Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
I pulled my dress over my head and rummaged in my makeup bag.
After brushing my hair and fixing my makeup as best I could, I sprayed on a little body armor from my travel-size Chanel No. 5, which always made me feel polished and in control, and left the bathroom.
As my hand encircled the office doorknob, I half expected it to still be locked. It swung open with ease. I crossed the narrow antechamber and moved into what must be Var’s public office.
One office for the legitimate side of Four Monks.
The other for the super-secret criminal mafia stuff, I supposed.
Var was sitting at his desk, looking every inch like a Bond villain.
All my Mona Lisa paintings were gone.
CHAPTER 18
VIVIAN
“Shut up! What happened next?” asked Barb as she pulled the bottle of vodka down from the cabinet.
Before I could respond, she called over her shoulder, “Millie, where’s the cocktail shaker?”
“In the dishwasher,” came Millie’s response from the second bedroom.
Barb opened the dishwasher and pulled out the crystal and stainless-steel shaker. She waved her hand at me. “Okay, keep going.”
“No, wait! I want to hear this,” called out Millie.
Barb trapped a fistful of ice and dumped it into the shaker, before unscrewing the vodka cap and tipping the bottle over the cubes. “Then hurry!”
Millie came rushing into the room, breathless as she adjusted one large silver hoop earring, then straightened her bright fuchsia turban. “All right! All right! I’m here. Don’t forget the vermouth.”
Barb threw her arm up. “Do you hear this one? Don’t forget the vermouth. In forty years have I ever forgotten the vermouth?”
Millie sat on the kitchen counter stool beside me and patted my hand as she gave me a soft, kind smile. “So I hear you got some decent cock finally.”
My cheeks burned as I lowered my head to the counter to bury my face in my folded arms. “God, Millie, please don’t say things like that.”
She shrugged. “What did I say? Are the kids not calling it cock anymore these days?”
I rolled my head from side to side as I groaned. “And please don’t use the word kids and cock in the same sentence.” My voice was muffled by the huge sleeves of my oversized sweater.
Unable to trust myself with my chaotic thoughts, the moment I’d arrived home I’d showered and headed over to Barb and Millie’s apartment. They were two sisters in their seventies who shared an apartment after retiring from a lifelong career in the theatre as costume designers. They were absolutely precious, and I loved them like family.
Although they could be a bit blunt.
Barb poured olive juice into the shaker. “Millie, will you shut up and let the girl talk?”
“Fine. Talk, Vivian. Tell us everything.”
I would sooner walk naked down Michigan Avenue than tell them everything, but I did give them the abridged, PG version.
After shaking the cocktail, she poured three dirty martinis into glasses, dropped two olives into each and pushed one toward me. “So you just left?”
I pulled the martini glass toward me and tilted my chin up as I tilted the glass down, too upset to even pick my head up properly. After a large gulp, I said, “Did you not hear the part where I said I slapped him?”
“I heard it.”
I blinked. “As in slapped the super scary dude who claims he is the embodiment of the Russian Mafia in Chicago.”
Her massive costume jewelry cocktail rings, one for each finger, glinted as she raised her martini to her glossy pink lips. After she took a sip, there was a thick crescent of gloss left on the glass. “Yes, I heard that part, too.”
Millie popped her olive in her mouth and spoke as she chewed. “What Barb means to say is how could you just leave?”
I choked on my sip. “How could I not? I just slapped the man.”
Barb leaned her forearms on the counter. “What did he say?”
My gaze lowered as a blush creeped up my neck. “He didn’t say much.”
Millie cackled as she swatted my upper arm. “A man of action, was he? I love a man of few words.”
Barb raised her martini glass and clinked it against Millie’s. “I’ll drink to that.”
Kill me now.
I let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Ladies, I am seriously fucked.”
Barb winked. “Yeah, you are, sweetie.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m actually being serious here. If I don’t get those paintings back, I’m screwed.”
Millie chimed in, “Yeah, you—”
I pointed a finger at her. “Don’t you dare say it.”
She ran her pinched fingers over her closed lips, twisted them, then threw away the pretend key.
Snatching my glass, I fished out the olives and tossed them aside before draining it.
Barb laid a hand over her chest. “Darling, respect the olive.”
I slid the martini glass across the granite countertop toward her. “Another.”
Millie captured one of my olives before it rolled off the counter and popped it into her mouth. “All you have to do is show up tomorrow and play the part of doting secretary. Then search his office and find the paintings.”