the glass I could see the conversation was tense.

  Elena’s expression softened when she saw me and she signaled for me to join them.

  Inside, fresh brewed coffee filled the air, and at the end of the table sat a plate of uneaten doughnuts. Those fraudulent paintings hung on the walls to mock us. That Pollock now gone, returned to its rightful place at the National.

  The couple rose to their feet and reached out to shake my hand. They both looked worn with worry, and their tattered coats gave away their modest lifestyle.

  “This is Zara Leighton,” said Elena. “One of our art specialists.” She gestured to me. “Zara, this is Mr. and Mrs. Fairweather. They’ve come all the way from Lancashire.”

  “Please, call me Harriet.” Mrs. Fairweather pointed to her husband. “Stewart.”

  “Zara,” I said, joining them at the table.

  Elena went on to explain they’d come down on the train to have a painting appraised. They’d inherited a house full of antiques from Harriet’s mom who’d lived in Pendlebury, and had found this painting—the one on the table—and were eager to see if it was worth anything.

  Only, what they hadn’t accounted for was Huntly Pierre’s ten-thousand-pound appraisal fee prior to the assessment.

  “But I thought it came out of the profit if we sold it?” explained Harriet.

  Stewart nodded in agreement. “If it’s worthless, then we’re down ten thousand pounds.”

  “I’m so sorry for any confusion,” said Elena.

  Harriet looked nervous. “It’s just Stewart lost his job a few years ago and we could really do with the money. We can’t afford it if it’s worthless.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Elena swapped a wary glance with me.

  “I’m sorry we wasted your time,” said Harriet.

  “Not at all,” I said. “We love to see paintings.”

  She rose and leaned over the desk and began rewrapping the canvas.

  I stepped forward, throwing a smile at Elena. “Don’t you just hate rules?”

  Harriet paused and curled her fingers into her chest, her expression now hopeful.

  Rules be damned...

  Especially when they come from sexy, controlling Americans.

  I refocused on the canvas.

  Elena’s face flushed with mischief. “Shall I get the X-ray? The one you’d use if you were going to appraise it?” She winked at me.

  “Good idea.” I rolled a chair out of the way and moved closer.

  Elena stepped out and quietly closed the door behind her.

  “Laurence Stephen Lowry.” I leaned in. “Matchstick men and women.”

  Upon the canvas was Lowry’s distinctive style of painting stick people scattered within an urban industrial landscape. This piece was titled Going to Work on a Sunday, and as I peered closer I ran through my checklist.

  “Ms. Leighton,” said Harriet nervously. “I’m afraid we can’t proceed. We can’t afford it.”

  “Totally understand,” I said. “Perhaps if you change your minds and agree to Huntly Pierre’s terms, I’ll share with you what I find.”

  She gazed at the canvas lovingly. “I found it hidden in between several other paintings.”

  “Well, that would explain the fact that the paint itself is so vibrant. Daylight ages the colors.” I lifted it and turned it over. “Love the frame. Is it yours?”

  Harriet looked to her husband. “The painting didn’t have one. We thought it best to place it in one. We really weren’t trying to trick anyone.”

  “Lowry never varnished.” I retrieved a magnifier from the side table and peered through it. “See this, the discoloration in his figures. The solitude. The clarity despite the thick texture. Looks simple to replicate but it’s not. He trained for years and his technical skills are hard to copy.”

  “Looks easy to copy to me,” said Stewart. “Can’t see the appeal.” He earned a nudge in his ribs from Harriet.

  “Lowry’s the most faked painter on the market,” I told them. “He only used five pigments. He dabbled in a different white but that was in his earlier works. You should only see five here. Look, there’s my favorite, Prussian blue.” I hovered the magnifier close again.

  “How much do you think it might be worth if it’s real?” said Stewart.

  “If real, possibly millions.”

  Stewart cleared his throat. “Pounds?”

  I set the magnifier down. “Quite possibly.”

  “My mom looked after Elizabeth, his mom, when she became poorly,” said Harriet. “She was very hard on her son. My mom told me Lowry would wait for his mom to fall asleep and then go paint.”

  “Your mom really knew Lowry?” I said.

  “They lived in the same town. He wrote her a lovely note after his mom died and gifted her this.” She gazed at the painting.

  My back straightened. “Do you still have it? The letter?”

  Harriet rifled through her handbag and withdrew the plastic sandwich bag and removed a folded letter.

  It was impossible not to smile. “This counts as provenance.”

  “I’m not sure I know what that means?” said Harriet.

  “Paperwork that tracks the painting’s origins. It’s as valuable as the painting sometimes. Now and again it’s the deciding factor on whether a painting is deemed authentic.”

  “Do you think it might be real?” she said.

  I beamed their way.

  Harriet’s eyebrows shot up with excitement.

  “That was extraordinarily kind of you, Ms. Leighton,” said Stewart.

  “Oh, did I just let it slip you own an authentic painting by Lowry?” My lips curled into a mischievous smile. The joy on their faces was adorable.

  Elena appeared in the doorway.

  I headed over to her. She must have read their happiness because she suppressed a grin.

  “Send them to Sotheby’s,” I told her. “It’s worth at least two million.”

  “Shall I bill them?” she said. “You’ll get the commission.”

  “Leave it to their discretion.” I glanced back.

  “Adley wants to talk with you.” She gestured for me to follow her out.

  “Everything all right?” I said.

  She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Not sure what Logan told Adley, but he’s pacing.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She looked nervous. “It’s never good when he paces.”

  10

  Adley refused to let up.

  And I refused to unfold my arms and agree I was wrong.

  He was sitting behind his desk and I was standing in front of it. Apparently, the moment I’d left my office, Logan had stormed into Adley’s to discuss my refusal to sign the NDA. And to think I’d believed it was best to have my boss review legal paperwork first.

  “You and I have already discussed your attitude, Zara,” he said. “You can’t talk to Mr. Wilder’s staff so disrespectfully.”

  “I merely advised Ms. Arquette I’d have you look over the for
m first.”

  He rose to his feet, rounded me and shut the door. “We have clients who require discretion. Even from me. A little unusual, I know. You’ll get used to it.”

  “But from you?”

  He looked sympathetic. “There’s a gray area.”

  “Mr. Wilder gave me a bonsai tree.” I pointed to my office. “And a thank-you note. I thought he was happy.”

  “Probably sent out as standard.”

  This felt like a catch-22. If I explained to Adley I’d been dragged through a palace half-naked to see a stashed-away painting, I’d breech the client’s trust, but not sharing this made me appear as the ungrateful employee who’d recklessly threatened a relationship with a respected businessman. I had gone above and beyond.

  Way beyond.

  Adley slid the form across the table.

  I picked up a pen from his desk and leaned over, signing my name along the dotted line.

  “Apologize to him,” he said.

  I raised my gaze to his.

  “Win back Mr. Wilder’s respect for Huntly Pierre.”

  “You make it sound like I’m meeting him.”

  “You’re taking him to lunch at Sketch.” He waved to the door. “Table’s booked.”

  Mayfair? One of London’s poshest areas?

  “Today?”

  “Elena will give you the company credit card. Put it on that. Express your sincere apology and let our client know they can expect a professional when or if they ever require a field specialist again.”

  Maybe, just maybe, I silently mused, you should pay your staff danger money for when the client wants them to get half-naked and run through a—

  “We have an understanding?” said Adley.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He brightened. “I’d appreciate your insight on the Jaeger heist. We’re set to approve the case for their insurance claim. Another set of eyes and all that.”

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling a rush of excitement. “I’d love that.”

  The Jaeger’s high-profile case was going to be my first chance to shine.

  “We have a meeting at two. That’ll be all.”

  “Thank you.” I left Adley’s office with mixed feelings.

  I’d never visited Sketch until now and realized why as I blinked away to take in the restaurant’s lavish pink seating, pink flooring and, well, pink everything, including the walls, which also showcased drawings by satirical artist David Shrigley.

  I saw Tobias and Logan tucked away at a corner table. By the time I reached them my heart was pounding too fast and my hands were trembling. No doubt Logan was going to eviscerate me publicly, and I’d have to endure it until I could get out of here.

  I thanked the mâitre d’ and braved a look at Tobias, waiting for his invitation to join them, my breath stilted as his frown deepened further.

  Even though he’d dressed down in ripped jeans, a white shirt and black jacket, he still oozed sophistication; his gorgeous face framed by ruffled hair as though perfection just fell in line around him. Those sleek lines of his jaw flexed and his eyes sparked with curiosity as they roamed over me.

  “Hello.” I forced my friendliest smile.

  With no response from him, I glanced over at Logan. “I have your form. I signed it.”

  His glare fell on Logan. “You arranged this?”

  She looked triumphant as she held out her hand.

  I reached out and gave her the envelope. “Thank you for inviting me.” Though reading his confusion I added, “Or not? Don’t want to intrude.”

  Tobias’s eyes searched the table. Clearly he wasn’t expecting me.

  Feeling the burn of the attention of the other guests, I said, “May I join you?”

  He rose to his feet and I was again reminded how tall he was, how he moved with assuredness. With a slight nod he gestured for me to join them, and then he sat back down.

  Classical piano played softly in the background and I vaguely mused over whether I recognized the piece.

  “This is nice.” I seriously considered mentioning the weather.

  That uncomfortable glance swapped by Tobias and Logan made me wince. Reaching for the glass of water to my left, I took a sip and then another, my throat too dry, my nervousness rising.

  Their stares stuck on me.

  I’d just sipped from Tobias’s glass. “Sorry.”

  He suppressed a smile. “Hungry?”

  I wasn’t but I gave a polite nod anyway.

  Glancing from Logan and back to Tobias, I watched him order from the menu, surprised he didn’t ask us what we wanted and went ahead and ordered a selection of sandwiches, scones and pastries for all three of us.

  From Logan’s calm expression she was used to this.

  Our waiter opened a bottle of chilled white wine and began pouring chardonnay into the glasses.

  When he went for mine I held my hand over the top. “Not for me, thank you.”

  “Go ahead and fill it, please,” Tobias told him.

  The waiter complied.

  I pulled my hand away and watched him pour my glass.

  “You had something you wanted to say to us?” Logan edged me on, her gleam of pleasure bright on her face.

  She was already enjoying playing with me. I took a sip of chardonnay.

  My wine was chilled to perfection but there was no way I could let my guard down and forget how heady alcohol made me.

  I made a mental note not to have any more.

  “I’m sorry if I offended you in any way, Mr. Wilder,” I said softly. “It wasn’t my intention.”

  “Offend me?”

  “I waited too long to sign it.” I gestured to the envelope.

  He reached for it and pulled out the document. Tobias tucked it back in and handed it back to Logan. “Would you excuse us, please.”

  Logan’s smile thinned. “In view of the circumstances I believe it’s in your best interest if I stay.”

  “Circumstances?”

  “Her refusal to sign.”

  “It’s signed.”

  “Because of my insistence.”

  He gave her a comforting smile. “I can deal with Ms. Leighton from here.”

  “Toby?” Her expression looked pained, and I found myself feeling sorry for her. There was sadness in her eyes that told me they were more, or perhaps I’d merely picked up on her yearning to be more.

  I’d seen what a riled-up Logan was capable of. “I can go if you like?”

  “Please.” His tone was intense. “I want you to stay.”

  I put his demeanor down to running a billion-dollar company. The kind of power that would place him in the center of his own universe.

  Logan shot to her feet and threw me a defiant glare. Tobias took a sip of wine as he watched her navigate around the table.

  “I’ll call you,” she said.

  “Sure.”

  With her gone this was going to be a little easier, though that thought was switched out by the awkwardness of Tobias’s silence.

  All I could think of was the way he felt against me when we kissed, that gentleness fused with his masculine hard edges. Us fitting together as though made for each other. My breasts swelled as his delicate cologne reached me.

  I concentrated on straightening my napkin, hoping not to give myself away. “You weren’t expecting me?”

  He tore his gaze from mine. “No.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s good to see you. Why don’t you take off your coat?” He frowned. “The concierge didn’t offer—”

  “I wasn’t sure I’d be staying.” I pulled my arms out of my parka and laid it beside me. “I’m here to apologize.”

  “For?”

 
“Offending you.”

  “Logan told you that?”

  “Adley. He called me into his office.” I looked down. “I speak my mind.”

  “So I’ve discovered. It’s a good trait to have.” He smiled playfully. “I’m surprised you haven’t filed a complaint.”

  “Against Logan?”

  “Me.”

  “Why would I complain about you?”

  He arched a brow. “I led you half-naked through an orgy.”

  “The blindfold helped.” I flushed and broke his gaze.

  “I’m glad.”

  I took several gulps of wine. “It was kind of exciting.”

  “What do you normally do for fun?”

  “Stay home and read.”

  He studied me carefully. “What do you like to read?”

  “Romance.” I silently screamed at myself for telling him that. “Books on art.”

  “Romance? Happy-ever-after?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s why it’s called fiction.” He smiled at his joke. “And yet if you risk nothing—” His gaze held mine. “Sorry, that was inappropriate. As you can see, I’ve lost my faith in humanity. You’re still relatively unscathed by life. Try to keep it that way.”

  “I’ve seen a few things.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “Last night—”

  He reached for his napkin and placed it on his lap.

  “When will Goya’s La Maja Desnuda go on sale?” I asked.

  “Not sure.”

  A silver-tiered platter of sandwiches was placed on the table, the lowest tier holding scones and a selection of rich pasties.

  I paused until the waiter walked away and then whispered, “Why was the Goya hidden?”

  Tobias held my stare. “Because that’s what men do with beautiful things.”

  These undertones of sexual attraction made it hard to concentrate. I sensed he was fighting it too from the way his stare roamed over my body, that burn in his gaze morphing into confliction.

  The way he broke into a heart-stopping smile. “It’s good to see you.” He reached for that jug of water and topped up my drink and then his own. “Let me know if you’d like anything else.”

  I took a sip to quench my thirst. “How did you know it was behind the other painting?”