CHAPTER 15
Nash
Sinking into the leather chair in my home office was a relief after the past few weeks.
I’d brought it all on myself. Stealing the PERL and pretending to “help” with the investigation created way more problems than I’d expected.
I couldn’t bring myself to regret it, though.
If I hadn’t been out on the street that night, I might never have met Sybil.
My chin was resting on my knuckles, thumb grazing over my bottom lip while my other hand cradled a glass of Scotch. I was looking out across the street as I did most nights lately—for one reason specifically.
The lights were on at Sybil’s house.
She couldn’t possibly realize how easily I could see her move about from my office perch. For how shy she was, she wouldn’t allow it on purpose. The trees were just short enough from this angle, the glare on her windows minimal.
She was lying on the front room couch a few floors below me, her leg slung over the back of it.
From what I could tell, she wore sleep shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, her petite, toned legs on display.
Her cat was on the sill, and Bill was curled at the other end near her feet. She had a book held above her, reading.
I’d messaged her every night this week, brought her lattes and breakfast every day. At the pet store where I bought Bill his treats, I’d added ‘cat sushi’ to the order. Knowing she had a cat now, too, I wasn’t about to exclude it.
So far, I knew she loved anything baked and sweet, as I did.
She clearly liked animals, did not have many friends, and liked to read—a lot.
She loved baking and cooking, but also loved a good pizza.
Her favorite drink was champagne, bourbon being a close second, which pleased me.
I learned she loved flowers, especially roses, because the smell was so intense.
She loved to sew but hadn’t really done it in a while.
Cold weather was her favorite, and she loved the holidays, despite living alone.
As much as I wanted to push for deeper personal things, I knew in my gut this was the right pace. The heavier questions would come with time. Besides, I was enjoying getting to know her. Most women I met were eager to jump into bed with me, leaving the knowing part for later—or never.
I’d only asked once about the entire PERL situation. I’d casually questioned why she’d gone to the show. Her response was brief. She claimed her friend had convinced her to tag along, but it wasn’t really her scene.
I was curious—who was this friend? Could it be someone else on our suspect list? I didn’t want to be too forward, so I’d left it alone for now. As she warmed to me, I figured I could sneak in a few more questions when it made sense.
I dug my phone out of my pocket.
Me: What are you up to?
I watched her stop reading, a phone now glowing in her hand.
Sybil: Reading.
Me: Reading what?
She sent me a picture of the book cover. It definitely resembled a romance.
Me: Looks suggestive.
Sybil: ?? ?? ??ê
Me: Are those peppers, or are they supposed to indicate something else? A little bent, though.
Sybil: What, no! OMG. NO. You’re thinking of the eggplant emoji.
I chuckled at her reply. I’d baited that kind of response out of her on purpose. She was fun to tease.
Sybil: They rate romance books with chili peppers. The more peppers, the hotter it is. Usually, five means the hottest.
Me: Have you read a five before?
Sybil: Plenty.
I shifted in my armchair. Bee read a few romance books, but I’d never once cracked the cover. I wondered just how graphic they were. Surely not that bad, right? My curiosity piqued, and I made a note to raid Bee’s bookshelves later.
Me: Are there any you’d recommend?
Sybil: Probably one that’s a dual point of view. I feel like that can appeal to both men and women. You should try The Montana Man series. It’s more rugged. You’d like that.
Me: You think I’m rugged?
Sybil: New York rugged, maybe, like in a City Slickers sense.
I chuckled.
“You are such a creeper,” Bee’s voice cut the silence, and I turned in her direction, setting the phone into my lap. She was at my office door, poking her head in.
I rolled my eyes. She had a satisfied look on her face, pleased with herself for catching me once again spying across the street.
“Sorry I haven’t been around this week,” she said as she entered the room. She moved next to me and looked out the window—seeing what I was.
I turned back to the window as well, gaze resting on Sybil’s porcelain legs. Sybil had picked up her book, abandoning her phone and our conversation.
I took a small sip of Scotch before offering Bee a taste. She declined. “Sybil said you’ve been talking to her,” I ventured.
Bee nodded with a mischievous smile on her face. “I had to check a few people off the list. So, I tested her.”
“I hope you didn’t harass her.” I recalled our conversation about ambushing people on the street.
She crossed her arms. “I did not harass her. It was all aboveboard, I promise. Besides, the girl never leaves her house. I had to steal her number from your phone in order to reach her.”
My brows pressed together. “When did you get ahold of my phone?”
She didn’t bother answering. One of her other grand skills was pick-pocketing; often useful in our ventures together.
She swiped the tumbler from me, drinking it down in one gulp. She coughed once; it was barrel strength. “I’ve eliminated her from the suspect list, though. At least for now.”
“Yeah, I did too.”
“You did? How?” She scoffed. “You’re such a hypocrite; you’ve harassed her too.”
I dropped my hand from my chin to the arm of the chair, grinning. “Not on purpose. She always thanks me for the red and yellow roses I give her. A colorblind person wouldn’t. I don’t even have to ask; she just raves about the colors and how well they go together, day after day.”
Bee’s mouth fell open, and she placed her hands on her hips. “Wait, roses?” She snorted. “She didn’t mention roses to me, you sly son of a bitch. That’s oddly sweet of you.”
My glare challenged her to risk teasing me further.
“But you’re right, Nash, it’s not her. I asked her opinion of the coat I bought recently, and she commented on the gold piping and color.”
“Told you so.”
Her eyes rolled. “I got her to warm up to me quite a bit. Her personality is amazing. She has a nice, dry sense of humor, and I love that. Apparently, she’s not opposed to having a glass of wine on her stoop with me.
I think we’ve chatted so much she’s willing to take a chance.
She opened up to me and said she’s a little nervous sometimes and not used to having many friends.
I told her I totally understood introverts, and there was no pressure; we could just make it a casual thing. ”
My brows rose. “Wow, sounds like you guys talked a lot.”
“Jealous?” Bee looked annoyingly triumphant before her face fell. “I haven’t really figured out why she was at the PERL show, though.”
I let a smug look cross my face. “I found out why.”
Bee looked annoyed at that. “And?”
“She said her friend makes her go, but it’s not really her thing. I mean, she didn’t look excited drying champagne glasses in the corner when we saw her, so it makes sense. I’m wondering who this friend is, though; maybe they’re the one we’re looking for?”
Bee pursed her lips. “Maybe.” She grumbled. “This is tricky. The pictures don’t show the staff interacting. It’s tough to link her to anyone else on the list—they all act oblivious to each other. PERL did a good job of that. I honestly thought this would be easier.”
She sighed, settling onto my desk as though giving up the topic for now. “Alright, tell me more about those roses,” she said with a playful tone. “I can’t recall a single time in recent memory that you bought roses for a woman. Does this mean you have actual feelings for this girl?”
Hating to agree, I shrugged because she was right. “I barely know her, but I can’t help it,” I confessed. “There’s just something about her that ignites every part of me.”
“Ignites every part of you?” she repeated, niggling.
We both watched Sybil swing her knee from side to side as she read.
Bee hummed. “She is sweet, not your typical New Yorker. I get it. She has an aura that makes you want to know more about her, and she isn’t socially defensive like so many women are.
” She toyed with the ends of her hair. “Sybil reminds me so much of Mom.
They have the same gentle mannerisms and whimsical way of thinking.
I like that Sybil actually seems to listen to what I have to say and respond.
I miss Mom so much because she was the only person willing to put up with all the things I had to say.
Don’t you remember all the fun things the three of us did as kids?
It makes me want to invite Sybil over, cook an enormous meal, make a mess, and build tents for a movie like we did with Mom.
I bet you anything she’d love it. She’s like, our missing piece. ”
Her statement made me visualize it for myself. I could feel it. Mom was great at making everything special, warm, and exciting. She was crafty, always finding something new to do at home on the couch. It was the piece that was missing from our lives.
Bee squeezed my shoulder. “I’m going to head down and get comfy, likely end up in the same position as our Sybil there.” She was backing away.
“No date tonight?” I asked.
My sister was a notorious Friday-night dater, taking full advantage of all the men the Bumble app offered.
“This week was too long.” She paused her retreat and sighed. “Restoring a Degas is—nerve-wracking. I’m tired from leaning over the table all day with magnifying goggles.”
I grunted. “For sure.”
“And I’m bored with the men on dating apps. I need someone exciting. Exciting men don’t resort to an app to help them get a date. It’s all finance-bros and lawyers.”
I nodded whole-heartedly. I stayed away from those apps. The women there scared me.
“I heard about the PERL auction the week after next. You’re really making life difficult for yourself, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “Yeah, the seller is eager to ride the wave of the heist before it loses momentum. It’s adding to my workload. I don’t think I thought this through before deciding to steal the painting, but it’s great for PERL.”
She shook her head. “Thanks to you, asshole.”
My lip tipped up in a cocky grin.
She rolled her eyes. “Publicity goes out Monday, right? The calls coming in will be exhausting for you—hell, probably worse than the Princess Diana auction. Do you remember that week? I feel like we were all putting in sixteen-hour days.”
I huffed.
It wasn’t something I looked forward to doing like I had before meeting Sybil. All my momentum toward PERL had faded in the face of her. She was all I seemed to care about, my brain skipping to this next fixation with eagerness.
I heard the door click as Bee left the room.
Content to sit here and watch Sybil all night, I sank further into my chair. I tapped on my phone and brought up the music app, playing one of my mother’s favorite Dave Matthews albums.
Drowsiness set in, and soon enough, my mind drifted into sleep.