16. Amelie
16
AMELIE
The Boyfriend Debacle has taken over my life.
It’s all I can think about. The second I woke up, when the sunlight hit my face and dragged me out of my restless sleep, questions flooded my mind. What do I say to Mom? How do I tell her it’s a lie? Should I keep it up? Should I find a way to make it happen?
Bottom line—I don’t know.
I’m meeting Henry in an hour, and I’ve just begun getting ready. My hair is in rollers and my face is bare. I derive the most pleasure in life by simply getting ready. It’s something I’ve found a routine in, which is nice, since my job revolves around chaos.
I take a sip of my tea and open a tube of concealer, letting my mind wander as I get ready. When I told my parents that I’d make a decision by this weekend, I didn’t realize that this weekend is actually tomorrow. I’ve got twenty-four hours to decide. If I end up saying yes, then I’ve got an additional week to find a fake boyfriend. Someone willing to put up with me for seven days, and someone that I can tolerate for that amount of time.
It’s a very bad idea. If I bring someone I’ve just met, my work will get mentioned in passing, and I’ll get caught. Mom and Dad will assume they know about my job, and Margot will try to convince said boyfriend that he’s too good for me.
She hates what I do. I hate what she does. And until Mom forces conversation out of us, I’ll leave it at that.
I finish off my makeup with a muted red lip and take my rollers out. I tie a ribbon in the back of my hair and admire the way it turned out in the mirror. With rollers, you simply never know if you’re going to look like a runway model or George Washington.
It’s freezing today, as it has been for the past two months, so I change into pants and a thick sweater. I throw a heavy jacket on top and pull my hair out of my collar, mortified with the amount of static I’m creating. My head feels like a satellite dish.
I slip my feet into a pair of chunky heels and step into the living room. A gasp escapes me when I notice Meg on the couch, laptop balanced up on her knees. She left last night after the…incident, so I’m not sure how she got back in.
“Morning,” she says, sipping my good tea out of a mug. “I’ve got something for you.”
“Oh?” I shuffle over to the sink and set my teacup in it. “Tell.”
“Well, I’ve tried and tried to get a read on the background of this photo, but I’ve failed. It’s literally a blank wall, so it’s not my fault. But I did find a different listing with an altered background. And guess what?”
I raise a brow. “Just tell me.”
“ That one has the location.”
“Ooh!” I clap my hands once. “Where?”
“Bondi’s. On 28 th .”
“I thought that was a nightclub?”
“It is. Opens at nine this evening. You can go tonight, surely.” She turns the laptop around, and on the screen, I see an unfamiliar canvas propped up against the wall. “I think it’s a back room. Not the kitchen—maybe a storage room, or a walk- in freezer or something. There’s a Bondi’s logo on the wall and a stack of milk crates in the corner, see?”
I hum in acknowledgement. “So I need to get in there.”
“It would be preferable.”
Fine. I can do that. That’s probably the easiest task on my to-do list. The others aren’t very fun, and they don’t involve me getting to wear fancy clothes.
Call our client and make sure they don’t want to sue me.
Meet up with Henry. Avoid all questions about voice message.
Bust into Bondi’s and find the Ophelia .
“I’ll get it done,” I tell her. “Henry can help. Cause a diversion or something. It’s his painting, after all. He shouldn’t be opposed.”
“I don’t trust him,” Meg says, a hint of warning in her voice.
I give a shrug and hope it’s casual. “Neither do I, but he can’t do much damage.”
“Be careful, Ames.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” Meg shakes her head, but I don’t buy it. Solely from her tone of voice, I have no doubt that Jen told her about Henry’s and my past. But that’s fine. It’s not a secret. “Just be careful.”
“You know I will.” I stuff my wallet and a few extra bills in my purse. “I’ll see you later. Where’s Jen?”
“He’s out.”
“Hmm. How’d you get in here, anyways?”
“I have a key.”
“Who gave you a key?”
“Santa Claus.” Meg pins me with an unimpressed stare. “Who do you think?”
“I don’t understand why Jen would give you a key, but I guess that’s the answer.”
“If you want to believe that, that’s up to you.”
I sigh and turn the door handle. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Says the girl plotting with the enemy.”
“I am networking ,” I say, right before closing the door.
The second I’m out on the sidewalk, I whip my burner phone out of my purse and dial our client from yesterday. Usually, we call them the day of, but we’ve never had one not answer. I’m starting to worry that something went wrong since they never responded, but maybe they’re just busy.
Whoever is on the line picks up after two rings.
“Hello,” I start, using my practiced work voice. “I’m calling on behalf?—”
“Are you the one we got in contact with a few weeks ago?”
I blink. “I’m sorry?”
“About the painting.” It’s a man, and he sounds quite annoyed with me. “The ocean one. We were supposed to pick it up at Grand Arts Hall.”
“Oh. Yes, that’s me. Did everything go well? Was the painting what you wanted?”
“We wouldn’t know,” the man says flatly, “because when we got there, it was gone.”
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk. “ What ?”
“We did exactly what you said. Met with a manager, got in the back. It wasn’t there.”
“I don’t understand. We left it there yesterday morning.”
My voice stays steady, though the one in my head is thoroughly reminding me that I’ve failed. Failed myself, failed my team. Failed, period.
“Well, it was gone when we arrived.” His voice is clipped. “We already paid you, and when we pay, we expect the other end of the deal to be held up.”
“I understand,” I say sweetly. “I’m not sure what happened, but I promise I’ll get it taken care of.”
The man practically snorts. “You’d better. And if you can’t, I’ll expect the deposit back next week. Get in touch with my secretary.”
“I will,” I assure him, though I’ve got no clue who his secretary is. Thankfully, I won’t have to find out. I’m going to find that painting and deliver it to whoever is on the other end of this line.
The man grumbles something I don’t catch and hangs up the phone.
I slip mine back into my purse, head spinning as I try to figure out what just happened. No one saw us enter the hall, and everyone that my dad hires is safe. Someone must’ve gotten in after us.
Briefly, my mind flashes to Henry.
But that can’t be possible, right? He doesn’t know how we operate. Just because he has proof of me in his museum doesn’t mean he’s connected me to Grand Arts. There are a million other ways for me to go about my work. Conspiring with my parents seems like the least logical approach, at least on normal standards.
No. It isn’t him.
The problem is going to be finding out who .
Henry is standing outside of Parlon’s with a cup in each hand. He wordlessly gives me one, and I eye him warily as I lift it to my mouth. “I don’t trust this.”
“I don’t trust you when you haven’t had caffeine. Drink it.”
Without protesting, I tip the cup back. I nearly jump when I get a taste of the drink, and I think Henry notices, because he grins just slightly. “You know my order?”
“Yes,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “You get the same thing you always have.”
I don’t acknowledge the fact that he remembered because I don’t care.
“I still think you tampered with it,” I say, just to argue. “Put a laxative in it or something.”
He laughs and starts walking down the sidewalk. I assume we’re going to his penthouse, but he doesn’t give me any clues, so I’m just following aimlessly. “I didn’t. But if you don’t believe me, then I’ll take it back.”
Henry reaches for the cup, and I hold it all the way out to my side. A low laugh slips out of him at my glare. “Thought so.”
“ Thought so ,” I mock, pocketing my free hand. “Why did you ask me here?”
“Well, we’ve got a few things to discuss.”
My heart jumps into my throat.
If he brings up the message, I’ll push him into oncoming traffic.
“What?” I ask slowly.
He exhales. “The painting, obviously. That’s the most important one.”
“Yes. Absolutely.” Of course he doesn’t care about the message. It’s ridiculous. He probably hasn’t given it a second thought, and why would he? No one wants to hear me complain about men. I mean, I quite enjoy the task, but that’s me.
“Oh, and ,” Henry starts, looking down at me. “I think—for pure entertainment value?—”
“No.”
He chuckles. “Come on, Ames.”
“ No. ” I turn around and walk backward so I can keep looking at him. It’s probably a foolish thing, given that we’re walking the streets and I could step in front of a taxi, but I don’t care. “Henry, we will not be discussing this. I’m serious. I’ve got to figure something out, and I don’t need you making fun of me.”
“I wasn’t going to make fun of you.”
“What were you going to do, then? Offer suggestions?”
Henry opens his mouth to respond, then rolls his eyes and closes it. He appears at my side, and I tense up when he puts a hand on my lower back, spinning me around so I’m facing forward again. Seconds later, a car speeds past the sidewalk that I was about to step off. I blow out a breath before noting Henry’s hand flat against my stomach, holding me back from literally killing myself.
“Please,” he says, right into my ear, “do not walk in front of a car. I have no idea how you’ve stayed alive this long.”
I nod stiffly as he removes his hand from my body. He keeps walking, seemingly unbothered, though I have to force my legs to work again. There’s a strange absence of warmth where his hand was just seconds ago, and I’ve got no clue why. It should irritate me that he did that. If I want to step in front of a car, that is my prerogative.
“I can take care of myself,” I say, catching up to him. “And can you slow down? I have something to tell you. We need to check out a place on 28 th later.”
He stops short. Turns around and looks down at me, making a stray piece of hair fall into his eyes. Used to, I would’ve reached up and brushed it away from his glasses, but I don’t do that right now. Obviously. He’d probably swat my hand away or something.
“Why didn’t you say that?” He asks, sounding exasperated. “28 th is the other way.”
“ Later ,” I enunciate. “We need to get into a back room, and I’ll need a distraction. That’ll require some work on your part.”
Henry raises his eyebrows. “You need me to knock out the bouncer or something?”
“No, nothing so grotesque.”
“I’m shocked this isn’t just a normal day for you.”
I frown. “I’m not so bad, Arlington. I’ve got a job and so do you.”
The name slips out before I can catch it. I’ve not referred to him that way since we were eighteen, but I try not to show my discomfort at doing it so casually.
“Not the same thing,” Henry quips, clearly not caring. “But tell me your plan.”
“Well, it’s the weekend, so we won’t need too much of a diversion. People are going to be focused on themselves anyways; no need to cause a scene. I just want you to keep watch and make sure no staff is slinking around. Meg found another photo, and it looks like the painting is placed in a storage room. I’ll need to get back there and get it.”
“Okay, that’s great, except what will you do with the painting?”
I hadn’t thought of that part.
“Uhm,” I say. “Okay, better plan. You do the same thing, and I…I’ll just bust a window or something. Toss the painting out. You can grab it from the outside, and then I’ll deal with the people from the inside. Talking my way out of things is my greatest talent.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe that.”
“I’ve charmed you out of handing me to the cops multiple times.”
Henry eyes me, and I get the urge to look away. “If I really wanted you behind bars, you’d be there.”
“I know,” I say, my voice too quiet. “That’s what unsettles me.”
Henry doesn’t respond to my comment, but he clears his throat before speaking. “Alright. We can try that, I guess. But I think it’s a bad idea.”
“You’d think all my ideas are bad.”
“No. Some of them are probably okay.”
I roll my eyes. “If you have something better, suggest it. We’ve still got hours before we have to commit to a plan.”
“I’ll try anything, as long as it ends with that painting back at my loft. Which—” He turns to walk backwards now, and I’m annoyed that he doesn’t almost step in front of a car. “—still isn’t adding up in my mind. You’re going to carry that thing up to my apartment?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have a team for a reason, Henry. I wasn’t meant to carry heavy things. That’s how you strain muscles.”
I haven’t technically mentioned this plan to Meg and Jen, but I’m hoping they’ll agree to it. They’re used to my last-minute ideas; I’m sure this won’t be any different.
“What if…” Henry takes a breath, sounding less hesitant than I’d expect right now. “What if this goes badly, Ames? Seriously.”
“It very well might.”
“And we’re good with that?”
“ You were good with dragging me into this.” I look up at him, though there’s no point. His face is blank. “Now, you’ve got to be good with my plans.”
I’m waiting for the push-back. The argument. But instead of that, Henry says, “Fine.”
And that’s that.