Page 14 of Baby for the Single Dad

It’s unsurprising to hear her say that since she hates all men at the moment.

“I could barely stand there talking to him. I can never forgive him for what he did to you. Leading you on for two years and then cheating with a woman you work with. What a despicable man!”

I halt in my stride and close my eyes for a moment as I recall the whispers and pitying looks I received from my colleagues when word got out at the Louvre that Pierre was entangled with a fellow curator. After that ugly incident, I knew I couldn’t work there anymore. I started looking for other jobs, landed the one at the Met, and never looked back.

“Gigi? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge up the past,” Josephine says when I don’t respond.

I open my eyes and continue walking, ignoring the weird looks I get from my fellow pedestrians.

“It’s okay, Jo. Like I said, I’m past it.”

Indeed, I am, which is one more reason to stay away from Miles. Once bitten, twice shy where office romance is concerned.

“I know. Anyway, that’s not the only reason I called,” she says. “It has to do with your new job.”

My brows shoot up with curiosity. Josephine works for the Directorate-General for External Security in France. It’s sort of like a French Secret Service. She has always had a flair for espionage, so it was hardly surprising when she chose that career path.

“Okay. Tell me more,” I inquire.

“A few days ago, we made a bust and recovered a Mayan sculpture from an art trafficking ring. The Directorate-General worked with the FBI Art Crime team, and the sculpture is now at their headquarters in Washington D.C.”

“No kidding?”

“I knew you would be interested.” She laughs softly. “Yesterday, I spoke about it to aNew Yorkerjournalist, and she told me a big story would be published about the operation soon.”

“What do you know about the sculpture?” I ask and stop walking.

“It’sThe Old Man of Copán. It rightfully belongs to Honduras.”

I squelch the urge to whoop with delight.The Old Man of Copánis often depicted on various monuments and stelae at the Copán site, particularly in hieroglyphic inscriptions and iconography.

“Gigi? Are you there?”

I blink and realize I was so lost in my thoughts that I forgot I was still on the phone with my sister.

“I’m sorry, Jo. I got carried away by the news.” I start walking again, more than eager to get to the office and tell my boss about it.

“Why am I not surprised?” She laughs. “It’s typical of you and your love for art.”

I shrug. “You know me well. Thanks a lot for this information, Jo. It means a lot to me.”

“I figured.”

“There’s a Mayan art exhibit coming up at the museum soon. It would be great if I’d be able to get the sculpture and include it in the exhibit. Do you think that’s in the cards?”

I picture her wrinkling her nose in her typical way as she thinks about it. “I’ll have to call my FBI contact and ask him. I’ll get back to you later today or tomorrow.”

“That works. Thank you, Jo. So, how’s Paris treating you without your sis to have your back? I miss you.”

“I miss you more.”

We talk about our parents and some of our friends before I end the call. My face is flushed as I go over our conversation. If I can organize for the sculpture to be included in the upcoming exhibit before it is returned to Honduras, it would be impossible not to notice me, and it could propel me to my dream job as a conservator. What a great opportunity!

An image of Miles runs through my mind, and I shake my head. Now that it seems as if I’m so close to achieving my lifelong dream, I won’t let my one-night stand with him get in the way of it. Miles, just like Pierre, is history to me.

CHAPTER7

MILES

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