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I calmly turn to the Japanese businessmen.

“I know her pain,” I say, “and this fake lacks any of her soul. It doesn’t matter what fancy university I attended or not attended, you’re simply trying to con these men out of their money, Eustace. I won’t stand for it.”

For a moment, my voice trembles. My confidence gives way. Because this means more than just some rivalry. This is integrity.

The men look at me. They’re really listening now. My words are making an impact.

And there’s one thing left to do.

I offer them my business card.

“Here,” I say. “This is my gallery, located just down the street. If you want real artwork and don’t want to be ripped off, then swing by anytime. I would be happy to sell you something real.”

And with that, I walk away.

I can’t lie. I am protecting the buyers, but I am also poaching them. This little confrontation today will make me a tidy profit, I’m sure of it.

Eustace darts up beside me, but I keep walking. He practically sprints to keep pace with me, huffing and puffing.

“You... you...”

He can’t even formulate words anymore. He underestimated me.

He won’t do that again. He won’t be able to.

I don’t even let him finish his thought.

“Don’t fuck with an orphan,” I say as I slip on my sunglasses and set out into the crisp New York morning. I leave Eustace flustered at the front door of his art gallery. His reputation in tatters in under ten minutes. A new record for me.

Okay, I jest. Today might’ve been a lost sale for the guy, but the seed of doubt has now been planted. Those businessmen are meticulous. They’ll demand records, scientific testing, authentication history, expert opinions. And Eustace will have nothing except a lifetime of doing the same kind of fraudulent art deal. For what he’s tried to pull off today, Eustace will be exposed. He may not see the inside of a jail cell, but gossip is a stronger currency in the art world. As he knows all too well.

I’ve won today, but it doesn’t make me feel better.

As my car roars to life, I get a message from Clement on my phone.

Lunch?

My heart skips a beat, and I immediately forget about my little gallery incident.

Jolie is in my bed, and now her brother wants to meet me.

Despite what I’ve just done, I can’t get last night out of my head. How Jolie tenderly touched my face like it meant something. How she washed my bruised hands like she pretended to care.

I’m not going to turn down lunch with her brother.

Fuck, this is going to be tricky.

Even trickier than dealing with Eustace.

13

JOLIE

I stand completely still on the very spot on the street where yesterday I was kidnapped into the arms of the man who hates me. But today I’m armed with a coffee and anxiety growing in my stomach.

Sure, a decent portion of that throbbing anxiety is about Fabien, but there’s also plenty of it reserved for the pitch I’m working on. In the black SUV with the hood over my head, I wasn’t lying when I told the goons I had a make-or-break presentation to prepare. It’s really happening. Tomorrow.

And I am not feeling ready in the slightest.