Chapter 14
KAIA
Two days and the painting is finally finished. The last brush stroke sends a shiver down my spine, so I step back and admire my work with a light, proud smile.
It’s been months since I’ve been able to paint like this and for the first time in a long time, I feel at peace.
Losing myself in something I love had me feeling like me again, and that feeling lingers even as I poke my head out the door expecting Frank to somehow know I’ve completed his challenge.
All I find is my guard. “Where’s Frank?”
My guard shrugs. “He left with Flynn this morning and hasn’t been back.”
“Oh.”
“The cars are back though so he should be around somewhere.”
“Excellent.” The thought of looking for Frank and bringing him back here is a little too tiring.
So rather than spending the next however long hunting him down, I’ll bring the painting to him so I get his immediate reaction without any buildup.
Back in the room, I dislodge the canvas from the easel and balance it on my fingertips, then I return to the hallway. “Any idea where he might be?”
My guard watches me with wide eyes and tightens his grip on his rifle as if he expects the painting to somehow do him harm. “No clue.”
“Alright, that’s fine.” Sighing, I puff my cheeks and blow a strand of hair out of my face, then start walking.
This manor is big but this late at night there are only a few places Frank might be unless there’s some huge emergency happening that I don’t know about.
Ticking those places off my list shouldn’t take long.
After checking the quiet library, the empty conservatory, and the abandoned kitchen, my list of places to check is reduced to two: his bedroom, which I realize I have no clue where that is, and Flynn’s office.
The office is easier to check, so I head there first and am rewarded with a strip of light peeking out from the door, which is almost closed.
As I walk, my guard gradually hangs back far enough that I’m basically by myself when I reach the door and lightly nudge it open with my foot.
“Frank?” Walking inside, the painting slips in my grip so I set it down on the floor by my leg and blow out some slightly tired air. “Oh.”
No Frank.
Only Flynn.
He sits at his desk, an open decanter next to him and a half-drunk glass dangling from his fingertips. “I know you didn’t walk, uninvited, into my office and act disappointed to see me here.”
My heart lurches slightly at the sharpness in his tone. It’s enough to warn me he’s in a bad mood.
While he’s right, I didn’t knock, my disappointment wasn’t intended to be malicious. His reaction suggests that though and my good mood is rapidly fading like air escaping a balloon.
Annoyance takes its place.
“I was looking for Frank so yeah, I’m a little disappointed.”
“Why would Frank be here?”
“He’s your shadow, isn’t he? I’m not stupid, I can tell a right-hand man when I see one.”
“And yet he’s nowhere to be seen.” Flynn lifts his glass to his lips and sips.
“Clearly. I’ll find him elsewhere.”
“Obviously.”
My irritation spikes higher with a rush of warmth up my back. “I need someone with an appreciative eye.”
“For that?” Flynn scoffs wetly, scarcely able to swallow before he reacts, and he points at me with his pointer finger resting atop his glass. “Where did you even find something like that?”
“I didn’t find it, I painted it.”
“You?” Flynn’s brow lifts. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“And you’re a terrible judge when you’re drunk. Or in a bad mood. Whatever.”
“I’m not drunk. Two glasses does not make me drunk.”
“Could have fooled me,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Whatever. I’m leaving.”
“I’m not stopping you, but since you barged in here without even the common decency to knock, explain something to me.”
My grip tightens on the painting. “What?”
“Did you really paint that?”
“I did.”
Flynn rises in his seat and walks lazily toward me with one hand in his pants pocket and the other low at his thigh, still carrying that drink. “Why?”
“Frank asked me to.”
“Why?”
“Ask him.”
“I’m asking you. Was it some kind of shitty test?”
“What?” I glance down at my work. “There’s nothing shitty about this.”
“My seven-year-old could do better.”
“Wow, fuck you!” I snap. “I’m not in the mood for this.” As I turn to leave, his hand darts out and grabs my arm, drawing me back.
“I didn’t say you could leave.”
“I won’t stand here and be insulted,” I snap, jerking my arm backward, but I’m unable to dislodge his grip, which sends an unexpected pulse of heat rushing south in my gut. “You’re being an asshole.”
“Don’t act like you’re surprised.”
“I’m not, but usually there’s some charm to it. Right now you’re all dick.”
“So now you’re thinking about my dick?”
“In your dreams,” I bite back as my core tightens and a voice deep in the back of my mind screams yes.
“Tell me about the painting.”
“Fucking—fine. Frank didn’t believe I was a good painter, that I’m one of my uncle’s top forgers, so he had me test it. Challenged me to paint something of yours.”
“And you came away with this?” Flynn releases my arm and points down at the painting. “Her brooch is wrong.”
“I know.”
“So why draw it that way?”
Realization hits me and suddenly I’m laughing. “Oh, you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
Standing straighter, I unfurl the painting fully. “Go. Compare it to the one you had hanging in the hallway, and you’ll see that this is a perfect forgery. No one will be able to tell the difference.”
“I can,” Flynn mutters with frustration licking at his tone. “I literally just told you the brooch is wrong.”
“Yeah, because you’re comparing it to the original and you’re correct.”
His brows knit together, darkening his expression as he stares at me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The great Flynn Gallagher, the man trying to muscle in on my family’s forgery market can’t even tell when he has a forgery hanging in his own home!
” My laughter deepens. “You’re right, the brooch is wrong because the one you own has the same mistake.
I spotted it straight away because I painted that original forgery you own.
It was my mistake and I was sure no one would be thick enough to buy it but here we are—! ”
Glass shatters at our feet as Flynn drops his drink and grabs me by the shoulders.
In the same beat, he shoves me backward and slams me up against the wall, ending my laughter in a jolting gasp.
As I regain my balance, Flynn leans over me with one arm raised up against the wall while his other hand presses lightly over my collarbone.
“You come into my home, threaten my life, storm into my office without an invitation, and now you stand here thinking you can insult me without cost?”
My heart begins to pound as I stare up into his grey eyes that resist all light now, instead resembling storm clouds.
His scent fills my nose on my next gasping breath and muscles pull tight in my lower gut.
“I apologized for that,” I snap. “And did you forget? I might be sorry I tried to kill you but that doesn’t change what we are to one another.”
“Which is?” The slight sharpness of alcohol lingers on his breath as his words bite out like the lick of a whip.
“Enemies, remember? I might be unable to kill you, but that doesn’t stop me from irritating you and making your life hell until you let me go.
You insult my paintings when you’re the one too thick to even notice you—!”
Any other insult inside me that rises to press his buttons further, any other sharp quip I can think of to remind him I’m only here because of him, dies within a half second because Flynn suddenly surges forward and his mouth collides with my own.
My breath catches in the back of my throat and his hand slides up to lightly wrap around my throat, and both my hands dart up to clutch at his shirt.
For a few seconds, he kisses me hard and when he pulls back, lightheadedness pulls through my skull.
I blink owlishly. “What—what was that?”
“You still can’t shut up?” Flynn barks down at me. “Fine. Then I’ll make you.”