Even though MJ’s face softened at the mention of her girlfriend, she didn’t take the bait. “You can see for yourself at the bonfire tonight. Tell me what’s going on. I’ve never seen you quite this bad.”
After opening my mouth to change the subject again, I closed it. I was just so fucking tired of lying to my family. They thought I was a personal art curator who traveled around the world helping obscenely wealthy people add to their collections. Over the years, I’d implied things like confidentiality agreements and nondisclosures kept me from being able to talk about it much.
I sighed. “I need to make a job change.”
She muttered, “About damned time,” before pulling out of the parking space. “What precipitated this decision?”
I looked out the window, trying to figure out just how much I could tell her. “My current job is very stressful. It’s not a good long-term situation.”
MJ was quiet for a time while we made our way to the interstate. Once we were speeding along out of the city, she spared me a glance. “Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to be an attorney and not be able to help your brother out of legal trouble?”
I gawped at her. “What? Who’s in legal trouble?”
“Don’t play stupid, King. I’m the one who reviews all of your legal papers. Leases, taxes, etc. And you live way beyond your means. Whatever you’re into is going to come back to bite you in the ass. Why won’t you confide in me and let me help you?”
I huffed out a breath and sunk deeper into my seat. “It’s embarrassing.”
MJ laughed. “Do you think you’re the only Wilde who’s done something embarrassing? Wow. You obviously haven’t been paying attention lately. Did anyone tell you about Hudson accidentally proposing to Darci? Or about Felix falling in love with someone without realizing the man was a royal? Or West almost letting Nico walk out of his life for good because of his stubborn pride? We are all fuckups, Kingston. All of us.”
“What about you, smarty-pants?” I asked her.
“I wasted ten years I could have spent with the love of my life because I was too chickenshit to ask her out in high school. Now stop trying to move the conversation off of you.”
I drummed my fingers on my knee for a moment before coming to a decision. “If I ever got arrested by the FBI for a crime committed in a different country, would you be able to help me or find someone who could?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “The FBI?”
I sighed. “Just answer the question.”
She thought about it for a moment. “It depends on what kind of crime it’s for.”
I’d wanted to ask her these questions for years, and now here we were. It felt strange to finally tell someone the truth.
More or less.
“Hypothetically speaking of course,” I began, “what if it was art theft?” I braced myself for her to respond with outrage or condescension.
Surprisingly, MJ smiled wide. “I knew it! You’re part of a cabal… wait! You’re mixed up with Italian mafia… or… No! It’s the Russian mob.”
Not the reaction I’d been expecting. “I’m being serious.”
Her brows furrowed as she glanced over at me. “For real?”
I swallowed. “Not for real, obviously. I said hypothetically.”
She nodded slowly. “And hypothetically, how the hell would you have gotten involved in an art theft?”
My back teeth ground together as memories of Elek came unbidden into my mind. I hated that after two years he could still elicit such a rise out of me. I’d hoped taking my revenge would rid him from my life and mind for good, but still the thought of him sent a storm of emotions through me. “Hypothetically, I was young and stupid. I trusted the wrong person who told me they loved me.”
She glanced over at me again and reached out to squeeze my hand. “Oh, babe. I’m sorry.”
I felt a burning in my throat. “Don’t. I don’t… just… don’t. Okay? I need legal help, not… whatever that is.”
MJ’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, well, if you ask me, you need love help too. It’s plain as day on your face. When was the last time you had a boyfriend?”
I held up a hand. “No. We’re not doing this. Art theft, remember? Art. Theft.”
“Okay. Art theft. What kind of evidence would they have on you?”
Before I could answer her, she added, “And stop saying hypothetically, I’m your attorney. It’s already privileged.”
I let my head fall back against the seat and began recounting all of the jobs I’d done that the authorities were aware of. I didn’t bother mentioning the ones that had never been reported. I’d stolen from many people who’d rather suffer the loss in silence than call in law enforcement. In fact, those were the best kind. But they were also the most dangerous. On jobs where the artwork was legal and insured, people tended to let you take it without risking getting hurt. Not so much with drug lords, corrupt oligarchs, and owners of stolen goods.