Ellie falls asleep halfway to Chicago. She looked exhausted as we packed the car, so I was glad to see her drift off. She must be as tired as I think, because she doesn’t even wake up as I navigate through the stop-and-go of downtown traffic.
I was surprised she didn’t argue when I said I was going with her. I expected a fight, but now I think she actually wants my company—something I can’t let mean more than it does. Friends.
I pull into a parking garage, prepared to leave my car here for the day, cut the engine, and stare at her. It’s time to wake her up, but I let myself have a minute to take her in: the dark lashes on her flushed cheeks, the slight part of her full lips, the freckles across the bridge of her nose.
This morning, I promised her I didn’t need anything more than friendship, and even though I know that might kill me a little, I meant it. For Ellie, I can do anything. But being what she needs has never stopped me from wanting more.
She must sense me staring at her, because she opens her eyes, yawns, and stretches before looking around. “Where are we?”
“Parking garage. You slept through half the trip.”
“Oh my gosh.” She rubs under her eyes. “I’m the worst.”
“I think you needed it.”
“Probably. I haven’t been sleeping very well.” She shrugs it off. “Thanks for doing this. It means a lot to me.”
“Spending my day with you isn’t a hardship. You said you wanted to go to the Tyler-Wells Gallery downtown?”
She nods and flips down the visor to open the mirror. “It shouldn’t take long.” She pulls lip gloss from her purse and applies it carefully before reaching for her mascara.
So fucking beautiful. “Can I come in with you, or do you need to go in alone?”
She flashes me a smile as she drops the mascara in her purse. “You can come. I just need to ask about a collection.”
Interesting. I don’t buy for a second that she’s on a new job, but I expected her to ask me to hold back when she went into the gallery.
We climb out of the car and take the elevator down to the street level of the parking garage. The unseasonably warm October day is tempered by the breeze off the lake. The noon sun shines bright, reflecting off the high rises.
“The gallery should be a block over that way,” I say, pointing.
“Perfect.” She surprises me by linking her arm with mine before she starts in that direction. She feels good tucked into me like this. Right where she belongs. “I’m sorry I slept the whole trip.”
“I don’t mind. It gave me some time to think.”
She scans my face. “What were you thinking about?”
Colton. You. Us. Secrets. “A little bit of everything, I guess.”
“Ah, everything.” She nods. “I’ve been thinking about that too, coincidentally.”
“What are the chances?”
She laughs, but when we walk into the gallery, her posture changes and she transforms into an assertive businesswoman. I stay back and watch in utter fascination as she approaches the counter.
The woman standing behind it measures her up shamelessly. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”
“Hello.” Ellie extends a hand. “My name’s Ellie Courdrey. We met when I was cultivating the Oranthe collection for one of my clients.”
That seems to get the woman’s attention, and her reserved smile changes to the greedy grin of someone who senses money at her fingertips. “Well, it’s wonderful to see you again, Ellie. What are you after today?” She waves her hand in the air to indicate the pieces around the gallery, then lowers her voice so I can just barely make out her words. “Not everything is officially for sale, but as you know, there are always exceptions if the price is right.”
“I’m actually looking for something that isn’t in the gallery right now. It’s a collection connected to a piece you had maybe five years ago?”
The smile falls from the woman’s face, and I have to bite back a laugh. This is not a fellow art lover who’s excited to help Ellie find the pieces she’s looking for. This is a shark who’s only interested in the next sale.
“The artist?”
“Bauer,” Ellie says, and I freeze.
I know fuck-all about art, but I know that name.
“The Discovery collection,” Ellie says.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Why the hell is she looking for Bauer’s Discovery collection? Why now when the paintings have been missing for more than two years, and she hasn’t worked in a gallery in all that time?
“We never actually had the series here. It was only shown once in a gallery in Indiana.”
“You had some of Bauer’s work, though.” Ellie slides a folded bill across the desk. “I’m looking for any leads I can get on collectors. Maybe there’s something helpful in your computer? My investor is highly motivated, and if you give me a lead that helps me find the Discovery collection, there will be a commission in it for you.”
Brightening, the woman quickly pockets the cash before turning to her computer. She runs her red, manicured nail slowly down the screen. “I can’t promise anything,” she says, tapping on the keyboard. “We actually had a painting of the model—not officially part of the collection. More . . . tame than the others? Even so, good luck getting your hands on it now. I don’t think the owner is going to be interested in any offer.”
“Like I said, my investor is very enthusiastic,” Ellie says, and I have a feeling enthusiastic is code for rich. “It can’t hurt to ask.”
“It sold to Asher Logan,” the woman says.
I cough. Holy shit. “The Asher Logan? The rock star?”
Ellie and the saleswoman turn to stare at me. The woman nods. “Yes. The model in the painting is his wife. In addition to the painting he purchased here, I heard rumors that Asher bought the whole Discovery collection from the original exhibition.”
“I’m more interested in who might have bought and sold it since then,” Ellie says.
“You think Asher Logan sold provocative paintings of his wife?” I ask. “I don’t think so. Someone else must have bought and sold them.”
Ellie shrugs. “Maybe he’s proud of them. She’s gorgeous.” She folds her arms on the counter and leans toward the woman. “Surely you could point me to a dealer who has their finger on the pulse when it comes to rare Bauer pieces?”
The saleswoman shakes her head, as if trying to shake the memory to the surface. “There’s been some chatter, but I’m not sure this is a typical resale item.” She scribbles on the back of a business card. “Try this dealer. Sometimes he gets his hands on . . . otherwise unattainable pieces.”
Ellie beams at her and tucks the card into her purse. “I understand. Thank you so much.” She turns back to me and heads out of the gallery, once again sliding her arm through mine.
“Why do you need those paintings?” I ask.
“I heard they might be available, and I just want to track them down.” That fucking fake smile again. “I can think of any number of people who’d be interested in buying if they surfaced. It’s just smart business.”
“But your business is real estate.”
She shrugs. “Maybe I want to get back into art.”
“Don’t lie to me.” My jaw is hard. “I can handle that you have secrets, but I can’t deal with lies.”
She studies me for a long time before nodding, a series of emotions I can’t identify passing over her features in quick succession. “Can I trust you, Levi?”
“Completely.” The word is too big and sticks in my throat.
“I believe that, but my secrets . . .” She shakes her head slowly. “I think you might be too good to be saddled with my secrets.”
“We all have ugly mistakes in our past, Ellie. Every single one of us.”
“I’m looking for the paintings because I can’t risk them ending up in the wrong hands.”
“Is that why you asked Colton to steal them when they were at the gallery?”