Page 44 of Broken Rules
“We’ll have to putcarbonaraon the Special’s list for tomorrow night, so that I can relive tonight every time someone orders.”
“Why the Special’s list?” he asked. “Why not the main menu?”
His question tore at her insides. She sat up, her duvet bunching at her waist. He ran his hand down her spine. “Because, just like our special’s menu, you have an expiration date?” Taking a deep breath, she asked, “So, when do you get eighty-sixed?”
“Excuse me.”
She turned and looked at his puzzled expression. “When food or a drink at a restaurant is sold out, the crew spreads the word that the item has been eighty-sixed. You know, ‘eighty-six the drink special, eighty-six swordfish, eighty-six the ridiculously hot and complicated thief-for-hire.’”
He put his hand on his chest. “So you’re asking when I’ll be sold out?”
She shrugged. “Or missing.” She turned away. “Listen, Damien. I’m a realistic girl—or at least I’m trying to be. You’ve already told me that you’re not about to buy a condo on the beach and get some kind of nine to five.”
He nodded. “Yes, that is highly unlikely.”
She lifted her shoulders. “So, when do you get eighty-sixed?”
“I don’t know. I’m in unknown territory here. Normally, I leave a place after I do the job.”
She turned to face him. “Are you still going to steal his painting?”
His eyes widened slightly. “How did you know about the painting?” Then a knowing smile curved his lips. “You saw his Facebook post.”
“Social media,” she grimaced. “I never touch the stuff, but Roger mentioned Joe’s post of his newly inherited prize a few nights ago. Roger seemed to think it was wildly stupid of Joe to post a picture of it.”
“Your Roger is correct. Joe’s wildly stupid post is how I came to be hired for the job. Your boss really needs to rethink his privacy settings.”
“There is nothing discreet about Joe. He loves to crow about his wealth and lineage.” She laid back down on her side, resting her head on her hand. “But he has a lot of expensive art. What’s so special about this piece?”
“It’s by Johannes Vermeer, a Dutch painter.”
Savannah shook her head slightly. “I’m not familiar with his work, but Roger said that it could be worth a million dollars.”
“More like ten million.”
Her eyes widened. “Holy shit!”
“Now you understand why I was sent here.”
But then she frowned. “Any lingering respect I may have carried for Joe as a pretty fair boss went spiraling down the drain when you pointed out his hidden camera in the office. Still, I’m glad you’re not going to finish the job.”
His head canted to the side. “Why is that?”
She shrugged. “I was brought up to appreciate my roots. In his own egotistical way, so was Joe. I’m sure this painting has been in his family for generations, and—”
“No, it hasn’t,” Damien interjected.
“Trust me, it has. Anyone who has spent more than five minutes in Joe’s company knows that he is a descendant of Baron Von Wilder.”
“That may be what he told you. It may even be what he believes, but that’s not the truth.”
She leaned closer. “What do you mean?”
“Joe’s ancestor, Pieter Weber, wasn’t the baron; he was the baron’s manservant.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “His servant?”
Damien nodded. “After the Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated, the real Baron Von Wilder instructed Pieter to conceal the Von Wilder’s most valuable family heirlooms, jewels, and money in a cave on the outskirts of the family’s property.”
