Page 56 of Sweet Animosity

Originally, I just planned to mess with him. I figured once I started selecting seven-thousand-dollar dresses and insisting on matching three-thousand-dollar shoes, he’d cry uncle and admit my dress was fine. Then it became fun teasing him as I tried on outfits and lifted my skirt up to show off different pairs of shoes, always flashing a little too much thigh.

He wrapped his arm around my middle from behind. “Worth every penny. I can’t wait to trash whatever you wear tomorrow.”

My stomach twisted.

If all went well, there would be no tomorrow. It shouldn’t take me too long to find where he had stashed the paintings in his office area. As soon as I did, I planned on returning to the warehouse. If I were truly being watched by that other scary Russian, that would trigger him into coming out of the shadows.

I’d tell him where to find the paintings and let him deal with figuring out how to retrieve them.

I gave myself a mental shake.

Two scary Russians.

I’d actually casually said that to myself.

I had two scary Russians in my life right now. Both were likely criminals.

Jesus, when I send my life off the rails, I really aim for the ditch.

Shifting out of his grasp, I put the belt rack between us. “So tell me, how does a Russian Mafia dude make money these days? I mean prohibition ending must have put a real crimp in your revenue all those years ago.”

He leaned his elbow on the top of the rack. “I’ll tell you if you tell me something.”

The space between my shoulder blades tightened. “Sure.”

“How does a girl afford a three-thousand-dollar, two-bedroom apartment in Lincoln Square, with no roommates, on a temporary secretary salary?”

I swallowed. “I prefer assistant.”

His gaze narrowed. “Answer the question.”

I shrugged as I turned away to look at the shoe display. “Oh, you know. The usual way.”

He followed me. “Actually, I don’t. Tell me. Because I find myself wondering if perhaps Abakar hired you for that Art History degree you have from that fancy college.”

Crap.

Had he figured out I was the art forger? Was he playing me the whole time I was playing him?

I pivoted so quickly I had to grab onto a nearby shelf to steady myself. “How do you know about my art degree?”

“I know everything about you,” he warned as he stepped closer. “I want the truth, Vivian. Did Abakar pay you to select targets for the art forger to paint? Is that how you can afford all your purses and shoes and that apartment on your own? Were you the one who chose the auction houses most likely to overlook a forged painting?”

Before I could answer, skinny duck-lip returned with a carefully wrapped purse in a Gucci shopping bag. “Your purse, sir.”

Again, he didn’t even look at her. “Bill it to the Four Monks.”

The girl blinked. All signs of an attitude were gone. She practically genuflected as she backed away slowly. “Yes, yes, of course, sir. Absolutely. Right away,” she rambled as she scrambled to move away from us.

I nodded in her direction. “I’m guessing she knows what you do for a living.”

“Most do. Now answer my question, Vivian.”

My having an art degree would be too big of a coincidence. His explanation was better than admitting I was the forger he was looking for. Still…

“Why do you want to catch this forger so bad? Are you planning on turning him over to the police?”

He moved closer, pushing into a dark corner of the store. “Why are you protecting him?”

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