Dirty, Reckless Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 3)

I shake my head. “I do our deposits after I lock up every night. I never leave cash on the premises.” We rarely deal in cash anyway, but there is the occasional tourist buying a cheap print who will hand over a few twenties rather than their Visa. “We’re lucky they didn’t take anything else. At least we don’t have to get the cops involved.” Because we can’t tell the police about this.

Nelson squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Lucky,” he mutters.

I fold my arms across my chest, and the silence reverberates between us, heavy with his disappointment.

I don’t know how much I just lost him, but I’d guess it’s a number that involves at least seven digits. His investor was so desperate for Bauer’s Discovery collection that he’d have paid anything for it. He was about to close a deal worth millions. I was about to get a commission with six figures. I could have finally helped my mother in a big way and put the rest in savings so I’d never again have to put another artist’s name on something I painted.

“The alarm didn’t go off,” Nelson says quietly.

My cheeks burn. “I must have forgotten to set it.”

“And the security cameras?”

“I hadn’t checked them in a few days. I had no idea they hadn’t been running properly.”

His hands ball into fists at his sides. “Jesus Christ, Ellie. I trusted you with the job.”

“At least they didn’t steal anything real.”

“You think that fifteen million you just cost me wasn’t real? You’d have thought it was all kinds of real when you took your cut.”

I look away, my cheeks heating in shame. Not shame for losing the deal—because fuck him—but shame for being complicit in the deceit. I should never have agreed to it. Every day I worked on this project, I wanted to call Nelson and tell him I was out, but I was in too deep. It was too late.

“Any chance it could have been the investor?” I ask, grasping at straws.

“You think my investor came here from South Africa, broke into the gallery, and stole the paintings?”

I turn up my palms. “Nobody else would have known what we had.”

“He didn’t even know we had it here. As far as he knows, we’re still cultivating the collection,” he says through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry. It was a mistake.”

“Yeah. It was. And maybe it was my mistake to trust a gutter rat with my gallery.”

I want to spit in his face. I’m well aware I don’t come from the same social class as this man, but he’s never rubbed it in my face before.

“Hell, maybe you did this.” He stalks toward me. “I know your conscience was giving you fits. Maybe this is your way of getting out of our deal. Or maybe Colton’s behind this. Maybe he’s trying to get back at me for being a shitty father. Daddy never loved me. Boohoo.”

I press the keys into his hands. “Maybe this is my way of quitting.”

“You’re not walking out that door,” Nelson says.

I shrug. “I can’t work for someone who doesn’t trust me. You don’t trust me anymore, and I don’t blame you. I’m sorry about the pai

ntings.”

“What are you going to do, Ellie? Work the register at McDonald’s? Go back to Dyer and move in with your mom?”

“You’re being a dick. I’m sorry about what happened, but I don’t know what else I can do.”

“Lock up.” He tosses the keys onto the counter. “That is, if you remember how. I’ll call you in a few days. We’ll talk again then.”

“Don’t bother. I’m not doing this anymore.”

“I will call you.”

“Don’t bother,” I say, but he’s already walking out the door.