The Game

My silence resounded louder than words.

He gave a look of understanding. “This isn’t an easy decision.”

“You know who the man is who scathed my family’s reputation. The man who sent my dad to an early grave. The man who stole that—” I pointed to the half-wrapped painting.

“I’m here for you.”

My breath stuttered. “He needs to go to prison.”

“What was I thinking? You’d prefer tea, right?” He opened a cupboard and rifled through it. “I have it somewhere.”

“You really believe I’ll let this go?”

He gave up searching and turned to face me, crossing his arms across his chest defensively.

“I’m considered your client now? You gave me my painting back so I’m of no consequence to you?”

“Spending time with you has been...” He gave the kindest smile.

“Cut the bullshit, Tobias. This is important.”

“Zara, I believed this would help you see things from my perspective.”

“You think I’ll change my mind now about persuading you to give it up.”

“Give what up?”

“Being Icon.”

He raked his hand through his hair. “I’m flattered.”

“Are you blackmailing me with my own painting?” My breath stuttered on its inhale.

“Now that would be ingenious.” He gestured left. “Would you rather have a bagel? I have salmon.”

I turned and stormed through the house past the wall of water in the foyer, all the way to the front door where I saw my high heels. I scooped them up and saw several sets of car keys laying on the entryway table. I grabbed one of them and flew out the door, squinting against the morning sun.

“Zara!” His footfalls closed in on me.

The gravel bit into my soles and I quickly pulled my shoes on. I flicked the key ring and a silver Jaguar’s headlights flashed.

Tobias’s strong arms wrapped around me. “Zara.”

“Let me go.”

“We drive on the other side.”

“I know, I drove your Ferrari, remember?”

“That was a self-driving car. And I was with you.”

“You can’t use my own painting to manipulate me.”

His front pressed against my back and he held me with a determined strength, his arms holding me in a hug, gripping my arms to my side.

My rib cage ached from his hold. “Why tell me any of this?”

“I believed you’d handle it.”

I weakened in his arms and he let me down.

I spun round and glared at him.

“What are you expecting?” He took his keys from my hand. “Relationships are built on a foundation of trust. You’re here on behalf of Huntly Pierre—”

“No.” Though telling him they weren’t aware I was here sent a stab of doubt at my sanity.

“Look—” He stepped forward.

I stepped back so he couldn’t touch me.

“You investigate art thefts,” he said. “When you catch Icon, it will be case closed. Your career skyrockets.”

“Then why haven’t I done that?”

“Lack of evidence.” He glanced at his home. “You were hoping to find some, no doubt.”

A wave of nausea hit me that he really believed that’s why I’d stayed.

But I had thought that, hadn’t I.

Icon was before me and I was failing the art world. Failing me. All this soul-searching had gone awry because when I was with him everything felt right. Tobias gave the kindest expression of understanding, the kind threatening to render me useless if I didn’t brace against it.

He ran his thumb over the key fob. “Unless one of us is willing to relent, we have no future together.”