Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I can’t help it. A small laugh escapes me, drawing their attention. “Would now be a good time to tell you that Cole and I had a huge fight right before you came?” I lean back in my chair, affecting a casual pose despite my bound wrists. “Huge. Breakup type of fight.”
Julian’s eyes narrow as he stalks toward me. “You’re lying.”
I shrug, ignoring how my heart pounds faster with each step he takes. “Maybe he’s just done with all of this.” I force my lips into a smirk. “Can’t say I blame him.”
A muscle twitches in Julian’s jaw. “He wouldn’t—”
“Ignore you?” I arch an eyebrow at him. “Looks like he already is. I guess neither of us is as important to Cole Asher as we thought we were.”
“If he doesn’t care about you anymore,” Julian says, his voice dangerously soft, “then perhaps you’ve outlived your usefulness.” He reaches inside his jacket, pulling out an ornate switchblade. The blade springs open with a soft click that somehow sounds more threatening than any gunshot.
“Boss,” one of the Russians says nervously, “the plan was—”
“The plan has changed.” Julian cuts him off, tracing the knife tip along my collarbone. “No case access means we need a new incentive for Mr. Asher. Perhaps pieces of his girlfriend delivered one by one will motivate him to come out of hiding.”
I try to lean away from the blade, but there’s nowhere to go. A bead of blood wells up where the knife presses against my skin.
“Let’s start with something small,” Julian muses, his eyes never leaving mine. “A finger, perhaps? Or maybe an ear? Artists don’t really need both, do they?”
My heart hammers against my ribs, but I force myself to keep my voice steady. “You do that, and you’ll never get what you want. Cole won’t negotiate if you hurt me.”
“Won’t he?” Julian presses the blade a fraction deeper. “I think you underestimate how much he values you. How much he would sacrifice to keep you whole.”
“Exactly. To keep me whole. He doesn’t want a mutilated girlfriend.”
I watch with satisfaction as uncertainty creeps into Julian’s expression.
“You know him. Has he ever accepted anything less than perfection?”
I think of him decorating a crooked tree. Wrestling his tie out of Havoc’s mouth. He would love me, “mutilated” or not. But that’s not the Cole Julian knows.
The Russians shift uncomfortably, muttering to each other in low voices.
Julian snatches up his phone again, stabbing at the screen. His composure cracks further with each unanswered ring. Finally, he hurls the device across the room. It hits the wall with a crack that makes me flinch.
“This isn’t—” He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. “Get her designs loaded. All of them. If he won’t answer . . .” He turns to me, and the look in his eyes makes my blood run cold. “Then maybe we need to give him a better reason to call back.”
The Russians move toward the stack of my prototype cases. My stomach lurches as they start handling my work, my art, like it’s nothing more than cargo to be shipped.
Boris—or maybe it’s Vladimir—drops one of the cases. The sound of metal hitting marble makes me jerk against the silk tie. “Careful with those,” I snap before I can stop myself.
Julian’s head whips around. A smile spreads across his face that does nothing to warm his eyes. “Ah. So you do care about something besides making me believe you and Cole are finished.”
He walks over to where the case fell, picking up one of my designs. My newest one. The one I hadn’t even shown Cole yet.
“Beautiful work.” He turns it over in his hands. His fingers trace the edge of the metal with an intimacy that makes my skin crawl. “Perfect, really. Claire’s final collection, discovered after all these years.”
I force myself to stay still, to keep my voice steady. “What exactly do you think you’re going to do with my designs?”
“These?” He lifts the piece to catch the light. “These are Claire’s designs. Found in her private studio after her tragic accident. Her final collection, never shown to the world.” He sets the piece down with exaggerated care. “The art world will be captivated. Her legacy, living on. The press will eat it up.”
Ice slides down my spine as I realize what he’s planning. Not just theft—complete erasure. He’s going to wipe away my name, my work, everything I’ve created.
“You’ll never get away with—”
“Won’t I?” His smile is cold. “By the time this hits the press, these pieces will have all the proper documentation. Every sketch, every note, every prototype—all in Claire’s hand. It’s amazing what money can buy these days. And the best part?” He checks his watch again. “It won’t matter that I couldn’t access Claire’s real work. All this effort to keep them from me won’t matter. Cole will have to watch as everything you’ve created becomes part of her legacy instead.”