I didn't think. I just took a deep breath, and yelled my scariest, most alarm-raising shriek as I ran at the figure. Using every memory of watching Sunday night football games with my Dad, I planted my foot and brought both my arms up and under his. I let my legs do the rest of the work, pumping hard to push him backwards and up.
It would have worked if he hadn't been well over six feet and outweighed me. And if he hadn't been pure muscle. Instead of flying to the ground like a sacked quarterback, he shrugged me off like a lineman, barely stumbling and still managing to hold onto the painting.
“What the hell are you doing?” the man yelled at me. I wasn't sure how he did it, but he somehow got bigger scarier. It didn't help that it was dark and now the light was behind him, completely hiding his face.
“You can't steal that painting,” I announced defiantly, trying to regain my balance. Where are you, Elijah? I silently pleaded. I had been hoping my war-cry had gotten his attention. Now I just had to stall the robber until Elijah got here.
“Steal?” The thief sounded confused. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“You can explain whatever it is that you're doing to them,” I said smugly, as flashlight beams came jogging toward us. I could see Elijah and three other security guards coming at us at breakneck speeds.
Elijah reached us first. “Mr. Belrose, are you all right? We heard a strange noise.”
My stomach dropped straight to China. Mr. Belrose?
“I think so, but who the hell is this girl? And how did she get past you to fucking tackle me?”
He was royally pissed. And rightly so. I was so incredibly fired. My stomach dropped so fast, it went past China. It was falling to Pluto now.
Elijah shone the flashlight in my face, making me blink and blush. I couldn't seem to find any words now. I had been so brave two seconds ago, but now I was a stammering mess. I had just tried to take down a billionaire. I couldn't be more mortified if I tried.
“This is Ava Fairchild, Mr. Belrose,” Elijah answered. He waved the other guards off. “She's the appraiser you hired. She's harmless.”
I wished I still had enough courage to be angry about the “harmless” comment, but considering how easily I had been brushed off, Elijah was probably right. Mr. Belrose carefully set the painting down on the cement and looked at me. I didn't dare look up at him.
“You thought I was stealing a painting?” he finally asked, straightening his suit jacket. His voice was commanding and powerful.
I nodded, staring at my bare feet. Not only did I just try and tackle a billionaire, but I didn't even have shoes on. I was such a failure at life.
Mr. Belrose evaluated me for a moment and let out a sharp snort. “I suppose I should be grateful that an employee would feel so inclined to prevent theft,” he said finally, sounding irritated. “Look at me.”
I slowly rose my eyes to meet his. I had seen pictures of Sebastian Belrose on the internet, but in real life, he was gorgeous. He had light, golden-brown hair cut in a short, neat fashion that accented the strength of his jaw and broad shoulders. The thing that the pictures never conveyed was the strength and power that radiated off him in waves. It was like the difference between seeing a black and white picture of a painting and standing next to the real thing.
I could see the faint but distinctive scar across his cheek and eyebrow. I hadn't been able to find any information on where he had gotten it. It was just one of the many internet mysteries surrounding Sebastian Belrose. While the scar made him look dangerous, it was his eyes that gave him the aura of power and confidence.
They were a blue so light that they were almost gray, especially against the dark fabric of his designer suit. They reminded me of a misty sky just before the dawn. He looked at me, those eyes full of confidence, and I forgot to breathe.
“Miss Ava Fairchild,” he said, as if testing out how my name sounded on his lips. I rather liked the way he said it, but it was a little overwhelming. “Would you like to see what I was stealing?”
I looked over at the wrapped package and fidgeted slightly. This was not a good way to meet one's employer.
“I'm so sorry, sir,” I apologized. My voice cracked and I hated myself just a little bit more.
“I didn't ask for your apology,” he growled. “I asked if you wanted to see it.”
I opened my mouth to apologize again and quickly shut it. That wasn't going to do me any favors. I knew I should say no, that it wasn't any of my business, but I couldn't. Now I was curious.
“Yes,” I whispered, blushing a deep crimson.
Mr. Belrose's eyebrows raised. “Open it.”
I looked up at him again, making sure I understood and he nodded toward the package. Cautiously, I went over and began to untie the string holding the wrapping to whatever was inside. Now that I was closer, I could see it wasn't a painting. It wasn't even shaped like a painting. The brown cloth wrapping fell away to reveal what looked like part of a broken surfboard. It was just the front piece, but it was obviously not a painting.
“Is that a painting?” Mr. Belrose asked.
I shook my head. “No.”
“Do you still think I'm stealing it?” His voice was a little lighter this time, but not by much. I wanted to shrink into the sand and never show my face again.