Page 42 of The One-Night Heist

Guilty as charged, I suppose.

Ana placed her hand on my chest before glancing around disinterestedly. “I believe we’ve made enough of an appearance for the paps and the shareholders. Why don’t I spend the night at your apartment, for old times’ sake?”

As much as I wanted to simply go home and hide beneath the covers—to enjoy one last quiet night before all hell broke loose—I realized having my girlfriend sleep over the night before we “discovered” the missing art could provide me with the perfect alibi of my own.

Rowen would be proud of my quick thinking.

“I would love the company, Ana, thank you.” I held out my arm for her to take before slowly making our way toward the exit, periodically stopping for polite conversation and belated condolences along the way.

Robert was still minding the door when the car dropped us off at my building, and we took the elevator up to the top floor, conveniently bypassing the scene of the crime by heading straight to my bedroom.

Might as well enjoy the calm before the storm.

We wordlessly undressed before crawling beneath the covers together, and I doubted anyone could blame me that I pretended the press of Ana’s body against mine was a certain con-man who smelled like citrus and every bad decision I’d never been allowed to make.

Fourteen

Rowen

The sound of incessant buzzing from the bedside table interrupted the lovely dream I was having about Giano whimpering for me while I slid inside his perfectly prepped hole.

Rude.

I fumbled for my phone, assuming it had something to do with last night but secretly wishing it was a certain billionaire ready to whimper directly into my ear.

A boy can dream.

Unfortunately, it was Agent Markel—he of the unsexiest voice known to man.

“What?” I snapped, even though I knew full well.

“Rise and shine, princess!” he barked, unnecessarily loud for this hour. “Your boyfriend had his art stolen.”

My what?

“Who the fuck are you talking about?” I grumbled, more annoyed by how much I loved that title being applied to Giano than by Markel being the one to use it.

“Giancarlo Luxford’s entire art collection disappeared from his apartment last night. His fiancée contacted the field office an hour ago…”

“His WHAT?!” I hissed, sitting up so fast, a wave of nausea-inducing dizziness swept over me.

Yes, that’s the reason.

“His art collection, Quincy!” Markel huffed, his voice growing muffled as he spoke to someone in the background before returning to our conversation. “You have heard of art being stolen, right? Oh wait… you haaave.”

Careful, G-man.

I was in no mood for this asshat to poke the bear, not when I was about two seconds away from going full grizzly in the streets of Manhattan.

How fucking dare he not tell me he was engaged!

“Are we meeting at Luxford’s apartment?” I growled, fully intending to go there regardless of the answer.

“Yes, genius, we are.” Markel put our conversation on hold again as he loudly banged his way out of the field office, judging by the increasing sound of street noise. “I’ll text you the address. Try to behave once you get there.”

Oh, I will not be behaving one bit.

As soon as we hung up, I immediately started Googling “Giancarlo Luxford fiancée” only to be bombarded with countless images of Giano slow-dancing with Anastasia Bosco at his rich asshole gala event last night.