Page 76 of One Wrong Move

It’s a slower game, that one.

Knudsen greets me when I arrive. Introduces me to the man he’s been talking to, someone who is a good ten years younger than me. This guy is good-looking in that swoopy-haired, clean-shaven, preppy-boy sort of way. I know the type well. Once upon a time, that was me.

Before I joined Contron and aged a decade.

I hate this guy on sight.

I hate that he is the sort of guy I should be introducing Harper to—if I was playing her game, if we were the kind of friends she thinks we are, the kind of friends we should be.

“This is my nephew,” Knudsen says and slaps the pop-star-wannabe on the shoulder. “Willard.”

“It’s a pleasure,” I say. “Hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I certainly am.”

“Tell me,” Knudsen continues, “didn’t you mention a few weeks back that you had a sizable art collection?”

“I might have, yes.” I give him a wide smile. “Did you come by to purchase it from me?”

“No, no, I don’t have a great eye, but this guy does.” He points at his nephew. “One of London’s greatest up-and-coming art dealers, he is.”

“Is that so?” I raise an eyebrow at the nephew. “Freelancer?”

“I’m attached to the Robert Asher chain of galleries, but I do a fair bit of freelance work, as well.” He has a narrow chin, thick eyebrows, and a mouth that looks just a bit too smug. “What kind of art do you collect?”

“Modern, mostly, and a few of the abstract expressionists.”

Willard runs a hand along his jaw. “Fascinating. I would love to take a look at your collection when time permits.”

Knudsen gives me a pointed stare. You’ll take care of my nephew, won’t you, Connovan?

A slow game.

A long one, too.

I smile at the pip-squeak. “It would be my pleasure. My art adviser is here tonight, as it happens.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “They are? What’s their name?”

“Harper Elliot.”

“I’m not familiar with that name,” he says, “but I’d be happy to speak with her.”

Mads Knudsen takes another puff of his cigarette. “It’s fantastic, isn’t it,” he says in my direction, “how well-connected people can be.”

“You mean how well-connected people like us are.”

He chuckles. I’d learned early on that Knudsen has a good sense of humor, occasionally quite dark, and I leaned into it fully. It suits me better to use cynicism, anyway.

“Right you are,” he says easily. “So, which of these pretty women here tonight is your date?”

“I’d say Kathleen, but I know she’s taken.”

He chuckles again. “Stay far away from my wife, Connovan.”

“I will, but it will pain me to do so.”

“Say that when she can hear you if you want bonus points,” he says easily. “A man like you can’t be single. I know this. Willard knows this. It’s one of the laws of the universe. Come now, tell me.”

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