The Game

“Can you recommend a hotel? I need to be closer to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.”

“The Sofitel? It’s also near the Beverly Center. It’s a big shopping center and is just across the street.”

“Perfect.”

Gabe made the call and requested the cab park in front of Boelter Hall. With that done he scribbled a number on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “Here’s my cell.”

“Thank you.” I tucked it into my handbag.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to join me at a cocktail party tomorrow night?”

“Where?”

“The Broad. One of my students is showcasing his collection as part of a youth program at the gallery.”

My attention spiked with the thought of visiting one of the city’s most distinguished museums that was on my list to check out. “I’d love to go.”

“Great! I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven. It’s black-tie.”

“I have just the thing.” Ironically a dress that rogue Wilder had bought me back in London.

I gave Gabe a big hug and followed the pathway toward the entrance of Boelter Hall, all the while glancing around for Marshall. When I reached the grassy bank, I saw my taxi idling at the curb. Settling in the back of the car I looked forward to checking into the Sofitel hotel and, just as Gabe suggested, visiting the shopping center. I needed to replace the contents of my suitcase.

Staring out at the passing scenery, the enormity of what I was taking on hit me. I had less than a week to collate data from every single gallery, along with private collections in LA, the kind that might draw the attention of a thief. For now, at least, I had a motive to go on; a broken provenance consistently occurring with each painting stolen by Icon. A gargantuan task that would quite frankly have been impossible without my access to Huntly Pierre’s newly developed software. An ingenious processing program that collated the art collections of international galleries with details including their individual history. This ability was now part of my investigative tool kit.

Why couldn’t all this be simple? Why wasn’t the enigmatic Tobias who I’d fallen hard for just an ordinary man who I could date without all this drama? Our worlds were clashing and the fallout was going to leave nothing but two broken people if I wasn’t careful.

It hurt knowing Tobias was in the same city and I couldn’t see him. Being so close to him at The Wilder Museum had reminded me he was dangerously seductive. Recalling the way he’d pressed his body against mine with all that hard muscle and boundless power threatened to make me lose focus.

I’d always wanted to visit The Broad, famed for its avant-garde reputation, and I couldn’t wait to explore the endless showrooms.

That’s it, think of a vast, frigid gallery instead of Wilder and refocus your brain on why you’re here.

After paying for my cab, I climbed out and headed toward the impressive front door of the Sofitel.

“Miss,” the taxi driver called after me.

I turned to face him and froze—

He was retrieving a red suitcase out of the trunk of his cab.

Mine.

He handed it over to a young valet who rushed it past me, throwing a welcoming smile.

The blood drained from my face as I realized Marshall had realized the cab was for me and had placed it in there before I’d left Gabe’s office.

Tobias is bloody relentless.

4 (#ufb72df60-0fcd-5474-a7a0-5774b1f33288)

My reflection in the hotel bedroom mirror was the epitome of a young woman putting on a brave face. This Escada gown clung like spun gold to my curves and these delicate fine straps with their diamond beading caught the light; the back so low it hovered just above my butt to blend glamour with a sassy chic.

“Why did you even bring this dress?” I whispered to myself, though my eyes answered with a hope for a reconciliation with Tobias. I broke my gaze, focusing instead on my strappy high heels—the ones Tobias bought me during that wild weekend when we’d stayed at The Dorchester hotel just weeks ago.

My stomach muscles tightened with all the uncertainty.

No matter how cozy this room was with its long velvet drapes or welcoming seating area, it wasn’t home. I’d spent much of the day reading everything I could about Tobias online. Not one article hinted at any misdemeanors or bad boy behavior, unless you counted the socialites he flaunted, hanging off his arm in those glamor shots of him arriving or leaving exclusive social events.

Of all the possible scenarios of my reunion with him yesterday, being placed on a plane and sent back to London within moments of seeing him wasn’t one of them.

Raising my chin high I gave myself a confident nod of approval that I’d handled myself well when he’d tried to push his agenda on me. Turning my thoughts to tonight, I ran my fingers through my auburn locks that I’d styled elegantly to tumble over my shoulders, and I dabbed my soft pink lipstick as I finished applying my makeup.

I couldn’t wait to be inside The Broad and it made me smile to know I was going there now. Grabbing my clutch purse and heading out of my room I had a bounce in my step and I even rode the elevator with my newfound confidence, the residue from my phobia of lifts having eased slightly; because of him.

Gabe was waiting for me in the hotel foyer and his eyes widened when he saw me. “What’s Rita Hayworth doing at the Sofitel?” he called out.

I responded with a confident turn and a flirty flick of my hair.

He looked gorgeous in a snazzy black tuxedo. “Almost didn’t recognize you there,” he said. “No cardigan?”

I gave him a playful thump. “Left it back in England.”

“You look...wow.”

“You look amazing yourself.”

“Let’s go see some art.”

The valet brought around Gabe’s blue Audi R8 and, with the inspirational music of Sia playing as an atmospheric backdrop, we drove along Beverly Boulevard.

“How are you?” He glanced over to me.

“I’m fine. Looking forward to tonight.”

“So what’s this case you’re on?”

“It’s related to a painting my dad once owned.” I mulled over what was safe to add. “St. Joan of Arc was one of the paintings that was allegedly destroyed in my house fire. A few weeks ago, it turned up at Christie’s in London.”

“Maybe he sold it? You were very young when all that happened.”

“There is that.” I preferred to deflect from the fact my father wouldn’t have let any of them go.

The passing scenery was fascinating with its modern skyscrapers in between quaint stores, and there was an unsettling sense of the traffic going the wrong way. I tried not to think that somewhere out there Tobias was going on with his life.

Gabe gave a sideways glance. “Anyone special in your life?”

“No.” I hated to finally admit this. “There was someone but it didn’t work out.”