Page 54 of The One-Night Heist

Impressed and apparently protective and I don’t know what the hell to do with any of it.

Agent Markel looked about ready to implode, but instead of opening his foolish mouth again, he spun and stomped away, presumably to talk to Lowry.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.

Needing to look like I was doing something productive while I mentally recalibrated from the past ten minutes, I sat and started flipping through the stack of evidence, knowing full well new intel was coming that would make any evidence in this pile obsolete.

As expected, the Art Crime Team didn’t have much to go on yet. For as impressive as The Andervelt connection sounded, it was a dead end, and a raid on the poor floral design company I’d impersonated had yielded even less. My only concern had been that my chatty friends in the service elevator might remember our previous encounter, but I saw nothing in the files to imply they’d ratted me out.

That fifty I slipped ‘em was working overtime.

The camera footage from Giano’s building had failed to capture my face—because I was a professional, thank you very much—and I would have been shocked if the NYPD managed to follow my trajectory through the city.

They had nothing, and would continue to have nothing until I gave them something.

Which is exactly what’s about to happen during the press conference today…

My gaze drifted to the generic plastic wall clock, loudly ticking over the hum of voices around me, and my chest tightened with regret. Giano was about to be incredibly upset with me—for multiple reasons—but it had to be this way.

Not only would it strengthen our ruse for him to appear legitimately shocked by the turn of events, but being hit upside the head with the harsh reality of what a dirtbag I actually was would snap him out of the foolish fantasy about “us” he’d created in his mind. Giancarlo Luxford thought he was playing it cool, but the man practically had heart emojis blasting out of his eyeballs when he looked at me. The worst part was he clearly thought what he mistakenly felt was real.

It’s because he doesn’t actually know me at all.

What Giano didn’t realize was that, once the shine faded on our make-believe relationship, he would realize he was better off exactly where he was, and with whom. He already had a perfectly respectable fiancée in the form of Anastasia Bosco, and despite him claiming “it wasn’t like that” between them, I knew the drill.

No one with the privileges he’d had since birth would choose someone like me—choose to throw it all away when it was easier to discard me as quickly as the rich discarded anything that no longer pleased them.

And I’ve always preferred to blow things up myself.

For a brief moment, I vaguely wondered what Giano had been so desperate to tell me the night of the heist, but then decided it was probably better for both of us if I didn’t know.

Distance makes the heart grow colder.

Luckily, the field office soon erupted into a flurry of activity soon after, distracting me from my thoughts. Lowry emerged from her office to announce the “reconfigured” team handling the Luxford case, and Markel glared from the reject corner as I, and the rest of the Chosen Ones were herded outside and into unmarked cars to be driven across town to the press conference.

It’s showtime once again.

Upon arrival, Agent Lowry arranged the “team” on stage to the left of the podium, all while assuring us that all we had to do was stand there and look pretty for the cameras. My breath caught when Giano appeared at the opposite side of the stage, with Daddy Pinstripes and a gray-haired gentleman who looked even more expensive than the two of them put together. And I choked on that same breath when his gaze ran over me—me in his borrowed peacoat—with what could only be described as bald hunger.

It sure was fun while it lasted.

Stubbornly ignoring the knowledge that my cum was still inside him—trapped inside him with a goddamn butt plug—I simply nodded professionally in his direction, knowing it was probably the last time Giancarlo would look at me with heart-eyes ever again.

Maybe in another life, Moneybags.

The press was given the go-ahead to descend, and Agent Lowry took the mic. She started by introducing the important players, including Mr. Expensive—Samuel something—who was the head of fine art at Sotheby’s New York. She then kicked off the party for real with the official announcement that the Luxford family art collection, currently listed for an upcoming auction, had been stolen.

Of course, this threw the press into a frenzy, but Lowry continued with the basic rundown of the crime and assurances that the venerable Art Crime Team was already on the case—“pursuing promising leads” to return the art to its rightful owner.

Brace yourself for a new lead to drop, boss.

Giano then stepped up to recite a heartfelt speech about his mother’s legacy and the value of sharing that legacy with others, which was a slightly ironic sentiment, considering the art in question was just going to end up in some rich asshole’s private collection.

But they’ll have to find it first.

Then the floor was opened to questions, and as soon as one exceptionally smug-looking reporter stepped forward, I knew the time had come.

Take cover!