King Me (Forever Wilde 7) - Page 28
“Fine,” I said through clenched teeth.
King looked up at me, his expression a mask of innocence. “Fine, what?” he asked.
I wanted to throttle him. “Fine, you can go,” I ground out.
His mouth broke into a wide smile that did funny things to my chest. I hated that he could irritate me so much one second and still somehow make me want him the next.
“Excellent,” he said, standing again. “I’ll go ahead and take care of that right now.”
“It’s eleven o’clock at night,” I said in surprise. “Don’t you think that’s a little late?”
King’s smile turned into a smirk. “Trust me. He’s not asleep yet. The man can’t drift off without finishing the New York Times crossword in bed first.”
He winked at me before pulling his phone out of his pocket and sauntering off.
I didn’t want to picture how he’d gotten that intel about what the attractive ambassador did late at night in his own bed. Because I didn’t want to see King in that picture with him, sheets tangled around his hips as he slept next to him. Instead, I dug back into my dinner and forced myself to go over what we’d need to accomplish the following day.
“Easy, boss man,” Linney said softly, reaching out for my wrist. “You’re going to bend the fork if you keep stabbing the plate like that.”
I looked down, noticing for the first time that my hand was fisted so tightly around the fork that my knuckles turned white. I tossed it onto the plate and stood up. “I’m going for a run.”
Three pairs of eyes stared at me before glancing at one another. As I took my plate to the sink, I heard Ziv say something about the long days of travel stiffening me up.
Linney’s chuckle was all knowing, and Mouse’s lighter voice was playful. “You might be right about something stiffening up.”
Ziv groaned, and Linney laughed even louder. I bit my tongue to keep from snapping out something rude over my shoulder as I strode out of the room in search of my running gear.
8
King
I wasn’t really friends with Gauthier. I mean, I’d met him a couple of times through mutual friends, and the man had definitely hit on me at the time, but it wasn’t like we were besties. I’d made up the thing about the crossword puzzle. Falcon didn’t need to know any of that though. And I knew I could get an invitation simply by calling Gauthier’s personal assistant.
But it was fun watch to Falcon squirm. Squaring off against the testy agent was like partaking in a complex yet enjoyable dance. And it had been a long time since I’d had a worthy dance partner. Getting under the grumpy agent’s skin was the most fun I’d had in a long time.
After sending an email to Gauthier’s assistant, I went back into the kitchen to help clean the dishes. Ziv, Mouse, and Linney were reminiscing about an operation that had gone wrong at the High Museum in Atlanta. The minute I walked into the room, their laughter stopped.
“Don’t stop on my account. That’s one of the museums I’ve never been to before. I’d love to hear what you guys got up to there.” I gestured to the sink to take over from Ziv. He lifted an eyebrow and handed me the wet sponge.
“By all means, help yourself,” Ziv said with a smirk. “I’m beat. See you guys in the morning.”
Linney and Mouse bade him good night before returning to their cleanup duties. Mouse dried the dishes that I washed, and Linney wiped down the big kitchen table. After a few moments of silence, Mouse looked up at me shyly.
“Did you really steal the Cellini salt cellar?”
I barked out a laugh. “Yeah, but that was kind of a joke. I mean, the last guy who did it was an idiot. I guess I wanted to prove that you could take the damn thing without ending up on surveillance video. I returned it, you know. It wasn’t like I wanted to keep it. It’s safely back at the museum where it belongs.”
Mouse’s eyes were bright with inquisitiveness. “See? That’s what I want to ask you about. Why go through the risk of getting caught stealing hundreds of thousands of euros’ worth of precious artwork if you’re just going to return it?”
Linney had stopped wiping down the table and stood watching me. I was feeling relaxed, and part of me enjoyed the casual friendship the team seemed to have. Maybe in some way, I wanted to feel a part of it.
I shrugged. “Some pieces belong in certain places. Like Holocaust spoils. It’s heartbreaking to learn about items that were stolen or hidden during World War II and are now owned by the wrong people. I can’t tell you how many Holocaust pieces I’ve returned to their rightful owners.” I turned the water off and rested my hip against the counter, drying my hands on a nearby kitchen towel. “That’s what really started it for me. Well, I mean, not what started, started it, but why I continued after the Van Gogh job.”
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