52. Amelie
52
AMELIE
Jensen meets me by the men’s bathroom. He looks absolutely crazed—wide eyes, shaking hands. I don’t know why this specific job is stressing him out so much, but it seems to be his least favorite to date. I guess I understand why; one wrong move and this whole thing topples to the ground.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing me by the elbow. “The door is already open.”
I frown. “They left it unlocked? That’s odd.”
“No, Ames. I broke the lock.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
I mindlessly follow him while checking over my shoulder every few seconds. There are a few security guards flitting around, and I have absolutely no intention of catching their eye. Truthfully, I should’ve chosen a more downplayed dress, but I simply couldn’t. This one was practically begging to come home with me.
“Has everything gone smoothly so far?” Jensen asks, moving my hand to the crook of his arm. “Any problems?”
I shake my head. “No problems. Roman knows we’re here, but I don’t think he’ll do anything about it. He seems preoccupied right now.”
“How do you know that he knows we’re here?”
I don’t answer immediately, which prompts Jensen to sigh. “You provoked him.”
“I did not! We just made eye contact.”
“Oh, joy.” He turns us down an empty, darkened hall, stopping right in front of the first door. Faint shuffling comes from inside, and my heart speeds. The noise from the bidding area seems to increase, fits of laughter and applause clashing at the same time. There’s a curtain further down the hall, which means we’re directly behind the stage.
I don’t love that.
“Let’s get this over with,” I mumble, pushing the door open.
Inside is my genuine worst nightmare.
There are stacks of canvases—at least fifty, maybe more. On top of that, there are workers on the opposite end of the room, pushing one of the paintings on a dolly. I duck behind the door and let out a breath before looking back inside.
This is fine. We only came here for two pieces. Surely, we can find them quickly enough.
“Start digging,” I whisper to Jen, hiding behind a marble column. The men in the room seem very preoccupied, which is good. Their attention will be far from us. “We’re looking for the Ophelia and Lover of Mine.”
“That would be easy, if there weren’t a thousand canvases in here,” Jensen grumbles, crouching beside me.
“We need to find them before this segment ends.” I pick up a few canvases by the edge and glance over them, finding nothing we need. “Start looking.”
He wants to argue. That much is obvious, but to his credit, he keeps his mouth shut. Instead, he starts sifting through the row of canvases closest to him.
I’m sure there’s some rhyme or reason to the set-up of this room, but I haven’t figured it out yet. It wouldn’t be totally random, right? There’s got to be an order. Maybe by artist, or museum.
Wait. That’s actually smart.
Quietly, I go back to my hiding place and spy on the men across the room. They’re loading multiple pieces onto a dolly. I can’t find anything that answers my question, but I do notice that they’re all from the same pile. They’re putting them in order, one after the other.
I’m about to do something so incredibly foolish, and I don’t think it’s going to work.
“Excuse me,” I say, stepping out from behind the pillar.
Both men jump and look at me, clearly confused as to why I’m here and not at the auction. I put on my prettiest smile and try to look confident, though I really feel like knocking them out. It would be easier that way.
“Can we help you?” One of them asks, his voice gruff.
“Yes, actually. I’m working for Roman Arlington. I need to know which of these are from The Gallery so I can load them.”
The other man—I deem him The Tall One—raises a brow. “You?”
“Yes.” I raise my own brows in return. They’re prettier than his; much more tailored. “Is there a problem?”
“Only confused as to why he sent… you over,” Shorty says, looking me up and down. “No offense, but you don’t look like you can lift a canvas.”
I blink. “You think that lifting cloth and a few pieces of wood is hard?”
“Some of these pieces are nearly eighty inches wide. That’s a pretty heavy load.”
“Yes. Well.” I sigh. “I’m really in a hurry, if you wouldn’t mind showing?—”
“The one’s you’re standing right next to,” The Tall One tells me. “Those are for The Gallery.”
“Perfect.” Thank goodness they’re finished with their antics. “Thank you. If you could spare?—”
“Pick it up.”
I scoff. “Pardon?”
“Pick up one of the pieces.”
Ugh . “I don’t have time for this. Roman has me on a schedule, and I’m not going to jeopardize my job to prove a point.”
The Tall One takes a step forward. “Come on. You’ll have to put them on a dolly anyways. Pick it up, put it on the thing. We just want to see you at work.”
And I just want to see your head detached from your body, is what I want to say, but I don’t.
I stifle a sigh and walk over to The Gallery’s stock. It’s hard to tell the difference between pieces since they’re stacked together, but I’m lucky enough to see the corner of Henry’s Ophelia . It’s the second canvas from the front.
I step forward and move the front piece aside, more so dragging it than lifting. I feel guilty, given that the bottom will probably be scraped up, but it has to be done. I’m not weak, but I’m certainly not strong, and though Meg would kill me for saying so, I really would prefer a man to do my heavy lifting. It’s not that I can’t, it’s that I don’t want to. Less strain on my manicure.
“Alright, boys,” I mumble. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” The Tall One says, sounding overtly amused. Is this what men do all day? Ask women to do things for their entertainment? I really hope something heavy falls on his foot.
Rolling my eyes, I try to find a good grip on the canvas. It’s nearly impossible to find somewhere that my hand won’t slip. If I get a splinter, I will beat the life out of these idiots.
Just as I grab onto the corner, I see movement behind the men, and my entire body relaxes.
Jensen .
It’s about time.
He mouths at me to keep quiet, so I do. I pretend to be extremely intrigued with the piece in front of me and make a show of looking for the perfect hand placement. One of the men sighs, like this is taking too long, so I do it even slower.
“You two are needed,” Jensen says finally, standing stiffly in place.
Dumb and Dumber whip around on him. “Who are you?”
“Event coordinator,” he says, and I stifle a laugh. The last thing Jensen could be is an event coordinator. “They need you two up front.”
“For what?”
“Probably because you’re harassing this woman who’s trying to do her work, and your pieces aren’t where they need to be.” His stoic voice makes this all the better. “They’ve got some questions.”
Shorty looks terrified, at least from the back. He’s flexing his hands at his sides, shaking his head so hard it looks like it might topple off. I think Jensen’s unapproachable air is really selling this thing. “It’s only been?—”
“I’d go if I were you.”
They don’t wait another second before exiting the room, leaving Jensen and I alone.
“Took you long enough.” I put my hands on my hips and sigh. “Now, help me with this. I’ve found the Ophelia, and I just need?—”
“ Nautical Abyss, right?” He motions over to where he was standing earlier. “I found it.”
My stomach flips, and I gape at him.
I’d nearly forgotten about the switch up at Bondi’s.
“ Lover of Mine is what I was going to say, but that’s good too.”
“Let’s get these out of here first,” he suggests. “Two for three isn’t bad.”
I chew on my lip, no doubt smearing my lipstick. He’s right—retrieving two paintings isn’t bad at all, but it also isn’t good enough. “No. We’re doing it right. Three for three.”
He sighs. “Amelie?—”
“Jensen.”
“Those men have jobs ,” he says, pointing out the open door. “They’re going to come back, and then what?”
“I don’t know, but we won’t have to worry about that if we hurry.”
His eyes are drilling a hole through my forehead. “Please listen to me, just this once. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
I sigh and yank my phone out of my bodice, where I’ve had it nicely tucked against my ribs. “Just keep looking for Lover of Mine .”
I’m waiting for an argument, but one never comes. He nods and continues to leaf through the pieces in front of us.
I, on the other hand, pull up Henry’s phone number with unsteady hands. The time on my screen lets me know that nearly twenty minutes have passed, and that gives me a horrible feeling.
you said lizzy can cause a scene?
His reply is instant.
Arlington
Give me a minute.
I shove my phone back down my dress and keep searching for the canvas. Whatever Liz is about to do, I need it to stop the auction. As much as I hate to admit it, Jensen is right. Those men are going to be back here unless something bigger gets their attention, and problems don’t just materialize. Not unless?—
My thoughts freeze at the sound of a guttural scream.
“ What is that ?” Jensen hisses, grabbing onto my elbow like he’s ready to drag me away from here.
I tug my arm loose and listen closely. After a moment, I realize that it is Lizzy’s voice. She’s wailing loudly, and I hear feedback from a microphone, like it’s been dropped. Feet are shuffling wildly around the place, and I know she’s done it.
She’s bought us time.
“Perfect,” I say. “It’s perfect. Now hurry, Jen. We don’t have long.”
Jensen, ever the optimist, groans and keeps looking for the painting.