Page 89 of The One-Night Heist

“Not a chance, Giano,” Rowen snarled, shoving Mick away from him and turning that glorious anger on me. “I’m not running from the goddamn law when I already have a target on my back.”

I willed my face to remain neutral as I turned to the man I needed to protect more than anything. “You’re not running. You were simply unavailable when Franz arrived at the hotel room to collect us—already somewhere outside of cell service as you checked in with your old contacts, just like you’d been approved to do by your boss.”

Please, baby.

“No, Giano.” Rowen’s voice wavered, betraying his emotions. “I won’t let you take the fall for me.”

“Why would anyone need to take the fall for anyone?!” Franz threw his hands into the air, accidentally knocking his fedora off onto the floor. “It’s not as if you stole your own art, right?”

I didn’t reply, too focused on staring at Rowen’s perfect, furious face, in case I never saw it again.

“Right?” Franz repeated, and Mick buried a laugh beneath a cough.

“Franz,” I turned to the other man I trusted with my life, despite his accidental misstep. “I need you to grab my phone from the credenza by the door and call Bob Decatur at Decatur, Trent, and Fuller Associates. Explain what’s happening and he’ll get on the next plane here with a team of lawyers. His firm has represented my family for generations and will ensure whoever thought it wise to go up against a Luxford will regret the day they did as well as the one they were born.”

Mick whistled. “Okayyy… I see it now, carrots. Damn. That was hot as hell.”

Franz immediately sprang into action, grabbing my cell and disappearing into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. When I glanced at Rowen again, his freckled face was still flushed with rage, still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

More beautiful than an entire field of poppies painted by a master.

“Before you run off to be a hero,” he seethed, chest rising and falling beneath his robe. “Tell me one thing. What did you need the money for? Be specific.”

Mick grabbed another bag of nuts and reclaimed his seat, but as far as I was concerned, Rowen and I were the only two people in the room.

In the entire universe.

I blew out a slow breath, wishing I’d had the chance to tell him everything but sticking to the question at hand in the interest of time. “At the last Luxford Holdings shareholder’s meeting, a property in dire straits was placed on the block. It’s an… institution, in upstate New York that has fallen on hard times, and although they’ve run a series of fundraisers, it hasn’t been enough to save them from the threat of foreclosure. Stanley Monmouth—who you had the unfortunate displeasure of meeting recently—and Abraham Divani were the two shareholders most adamant that we buy the property in a short sale, not to save it but to repurpose it for more… profitable ventures.”

Rowen’s brow furrowed. “Was that the luxury condo project Monmouth was whining about being held up with red tape?” When I nodded his eyes narrowed. “So you want to scrounge up enough money to buy it out from under them? Why?”

Just tell him the truth, Giano.

“Because it’s an institution worth saving.” I took a deep breath and slowly blew it out, bracing for his reaction. “St. Anthony’s Home for Lost Children.”

Mick hissed in a breath as Rowen reared back as if I’d slapped him. Then a fresh wave of fury colored his face. “Ohhhh… I get it. Giancarlo Luxford, regular savior of orphan trash. You got a hero fetish, huh, Moneybags?”

What?!

That was not what I’d expected, but before I could reply, he began stomping around the room, collecting his clothing. “Well, don’t let me stop you from swooping in to save the day! So much for wanting me by your side every waking hour, for all my expert consulting advice. I’ll just go back to being a dirty little secret, like all your countless other charity cases. See ya around, partner…”

I could only watch, dumbfounded, as he flung open the bedroom door, nearly plowing over Franz as he passed him on his way inside.

What just happened?

Unfortunately, there was no time to go after him, as my appraiser exited, looking grim. “All right. Decatur’s attorney army has been deployed and is currently en route to the company jet.” Franz searched my face, no doubt still attempting to determine what I knew or didn’t know. “His explicit instructions are not to say a thing to the police until they arrive.”

I wasn't planning on it.

Unless…

Despite my rising anxiety—and extensive publicity training—an idea began to form. A slightly rebellious idea, but one that could turn the tide in my favor if executed correctly.

And hopefully win back Rowen in the process…

“I need to shower and dress before we go,” I replied, gathering my scattered clothing and heading for the other bathroom, to give Rowen space and not make things worse. “Please call Ana next to give her a heads up on what’s happening. She will already know not to comment to the press, but I don’t want her ambushed with any news.”

“Caprese…” Franz sighed but obeyed, leaving me alone with Mick.