CHAPTER 15 #2
She and I haven’t spoken since Mikhail’s visit to the boat and her casual suggestion we hand over Josie.
“Be careful with her tonight,” Marcus suggests. “She’s still salty.”
“That’s her problem, not mine,” I growl. The last thing I want to do is deal with shit from her.
To my surprise, Connie greets me with a bright smile. Her hand goes to my shoulder and she leans in to give me a kiss on my cheek. It lingers too long and I’m the one to step back.
Connie doesn’t seem to notice and touches the lapel of my coat. “Look at you… all cleaned up and looking the legitimate businessman.”
“You look very nice too,” I say, because she seems to have left her hurt feelings outside and I’ll accept that.
Connie nabs a glass of red wine from a passing waiter, her eyes slowly sweeping the room over the rim of the glass as she takes a sip. “Big crowd.”
“Bigger than last month.”
“Look at you, Finn. Definitely a real businessman, but you’ll always be a high seas pirate to us.”
Marcus snorts and I shoot him a look.
“Be nice, Cons,” he says.
“I am being nice,” Connie insists.
“You’re being something,” I mutter.
Connie pouts, looking hurt. “I’m being nice, Finn. Let me be nice.”
“You being nice is weird,” I say, and we all laugh, the tension finally broken. I hate being on eggshells around her, but I can’t forget her threats aboard The Quartermaster three days ago.
Deep in my gut, I’m having trust issues with her and it’s making me twitchy.
Connie drinks and turns the glass in her hand. The dramatic makeup around her eyes catches the warm track light and makes her look like she’s been lit for film.
She surveys the packed gallery. “Seems like you have a winner with Margaret’s work.”
I nod, taking it all in. This is going to be a huge success by the time we close the doors. “Three of the New York galleries are starting to ask about her.”
“What’s her work going for?”
“I bumped her last month. Five to seven for the small work, twelve to eighteen for the large.”
“Not bad,” she murmurs. “But chump change for what we can make on our imports. I don’t know why you keep the gallery.”
Marcus and Connie make ridiculously good money running for me, and I also give them a cut of the gallery proceeds as a supplement. I share everything with them.
“The gallery is how we stay off the feds’ radar, Connie. You know this.”
“I know,” she huffs. “I’m just always going to be slightly amazed people pay you twelve grand for a blue rectangle.”
I glance at the painting right behind Connie. “It’s not a blue rectangle, it’s—”
“It’s a blue rectangle, Finn.”
Marcus laughs and I stare at Margaret’s piece entitled Blue Haven.
It’s a blue rectangle, and I laugh.
For about ninety seconds, the three of us—smugglers dressed up in our best finery—are easy with each other like we were still running the streets in our youth.
But I should know better than to relax because I see Josie making her way to me through the crowd, coming up just behind Connie. She crosses the floor toward us with her wine in one hand and a smile on her face that suggests she’s having a good time.
The lights catch the green sparkle of her dress and if I thought men looked at Connie when she passed, I realize it’s Josie who’s the showstopper here.
A flash of jealousy hits me as every man swivels their head or surreptitiously darts a glance so their wives don’t see the vision walking my way.
But her eyes are on me and me alone. I lift my arm without thinking, an invitation to tuck into me.
Josie slides under it and my hand tightens on her waist to pull her in close.
She glances up at me, blue eyes shimmering. “Margaret is such an interesting woman. A little dark, but she’s got a brilliantly creative mind.”
My eyes drop to Josie’s mouth and I forget I’m in my art gallery, amid a hundred guests and on display for all to see. I can’t fucking help myself when I bend down and brush my mouth over hers. “She’s a gem, that’s for sure.”
Josie breathes out against the kiss, looks a bit dazzled, then collects herself. She turns, takes in Marcus and Connie, and a new smile lights her face. “Hi.”
“Hi, Josie,” Marcus says warmly.
“I don’t think official introductions have been made,” I say to Josie. “You met Marcus the other night, but this is Connie. She also… works for me.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Josie says to Connie, leveling a smile at Marcus.
My eyes cut to Connie and her expression tells a story I don’t like.
Marcus, who’s been watching Connie and the temperature of the situation, steps in. “Josie… what do you think of the show?”
“Honestly? I think Margaret’s incredible. The one in the back room with the green band of light through the trees… I could look at that for an hour. And the gallery itself is beautiful, between the brick and the lighting.”
“Margaret’s terrific,” Marcus says. “Finn just told us that some New York galleries are interested in her work.”
Josie turns her head to look up at me. “That sounds like a pretty big deal. Amazing.”
Before I can agree, Connie’s voice cuts through, harsh and shredding. “You know what’s amazing to me?” My stomach tightens as I turn her way. “It’s amazing that we’re all pretending like it’s okay that she’s standing here.”
A wave of fury hits me so white-hot words fail me.
Not Josie, though. “I’m sorry… are you talking about me?”
“Yes, I’m talking about you,” Connie sneers. Her eyes track Josie up and down. “I love your dress, by the way. Green’s a bold choice.”
Josie’s brow narrows in confusion because the words of the compliment don’t match her condescending tone. “Thank you,” Josie says, almost as if it’s a question.
“Connie,” I warn, my mouth finally working.
“Finn hates green,” Connie says simply. “If you knew him at all, you’d know that.”
Josie stiffens beside me and I growl low. “That’s enough.”
But I can tell by the look in Connie’s eyes that she’s nowhere near done. “He hates green. Blue’s his color. He’s been telling me for years he hates green. But wear what you want, sweetie.”
“Come on, Connie,” Marcus says, almost pleading. “Don’t be that way.”
“What?” Connie asks him, batting her lashes. “I complimented her dress. That was nice, right?” She then turns to Josie, her voice turning pure saccharine. “I’m sure she’s secure enough to handle a bit of feedback. Aren’t you, Josie.”
“I—”
“Connie,” I snarl, leaning toward her. “Stop.”
She doesn’t stop, her face mottling red. She drinks the rest of her wine in three long guzzles and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
Her eyes blaze. “I can’t believe you brought her here, Finn.”
I scrub my hand through my hair. “Jesus Christ.”
“Into our house.”
“You’re fucking unbelievable.”
Connie’s voice is strangled. “She works for people who hunt people like us. Do you understand that? Every problem we now face has been because of her, and she’s going to keep being the problem until we’re all in a federal cell or a hole in the ground because we crossed Voronin, and you brought her here.
Tonight. To stand at our bar drinking the wine you bought with the money she’s going to put us all in prison for.
I’m not having it, Finn. I’m not standing in this room and pretending it’s normal. ”
The gallery hasn’t noticed, everyone still buzzing in their own conversations. The jazz is on the speakers and the wine is moving and no one is watching us closely enough to have heard what Connie just said.
But Josie heard it and I can feel the fear and confusion moving through her body. Rather than pull her in close, I release my hold and reach for Connie.
I take her by the upper arm. “Outside. Now.”
“Finn—” she whines all while her eyes flash angrily at Josie.
“Now.”
I turn to Josie who’s stepped back half a step. Her color is high, but her face is composed. I imagine she’s spent her entire career being composed.
“I am so sorry,” I say to her. “I’ll be right back. Five minutes.”
“Take your time,” she murmurs, eyes relieved that I’m removing Connie from her presence.
I don’t blame her.
“Marcus,” I say, sparing him a glance. A silent message.
“I’ve got her,” he says softly, his hand going to Josie’s elbow. “Come on. Let’s get you another glass of wine.”
I walk Connie across the floor toward the side door that leads to the loading alley. She lets me hold her arm until we’re halfway across the gallery and then she shakes loose.
I don’t stop her and she gets to the door before I do, pushing through and stepping into the chilly evening air.
The alley stinks from a restaurant dumpster two doors down.
Connie whips to face me, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t talk to me like a child, Finn.”
“Well, you’re acting like a fucking child so exactly how am I supposed to talk to you?” I snap.
“I’m acting like the only person in the room who hasn’t lost their mind.”
I take in a breath, trying to calm my pulse. I lower the temperature of my tone. “You can’t do that, Connie. Not in front of a hundred of my clients. Not in front of Josie. Not ever.”
“Why not? I’m a member of this team, aren’t I?”
I ignore her question. “You can’t do it because I’m asking you not to.”
“Asking? Or telling?”
I sigh with frustration. “Both. Take it however you need to take it.”