Chapter 17
Seventeen
Rowen
Fuck, this coat smells good.
Giano’s sex potion scent may have been one of the deciding factors for choosing this thick, nearly floor-length, black peacoat, but it wasn’t the main reason.
And my favorite billionaire will find out why soon enough…
“Ah, Rowen! There you are.” My boss popped her head out of her office as I attempted to sneak past for a coffee first. “Won’t you step inside for a quick chat?”
“Yeah… you, uh, wanted to see me, Agent Lowry?” I cleared my throat as I drifted in after her, suddenly worried this entire meeting was its own sting operation.
And here I am, pretty much wearing the evidence…
“Yes.” Lowry gestured for me to close the door, which immediately sent my blood pressure skyrocketing. “It’s about Giancarlo Luxford.”
I shook my head at her offer to sit—because I couldn’t—and slid my hands into my coat pockets, discreetly manipulating how the fabric was covering things as I clocked the half open window to my right.
The drop wouldn’t be too bad…
“Stop looking for an escape route, Rowen,” she huffed, dropping into her squeaky desk chair. “This is good news.”
“Oh?” I chuckled, impressed as always by her ability to correctly read the situation, unlike most of the agents she was in charge of wrangling.
It’s why she’s the one in charge of this circus.
Lowry looked like she was trying to suppress a smile. “Apparently, you made quite the impression on our important client. Mr. Luxford specifically requested you to be his liaison for the case.”
I knew what liaison meant, but my brain just couldn’t seem to wrap itself around the implications.
“W-what the fuck?” I stuttered instead of saying anything remotely professional.
Whatever.
Lowry knows the score with me.
This time, she barked a laugh. “It means you impressed Luxford enough that he wants you to be his on-call point of contact while the case is active.”
Now I was really considering jumping out the window, because as soon as Giano discovered what I’d done, he’d revoke my little liaison designation faster than Agent Markel hit the bathroom after drinking all the free coffee in the breakroom.
Whomp whomp.
It was fine. I didn’t want Giano keeping me on-call, because I didn’t want to feel any closer to him than I already did. It was incredibly annoying how goddamn relatable I found this billionaire—how easy things were between us, as if we’d known each other our entire lives.
How much I liked claiming him as mine.
But people like me don’t get to keep nice things.
I suddenly realized I should probably say something about this Very Big Opportunity I was being given by our “important client.”
“Cool.” I nodded, attempting to display a smile that didn’t look too constipated. “That’s… cool.”
Really cool, Rowen.
“Mr. Luxford also made sure I knew it had been your idea to question The Andervelt suspect,” Lowry added, eyeing me curiously. “Additionally, he requested that Agent Markel be removed from his case, so I will need to reconfigure the team a bit before today’s press conference.”
That fucking asshole.
I may as well have been standing naked in my boss’s office for how exposed I now felt.
My heart rate had gone into overdrive, my head so full of static and my guts twisting so alarmingly, it was as if I’d already hit up the coffee pot slop in the breakroom.
All I could think about was getting as far away from whatever the hell this emotion was, before Lowry and her sixth sense picked up on it.
“Sounds good!” I blurted out, sweating through the unseasonably warm peacoat I deeply regretted grabbing as I hustled for the door. “I’ll just… let you get ready for the press conference now. Let me know what you need me to do as… liaison to Giancarlo Luxford.”
Temporary liaison.
“Why don’t you take these files with you to start.” Lowry’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “It will get you caught up on everything we know so far.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I slowly turned to face my boss, gaping at the stack of papers and manilla folders she was just handing me, as if I wasn’t the actual culprit of this ridiculous crime.
It could still be a trap…
I awkwardly took the files, being careful not to disturb the contents of my coat while mumbling some bullshit about being grateful for the opportunity before scuttling away like a cockroach.
“Well, looky looky who showed up at the office on a random workday… just like a real agent.”
I sighed loudly as I slammed the pile of papers onto my borrowed desk in the back corner. “Not sure if it slipped your feeble mind, Markel, but there’s a big press conference today for Giancarlo Luxford’s case… the case you’re no longer on, by the way.”
Fuck, that felt good to say.
“What the hell are you talking about, Quincy?” Markel boomed, striding to my desk just so he could jab a meaty finger in my direction from inches away. “I’m one of the leads on the Luxford case—”
“Not anymore, you’re not.” I calmly held Markel’s angry gaze as I awkwardly slipped my new prize into the center—lockable—desk drawer while he was distracted with staring me down. “Go ask Lowry yourself. Luxford wants you to kick rocks.”
“And I’m sure you had nothing to do with that, hmm?” he hissed under his breath, no longer putting on a show for his coworkers. “You ran off with Luxford that day we were at The Andervelt, so lord knows what kind of sexual favors you gave him to—”
“ARE YOU IMPLYING I’VE SLEPT WITH A CLIENT?!” I shouted, feigning horror at the incredibly accurate accusation. “Hate to break it to you, Markel, but Luxford was just impressed with me—especially with my idea to question The Andervelt suspect for his case.”
Impressed and apparently protective and I don’t know what the hell to do with any of it.
Agent Markel looked about ready to implode, but instead of opening his foolish mouth again, he spun and stomped away, presumably to talk to Lowry.
Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.
Needing to look like I was doing something productive while I mentally recalibrated from the past ten minutes, I sat and started flipping through the stack of evidence, knowing full well new intel was coming that would make any evidence in this pile obsolete.
As expected, the Art Crime Team didn’t have much to go on yet.
For as impressive as The Andervelt connection sounded, it was a dead end, and a raid on the poor floral design company I’d impersonated had yielded even less.
My only concern had been that my chatty friends in the service elevator might remember our previous encounter, but I saw nothing in the files to imply they’d ratted me out.
That fifty I slipped ‘em was working overtime.
The camera footage from Giano’s building had failed to capture my face—because I was a professional, thank you very much—and I would have been shocked if the NYPD managed to follow my trajectory through the city.
They had nothing, and would continue to have nothing until I gave them something.
Which is exactly what’s about to happen during the press conference today…
My gaze drifted to the generic plastic wall clock, loudly ticking over the hum of voices around me, and my chest tightened with regret. Giano was about to be incredibly upset with me—for multiple reasons—but it had to be this way.
Not only would it strengthen our ruse for him to appear legitimately shocked by the turn of events, but being hit upside the head with the harsh reality of what a dirtbag I actually was would snap him out of the foolish fantasy about “us” he’d created in his mind.
Giancarlo Luxford thought he was playing it cool, but the man practically had heart emojis blasting out of his eyeballs when he looked at me.
The worst part was he clearly thought what he mistakenly felt was real.
It’s because he doesn’t actually know me at all.
What Giano didn’t realize was that, once the shine faded on our make-believe relationship, he would realize he was better off exactly where he was, and with whom.
He already had a perfectly respectable fiancée in the form of Anastasia Bosco, and despite him claiming “it wasn’t like that” between them, I knew the drill.
No one with the privileges he’d had since birth would choose someone like me—choose to throw it all away when it was easier to discard me as quickly as the rich discarded anything that no longer pleased them.
And I’ve always preferred to blow things up myself.
For a brief moment, I vaguely wondered what Giano had been so desperate to tell me the night of the heist, but then decided it was probably better for both of us if I didn’t know.
Distance makes the heart grow colder.
Luckily, the field office soon erupted into a flurry of activity soon after, distracting me from my thoughts.
Lowry emerged from her office to announce the “reconfigured” team handling the Luxford case, and Markel glared from the reject corner as I, and the rest of the Chosen Ones were herded outside and into unmarked cars to be driven across town to the press conference.
It’s showtime once again.
Upon arrival, Agent Lowry arranged the “team” on stage to the left of the podium, all while assuring us that all we had to do was stand there and look pretty for the cameras.
My breath caught when Giano appeared at the opposite side of the stage, with Daddy Pinstripes and a gray-haired gentleman who looked even more expensive than the two of them put together.
And I choked on that same breath when his gaze ran over me—me in his borrowed peacoat—with what could only be described as bald hunger.
It sure was fun while it lasted.
Stubbornly ignoring the knowledge that my cum was still inside him—trapped inside him with a goddamn butt plug—I simply nodded professionally in his direction, knowing it was probably the last time Giancarlo would look at me with heart-eyes ever again.
Maybe in another life, Moneybags.
The press was given the go-ahead to descend, and Agent Lowry took the mic.
She started by introducing the important players, including Mr. Expensive—Samuel something—who was the head of fine art at Sotheby’s New York.
She then kicked off the party for real with the official announcement that the Luxford family art collection, currently listed for an upcoming auction, had been stolen.
Of course, this threw the press into a frenzy, but Lowry continued with the basic rundown of the crime and assurances that the venerable Art Crime Team was already on the case—“pursuing promising leads” to return the art to its rightful owner.
Brace yourself for a new lead to drop, boss.
Giano then stepped up to recite a heartfelt speech about his mother’s legacy and the value of sharing that legacy with others, which was a slightly ironic sentiment, considering the art in question was just going to end up in some rich asshole’s private collection.
But they’ll have to find it first.
Then the floor was opened to questions, and as soon as one exceptionally smug-looking reporter stepped forward, I knew the time had come.
Take cover!
“Jack Wallash, New York Post. Does either Sotheby’s or the FBI Art Crime Team have any comments on news that the stolen art has made its way to Italy?”
The silence that momentarily fell over the gathered crowd was thick, and when Giano turned his face in my direction—complete with picture-perfect shocked expression—all I could do was play along with some faux shock of my own.
Now do you see who you got into bed with?
Agent Lowry quickly muscled Giano away from the line of fire before demanding the reporter prove the existence of his intel—the very intel my people abroad had emailed directly to the Post for maximum damage, as instructed by me.
Oops.
"Our verification desk says with 98% certainty that this is not an AI-generated photo." A gleeful Jack Wallash held up his phone, clearly showing one of Angelica Luxford’s Picasso’s propped against a sun-drenched villa’s terrace with an Italian newspaper in the foreground.
As expected, Lowry immediately pulled the plug on the entire media event.
Never let them touch the cup.
I could feel Giano’s accusing stare still fixed on me—and rightfully so—because this was not part of our plan.
We’d agreed that I would hide everything locally for a couple of weeks max before an anonymous tip came through, leading the FBI to a miraculous recovery of the undamaged art in time for the Sotheby’s auction.
Instead, it now looked like an international game of chase would be necessary, because I was nothing if not committed to the bit.
Technically, all I’d agreed to do was hide the art, but I’d never specified where.
The way I saw it, as long as I got Giano his art back in the timeframe discussed, I’d still get paid, no matter how difficult I made it for him along the way.
So, I did what I did best—cause chaos while ensuring my partner would never get the chance to take me down.
The name of my game is malicious compliance.
I knew I looked like an asshole—was an asshole—and that the reasons behind my actions were questionable at best, and more than a little damning the closer you looked.
Maybe I was jealous, or maybe I’d just decided to spice things up a little because I was bored.
Or maybe I got off on watching a billionaire squirm like a bug under the heat of a magnifying glass.
Maybe I wanted to see how desperately Giancarlo Luxford would beg me to return his precious art—all so he could auction it off, piece by piece like animals sent to the slaughter, to the highest, hungry bidder.
I just love it when he begs.