9. Amelie
9
AMELIE
This isn’t how I saw the night going.
Currently, footsteps are running toward me. I understand that this was the plan, but now that it’s happening, I don’t like it. I run up the next flight of stairs I can find, praying that it won’t lead me toward security guards.
The Gallery has three separate floors: the base floor is for paintings, the second is for sculptures, and the third is for random abstract constructions. We’ve never taken anything from the second or third floor—we deal solely in paintings.
So of course, I nearly slam right into a statue when I hit the top of the stairs.
I jump back when I feel cool marble and bolt into a corner. The sound escalates, feet slapping comically against the floor, and I see flashlights shining on the wall opposite of me.
“Come out,” a weak voice says. “Make it easy on us.”
I bite my tongue. Literally. It hurts, but the spike of pain reminds me to stay quiet. I hold my breath and keep my back against the wall, hoping that some miraculous thing will lead them away from me. A car chase. A car crash, even, one that involves?—
An alarm.
An alarm starts blaring.
“Jensen.” I say it like a swear word. The alarm is earsplitting, rolling through every square inch of this building. Flashlights start in a frenzy on the wall, looking for me even though I didn’t trip it.
Carefully, I turn and run down the hall, hoping that I can find the control panel even while knowing how unlikely it is. The thing won’t be out in the open, but I’m just desperate enough to hope otherwise.
“She went this way,” a different, booming voice says, just as the lights turn the corner.
I run.
I don’t know what I’m running toward, but I keep on anyway.
After a few seconds that feel like centuries, I spot a door at the end of the hall. There’s no chance that it’s unlocked. I’m really wishing I had snagged a key out of Henry’s pocket yesterday, but you live, you learn.
I throw myself against the door handle, expecting to bash my face against the wood.
So you can imagine my surprise when it falls open.
Screaming—and I mean screaming —I fall on my stomach. Right there on the floor. The air gets knocked out of my lungs, but I manage to stand, coughing as I do so. Given the abundance of noise I just made, I lock the door behind me. I close my eyes and lean back against the wall, hand on my chest as I try to catch my breath.
What do I do now? A solution hasn’t crossed my mind. I can’t get out of here without equipment; it’s only two stories, yeah, but I don’t really feel like breaking my ribs. Again—weak bones.
Maybe they’ll leave me alone. Maybe they’ll assume I ran out of the building. If I were smart, I’d have led them up here, locked them in this room, then run downstairs. But I don’t hear sirens yet. I’m still in control, if I could just think ?—
“You have got to be kidding me.”
My eyes pop open, and I feel dizzy.
Henry Arlington is standing in front of me, looking like a whole different person than I met with today.
He’s ditched his glasses—I hate that he looks good both ways—and the general lot of his clothing. He’s wearing khakis and a tank top ? Here? In a museum? Where’s the class!
But whatever. I’m wearing a janitor’s uniform.
“What are you doing here?” I croak.
He laughs dryly, and I feel the sound in my chest. “I’d like to redirect that question toward you.”
“Uhm.” I lick my lips. “No, thank you. How do I get out of here?”
“You think I’m going to help you escape when you likely just robbed me?”
“Does it look like I’m hiding a canvas in my bra?”
He doesn’t retort. Instead, he reaches behind my head and flips a switch, which makes the shrieking alarms go quiet. I blow out a breath of relief, but the feeling is short lived. Police sirens slowly pollute the silence, causing my heart to beat even faster.
I’ve been close to being caught. Never this close.
Henry-2. Amelie-0.
“I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” Henry says, eyes on mine. His hand is still beside my head, and I have the urge to bite his wrist to make him move, but I also haven’t been this close to him in a very long time. It’s distracting, despite how much I wish it weren’t.
“Same to you,” I say, because what are the odds of him catching me twice?
Better question, what are the odds of him letting me go twice?
Very slim. Not great at all.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” he mumbles, and I can tell by his tone that he means it. He doesn’t know whether to turn me in or let me go just to get my help. The fact that it’s even a decision for him speaks volumes.
Quickly, I weigh my options. I really could bite him. Then I’ll knock him out and jump from the window, regardless of the broken bones I’ll acquire. Meg and Jensen are probably back at the apartment already, so I’ll have to run, but I won’t make it far. It’s cold outside. Maybe I can take up residence in a ditch until someone finds me and takes pity upon me.
But no, I hate pity. And ditches. There are spiders in ditches.
My only option is to give him what he wants and hope that it’s enough.
“I’ll do it,” I bite out. “I’ll help you.”
His brows shoot up. “They agreed?”
They will after this. “Yeah. They agreed.”
“Hm.” He relaxes his arm until it bends, which brings him a little closer to me. I hold my breath, unsure of where to look. I don’t want him to think he’s making me nervous, because he isn’t. The sirens are. “That’s surprising.”
“It is,” I agree. “But, just a little tidbit. If you don’t help me stay away from the cops, I can’t help you.”
“I’ll help you,” he says, and he sounds sincere. “Don’t worry about that.”
“Good. Now please step away from me.”
Henry starts to grin. I can understand why he’s so amused by this—from his perspective, it’s probably hilarious. He’s caught me twice. Me. The girl who has gone under the radar for years, somehow.
I don’t know what luck this man has gained since I last saw him, but there’s apparently a great deal of it.
Henry finally moves away from me, and when he does, his fingers catch in my hair. My ponytail must’ve fallen out while I was running, because the slight movement is enough to send it loose down my back. He says nothing as he steps out into the hall.
I swallow when the door closes, completely shocked.
Did he just...touch my hair?
Did he do that on purpose?
Whatever. It doesn’t matter; there’s no time to think. No time to figure out why my face feels warm.
I keep my feet planted on the ground instead of trying to eavesdrop. I could—easily. It wouldn’t be hard to tiptoe over to the door and push my ear up against the wood, but my heart is pounding so hard in my chest, I’m not sure I’d hear anything.
Seconds of silence pass. I count to the number forty-seven before Henry comes back into the room, hands in his pockets and bottom lip between his teeth. He moves closer to me, and I take an involuntary step back. I’m starting to hate the way he towers over me. I used to like it, but now it’s aggravating.
“They’re leaving,” he says, tilting his head.
I take a breath. “Thank you. Can I leave now?”
He nods once. “I’d give it a second to clear out, but yes.”
I nearly laugh in his face. Only minutes ago, he was taunting me for assuming he’d let me go, and now he’s doing exactly that.
Doesn’t he understand how strange this is?
I can’t move past it. Him helping me out of this only further proves my theory that something is up. Something he doesn’t want the police to know. He has multiple accounts on me, multiple ways to get me in trouble, and he’s choosing to ignore them. Truthfully, I don’t think my help is worth all that much.
But he can’t be doing it because of our past. That option flew right off the table the second he showed me that SD card.
We wait in a standstill for a couple of minutes, though it’s not as intense as it should be. He’s just looking at me, and I’m just looking at him, and I have the urge to question him and rip his hair out, but I’m more than a little focused on his biceps.
And look. I’ve seen the man’s arms before. It’s not as though this is some scandal, like a woman lifting her hem in the 1800s. By George! She’s got ankles!
They’re just…different now. As in, I suddenly understand what Jensen means by good arms.
I’m just a woman.
Henry chuckles, clearly seeing straight through me. “My eyes are up here.”
“And my ability to care is not in this room.” I actually do meet his eyes out of spite. “I’ll be leaving now.”
“You can head out that broken window if you don’t want to trip the alarms again.”
I blink. “How do you know about that?”
“Securities told me.”
He must know that I know his father owns this place. I think it’s the only reason he hasn’t told me flat out.
Swallowing against my still-hammering heart, I walk to the door, taking good care not to bump his arm or get too close. “Night, Henry. I pray the bedbugs eat you alive.”
“Night, Ames,” he says softly. Condescendingly. “Get home safely.”
What a git.
I’m cautious as I descend the stairs. I’m not sure if the guards left, or just the police, but I don’t have time to worry about it. If they find me, I’ll make up some lie about how I’m Henry’s secret lover. His family hates me— he’s betrothed to another !—so we’re forced to see each other in seclusion. We madly embrace every night in the museum for six seconds before I bust a window and leave.
The glass that Jensen shattered is easy to find. The break isn’t clean at all—I step over multiple shards just to reach the frame, and even then, the leg of my jumpsuit snags on the base. A jagged piece cuts my hand, but I don’t bother to look at it. I just lick the blood off my palm and run.