Chapter 8
Eight
Giancarlo
I’d assumed seeing Rowen again would feel different than before—less thrilling now that we had an arrangement and I no longer needed an excuse to lure him closer.
I couldn’t wait to see him again.
When Franz sent me the press coverage from the night before, I was thankful Rowen had left when he did. Not only because there was no photographic evidence he’d been in attendance, but if I’d had an image of his face to fixate on all day, I may have gone insane.
Then, the director of The Andervelt Museum called with news of the robbery and I had never felt such a certainty that kismet existed.
Part of me briefly wondered if Rowen himself had stolen the bronze statue as a message, but then realized how unlikely that would be.
It wasn’t publicized that my family donated it—per my grandmother’s wishes—not to mention, I assumed it would have been near impossible for him to pull off a heist the morning of my party and arrive on time.
Especially looking as delectable as he did…
Then again, I didn’t truly know what he was capable of. I’d researched the crime that resulted in his arrest, of course—in depth—but I had no doubt he’d seamlessly masterminded countless jobs before that one.
Which is why he’s perfect to be in charge of mine.
Of course, there were other reasons I wanted him involved. Aside from the magnetic attraction I felt toward him, I sensed something else—a desperate desire to be free from his current circumstances.
And if anyone can understand that, it’s me.
I still felt terrible over how Rowen had first reacted to my proposal—the stark betrayal I’d witnessed on his face when he’d thought I set him up—even if I’d caught a glimpse of hunger as well.
It was clear he despised his job, and since I could also understand being cornered into a line of work that felt like a prison sentence, I knew my offer would be too tempting to resist.
He needs this almost as much as I do.
Rowen agreed to my schemes because he missed his former life of crime, and against all good sense, I wanted to help him reclaim his former glory while protecting him with every resource I had at my disposal.
Anything he wants, he can have it.
It had been my request to Director Westcott to meet the agents investigating the stolen statue.
This was partly because I couldn’t wait another second to see Rowen, but also because I was curious about seeing him “on the job.” I’d expected his attitude to be uncooperative—perhaps even combative—but was pleasantly surprised by how helpful he was toward The Andervelt staff.
He likes to be seen as the expert.
And the one in charge…
I suspected he also enjoyed looking smarter than the FBI agent who was with him—the one who’d inappropriately commented on my mother’s appearance.
“Go fuck yourself, Markel!” Rowen called out in a sing-song voice through the cracked window as my driver, Scott, merged into traffic and whisked us away. “Oh, sorry.” He glanced at me, his gorgeous eyes gauging my reaction. “I swear a lot.”
My lips twisted in amusement. “It’s quite all right. I would swear more if given the chance.”
I wasn’t sure what possessed me to display such frankness, but I was immediately rewarded by Rowen grinning so brightly, I nearly kissed him, propriety be damned.
“I’ll have you swearing like a sailor in no time, Moneybags.” His gaze briefly drifted to the back of Scott’s head before returning to me. “So… where are we headed for that drink?”
The suggestiveness in his tone was difficult to ignore, but I did want to keep things as professional as possible.
To start.
“My hotel,” I replied, only to realize exactly what that sounded like as his smirk grew and eyes sparkled. “To the Grille Room at The Luxford. I’ve barely eaten today and I would like to feed you as well.”
Something strange occurred as Rowen’s entire body froze and a nearly expressionless look fell over his face. Before I could ask if he was feeling ill, he shook himself free of his trance, smiling pleasantly. Too pleasantly.
Fuck.
“Haven’t you seen enough of your hotel today?”
“W-what?” I stuttered, still trying to pinpoint how I’d triggered him a moment ago. “I… haven’t been to The Luxford since the night we met.”
I still need to thank Franz for dragging me out of the house…
A genuine grin replaced his fake one. “So you were lying to Bradley Westcott the Fifteenth?”
“What?” I repeated, more lost than before.
“You told the museum director you were already ‘in the area’ at your hotel, so of course he needed to clear his schedule to meet with you in person.” He scoffed and shook his head. “Unbelievable…”
“It was only a little white lie!” I explained as the car slowed to a stop. “I needed an excuse to come down to The Andervelt and—”
“Hey.” Rowen laid his hand on my forearm, effectively quieting me as electricity raced down my spine at the contact.
“I don’t give a shit that you lied to some stuffed suit.
It’s just…” His gaze roamed over my face, his expression shrewd.
“I’m surprised you managed to fool me. I’m usually pretty good at sniffing out a lie… ”
Oh.
Oh no.
I could not abide Rowen Quincy thinking I was untrustworthy, even if that was completely ridiculous given the circumstances.
Without thinking, I gripped his chin, pinning him in place. “I will not lie to you,” I hissed. “Especially not if it’s something important.”
Not like how I’ve been lied to.
Thankfully, my unnecessarily aggressive display didn’t make him shut down again. Instead, he patted my arm like one might placate a misbehaving dog.
“I’m not judging, Giano, promise. But if you’re gonna lie like that to a mark, you need to keep track of what you’ve said—otherwise, you’ll get caught.”
My mark?
Oh… he means the victim… of my crimes.
This realization had me releasing him like I’d been burned, but then the car door abruptly opened behind me.
“We’ve arrived, Mr. Luxford.”
“Yes, t-thank you…” I grimaced apologetically at Scott as I exited the car, since I didn’t usually make him open the door for me. “Sorry about that. I got distracted by the conversation…”
“Very good, sir.” My family’s longtime chauffeur warmly smiled, nodding at Rowen as he stepped out onto the brick drive of The Luxford’s porte-cochère and walked to the grand entrance. “Shall I wait here or return at a specific time?”
I could feel Rowen watching me from where he stood, so I gave the only answer I could think of to hide how badly I didn’t want “drinks” to end anytime soon.
Another little white lie.
“Why don’t you head home for the night, Scott.” I politely inclined my head in lieu of a handshake. “I’ll call for a car for both me and Mr. Quincy once we’re done here. Separate cars I mean! Two cars…”
Sigh.
Scott was far too professional to draw attention to my slip-up, but I caught a ghost of a smile as he turned and climbed into the car before driving away.
“I take it back!” Rowen called out. “You suck at lying.”
It’s true.
I huffed a laugh, but neither confirmed nor denied the implications. Striding across the bricks, I opened the heavy gold door leading to the lobby before waving him through. Again, he tensed, recovering quickly but not fast enough for me to miss what the problem here was.
He’s not used to kindness.
No, that’s not it…
He’s not used to care.
Even though I was the furthest thing from “nurtured” myself—aside from Franz’ overbearing attention—the thought of no one properly caring for Rowen ever set my teeth on edge.
“This way.” I grasped his elbow and dragged him along as gently as possible considering my near-blinding need to get us to the Grille Room as quickly as possible. “My usual table will be ready for us.”
“Ohhh… so you made a dinner reservation for our date, did you?” he cooed as we sped across the marble floor, allowing me to act like a caveman for some inexplicable reason. “Did you get us a room too?”
I skidded to a stop by a blessedly empty seating area, finding myself scrambling for an explanation once again.
“The table is permanently reserved for me, or any Luxford Holdings shareholders who request it.” Realizing I was still clutching his elbow, I released him and swallowed thickly. “And no, I did not get us a… room.”
Although I could.
“I was just teasing you, Giano. For the record though…” Rowen traced a finger down the lapel of my suit jacket.
“I wouldn’t be opposed to you getting us a room.
” When I didn’t reply—too stunned to speak—he took a step back with both hands raised in front of him.
“Unless I’ve totally misread the situation—”
“No!” I replied, louder than I intended in the cavernous space. “You haven’t misread anything. I’m simply trying—”
“To keep things professional between us?” he offered, looking close to laughter at my expense once again.
“To have manners, Rowen,” I sighed, straightening my tie and hoping my embarrassment over how awkward I was behaving wasn’t obvious.
I feel like a fumbling teenager!
Rowen waved a hand dismissively. “Oh please. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Moneybags, but I don’t really have manners. So you don’t need to worry about that kind of shit around me.”
I pressed my lips together, annoyed that I couldn’t—shouldn’t—insist.
The truth was, I did want to worry about it, not just because politeness was how I’d been raised, but because I wanted to be nice to him.
I wanted to feed him, spoil him, then figure out where he lived so I could determine if it was adequate.
And I was painfully aware that all of the above was not only wildly inappropriate but completely unnecessary.
Because he doesn’t want any of it.
But I can’t help myself…
I took a single step closer, desperate to make contact again. “This is who I am, Rowen.”
He squinted at me. “Mmm… I don’t think it is.
” When I glared, he threw his head back and laughed, seemingly uncaring how it echoed off the marble.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve seen your Luxford persona.
The way you made polite small talk with the guests at your party and how you got all snooty with Westcott at The Andervelt… .”
Snooty?!
“But I’ve also seen you flustered when I checked for a wire.” He closed the distance between us and yanked me closer by the lapels, recreating the moment in question. “And I know you’ll do anything to sell those paintings for the highest possible amount.”
“Anything,” I whispered with my mouth centimeters from his, feeling as if I were making a deal with the snake from the Garden of Eden.
Knowledge gained in exchange for a fall from grace.
There was no danger of eternal judgment—especially now that my mother was gone from this earth—but even if there had been, I would’ve still wanted a bite.
“Let’s go eat,” he continued, sliding his hands up and over my shoulders until his thumbs brushed the skin above my shirt collar, making me shiver.
“And we’ll make polite small talk over fancy apps at your special reserved table.
Later on, once we’re behind closed doors in a hotel room, we can discuss all the things we don’t want anyone else to know about us. All our dirty secrets…”
“Yes…” I murmured, hypnotized by his calm tone, the way he was caressing my neck, the thought of having secrets that only belonged to me and him. “I want all of that.”
“Of course you do.” He smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes before patting me on the chest and gesturing in the direction we’d been headed. “Okay, Luxford, lead the way. I’m ready to be fed.”