The French Thief: An International Legacies Romance

by Camilla Stevens

  “How do you know that man?” His expression shows no mercy. One wrong answer, a misspoken word, even the off facial expression, and my ass is fired.

  Damn you, Andrew!

  “I don’t. He just...I left my ID card in the IT department this morning. I was checking on a software issue and he must have found it, then decided to bring it up to me instead of calling to let me know.” The lie comes easy. No way am I losing my access to the painting this close to the finish line.

  His eyes scan me as though trying to decipher whether or not I’m worth a man making the trip up. There’s a slight lowering of the lids that apparently deems me objectively acceptable. Considering the blonde, busty, slightly flakey paradigm of his preferred tastes sitting in one of the personal assistant desks outside, I suppose that’s a compliment.

  “He seemed rather familiar with you.”

  “Really?” I reply, wrinkling my brow and rewinding the past ten minutes to discover if there was anything said to indicate I knew Andrew beforehand.

  Once again, I silently curse the man.

  At this point, Andrew Mercier is a leper, and I need to do everything in my power to convince Gaultier that I’ve had no association with the man until just now.

  “Honestly, I’ve never even met him before. He was obviously just flirting,” I say, rolling my eyes and meekly tucking my hair behind one ear as though I can’t possibly imagine why he would go to the trouble for someone like me.

  Monsieur Gaultier doesn’t do uppity.

  He stares hard, trying to read past my act. Eventually, he relaxes and returns to the paperwork on his desk.

  “Doesn’t matter. Today will be his last day.”

  I blink in surprise, suddenly feeling guilty—and strangely disappointed. He went to all the trouble to return my ID which I lost somewhere along the way last night. And now not only is he fired but…I’ll probably never see him again.

  Which is a good thing, right?

  Whatever it was that he said to Gaultier must have been pretty bad. Now, more than ever, I want to pull Yasmine aside to find out what it was.

  “That will be all,” he hints without looking up.

  I quickly snap out of my stupidity and make my exit before he changes his mind to throw me out with the trash.

  The three other assistants don’t even bother hiding their eager eyes as soon as I step foot outside his office. I cast a cool look to both Sonia and Becca and give Yasmine a direct, meaningful stare before gracefully walking to my desk, head-held-high as I sit down to get back to work.

  I wait until I hear both Becca and Sonia give up and return to their duties. Then, I pull out my phone in stealth mode to text Yasmine:

  Break room in fifteen?

  Her response is a simple thumbs up emoji.

  Fifteen minutes later I stand up. We have a routine down when we want to chat about something. Sonia is the only one smart enough to have probably figured it out by now. Still, it’s plausible enough for her to do nothing more than cast a hard, suspicious glance our way when it happens.

  “Yasmine, I have to go down to get some documents from research for Mr. Gaultier. You think you could come with me, just to help me translate some that might be in another language?”

  Sonia never questions something when Mr. Gaultier presumably needs it.

  “Of course,” Yasmine says, right on cue.

  Five minutes later we’re in a corner of the staff lounge giggling like two teenagers.

  “You’re kidding!” I gasp when she tells me what Andrew said.

  “Not even a little. Seriously, is the man trying to get sacked?”

  “Apparently,” I say, still in awe. “Gaultier already told me it was his last day.”

  “Poor sod,” she says, looking off to the side, then she perks up with outrage. “Hell, poor me. This place could use more eye candy like that.”

  I smirk and roll my eyes.

  “So, how do you really know him? And don’t give me whatever rubbish you laid on Gaultier.”

  I feel the same lie come to my lips, but swallow it. No need to spin the web too wide. I know that’s the easiest way to get trapped. Besides, Yasmine is safe enough.

  “I caught him under my desk yesterday morning.”

  “Ohh, that sounds deliciously dirty.”

  “Not like that,” I say, wrinkling my nose with disgust. “He works in IT. I guess they’re updating computers soon so he was checking on mine.”

  “And then he just happened to find your ID?”

  “Well…he asked me out for drinks last night. Just drinks, before you say anything,” I add quickly.

  “Just drinks, hmm? So, when do you plan to move on from just drinks?”

  “Are you kidding?” I say, giving her an incredulous look. “He almost just got me fired.”

  “But you’re not fired, and he’s still hotter than sin. Brielle…darling,” She says, putting a hand on my shoulder, “you’re far too intelligent and attractive to have such a dull life. He’s officially a bad boy. At the very least, have your fun, get a few good shags in and be done with it.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “We should get back before I get fired too. I’m already in hot water as it is.”

  She allows me to drag her back.

  “I thought you had some documents for Mr. Gaultier,” Sonia accuses with her trademark scowl of disapproval, deeper now that she actually has something legitimate to apply it to.

  “They weren’t quite ready yet,” Yasmine says, “Of course, we could go back down and wait for them if you insist. But I doubt Mr. Gaultier would approve?” The wide-eyed look of innocence she gives is almost hilariously believable.

  Rather than answer, Sonia glares at each of us then returns to her work.

  Yasmine grabs my arm before I can head to my desk and whispers in my ear. “Be bad, Brielle.”

  Chapter Nine

  Andrew

  “I need to move on to the next strategy,” I say into the phone as soon as it’s picked up, speaking in French as usual.

  There’s a pause on the other end, and I can just picture her face: brow wrinkling as she closes her eyes and prays for patience while dealing with her reckless grandson.

  “What is it you’ve done?” she asks in a terse voice.

  “I’ve been fired.”

  “Merde!” I hear a long sigh before she continues in a more moderate tone. “And why have you been fired, André?”

  I think back to the look on Bernard’s face after our encounter and smile. “I had to give someone a history lesson, or maybe just a lesson in manners.”

  “Need I remind you how important this job is? This is about your legacy, André. So don’t treat this one like it’s just another job.”

  “Yes, I know. Which is why I need you to get started on this before Friday,” I say in a slightly impatient voice.

  “Have you forgotten who you’re speaking to?”

  “My apologies.”

  There’s another pause before she continues. “You’re just like your mother. Both of you frivolous, impudent, and rebellious.”

  All humor is gone from my voice as I reply. “My mother has nothing to do with this. The job is going according to plan, I just need you to do one thing.”

  She sighs. “You know I loved her too, André. She was my daughter, just as she was your mother.”

  “Friday is the unveiling,” I say, not wanting to talk about my mother. “I need someone important enough to obtain an invite and keep Gaultier from kicking me out on sight.”

  She curses once again. “Just how angry did you make the man?”

  “His majesty’s ego was a bit bruised, but he will recover,” I say with a grin.

  “I can’t keep fixing your messes, André,” she warns.

  “This isn’t a mess. It’s part of my plan. I’ve already helped win her over, I just need to find the proof she has and be done. The painting is secondary no?”

  “The painting is everything,” she hisses. �
�But yes, the proof is more important.”

  “Well then, I’ve always come through before. This time will be no different.”

  “Not always,” she reminds me.

  “Even I’m not perfect, and we both know in my line of work, luck is a part of the package. Fortunately, I don’t have to rely on luck for you to come through. We both know what kind of connections you have, even in America.”

  Especially in America, ironically enough.

  She exhales yet another aggrieved sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Preferably attractive…with long legs,” I say with another grin.

  “You’re in no position to make demands, André.”

  “Thank you in advance, grandmother,” I say with sugar in my voice, before hanging up.

  I stare at the Hudson River from the Battery Park City Esplanade where I’m standing. She’s made me think about my mother, which is something I don’t need while on a job, this one in particular. It’s hard enough to stay detached, strictly professional, and most important, unemotional with someone like Brielle, who’s already managed to fuck with my head.

  I was fourteen when my mother was killed by a hit and run driver in Nice. My father had been gone for a long time by then, so it was the two of us for almost seven years. With both of them gone, I went to live with my grandmother in Paris.

  She was the one to first get me involved in my current occupation, having discovered my knack for not only getting into things and places I shouldn’t have, but also charming my way out of any repercussions. The perfect mix for a professional crook.

  I push the past back into the recesses of my mind where it belongs. The next steps are going to be a delicate balancing act, like walking a mental tightrope…while juggling flaming torches.

  I grin toward the river. I’m definitely up for the challenge.

  Unless Brielle has been fired as well, which would mean another less pleasant call to grand-mère, I don’t expect to see her walk out of the building until at least 5:00 p.m. I was promptly fired and evicted from the Gaultier offices one hour after my confrontation with the man himself, which has left me a few hours to kill.

  I wait until 4:45 p.m., sipping cups of black coffee in a shop to pass the time and then make my way to the Gaultier Building, close enough to see the exit she usually takes, but far enough away so we won’t be seen by any of her coworkers when I approach her.

  I’m not surprised that I end up waiting a good hour before she passes through the revolving doors. Instead of heading right, toward either her apartment or that of Georgette Howard, whom she visits often, Brielle heads left, toward the Godiva shop. After the day she probably had, I’m not surprised that she needs a treat.

  I start off walking behind her, slowly catching up to her. As soon as she turns the corner to enter the shop, I speak up.

  “You look like you could use another drink.”

  Brielle spins around in surprise. Immediately those sultry eyes narrow with contempt.

  “You can’t possibly be serious.”

  “I’m only serious when it comes to painting,” I say, a seductive smile coming to my face just in case she misses the reference.

  Her mouth parts slightly and one soft hiccup of breath escapes, a sarcastic laugh in the face of my brash audacity. “You almost get me fired and you have the nerve to start making sexual innuendos?”

  I raise my eyebrows in mock surprise with a hint of mild reproach. “I return your ID to you and this is the thank you I get?”

  “You also insulted my boss right in front of me. Yes, Yasmine told me what you said. If you were planning on going down in flames, you could have at least pretended you didn’t know me. As it is, I’m lucky I got out with just a singe.”

  “Ah, Yasmine, is that her name? The gorgeous one who sits across from you?”

  She pulls back in surprise, frowning a bit at the sudden mention of her coworker.

  “If you think I’m pimping out my friend, you’ve officially lost your mind.”

  “I suppose that makes me sane then, since she isn’t the one I’m interested in,” I say, all hints of teasing gone as I meet her with a direct gaze.

  Yasmine is stunning, but I’ve had stunning. I’m far more interested in something…enigmatic and impassioned. Besides, Brielle is hardly difficult on the eyes herself.

  As usual, she’s quick to recover. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re officially toxic, radioactive, persona non grata. In fact, I’ll bet you stole my ID just so you could return it to me.” She narrows her eyes with suspicion.

  “Oui,” I confess. Brielle is far too smart for me to lie about what she’s obviously already figured out.

  She coughs out a laugh of disbelief. “All the more reason. Thanks for causing me so much grief this morning just trying to get into the building. As it is, I shouldn’t even be seen talking to you, so…bye.”

  She storms past me, practically yanking the door to the shop off its hinges as she opens it.

  I smile after her, wondering if I’ve managed to add an additional truffle to her order. Most men in my position would consider Brielle’s rejection a step back. Those are the kind of men that treat this as a game of checkers.

  But I play chess, and right now I’ve just positioned one of my pawns to completely capture the queen.

  Chapter Ten

  Brielle

  Dammit!

  It isn’t just the dark chocolate berry cups that are gone, but the milk chocolate as well. I could have really used them today of all days. My eyes wander over the truffles in the case at Godiva. I end up going for two of the key lime, one of the double chocolate raspberry, and two chocolate covered strawberries.

  Thankfully, Andrew had enough good sense left not to wait outside the shop for me. I nibble on one of the key lime truffles as I wander home and think about everything that happened today.

  He stood up to Gaultier in a way that I’ve often fantasized about, though I’d probably be a bit more scathing and profane in my take-this-job-and-shove-it meltdown.

  The thing is, his wasn’t a meltdown. Andrew was anything but heated when he delivered his final blow. Cool as a polar bear’s toenail as Frank, who always had a way of making me laugh, would have called it.

  Thinking of Frank, the only real father I ever had, reminds me of where my head should be. It’s probably for the best that Andrew was fired. No more meeting me in the lobby to suggest drinks.

  And what was up with stealing my ID? I suppress the smile that itches to come to my lips. I should be appalled and pissed off at such a move. But a small tyrannical part of me is unfortunately impressed and flattered. How did he even manage to steal it without my noticing?

  I shake my head, firmly tossing him from my mind. It’s T-minus three days until the unveiling of the painting. Having spent so much time obsessing over it, I’m anxious to finally see it in person.

  And then claim it.

  “I do love a good dress-up affair, don’t you?” Yasmine says next to me in the bathroom as we do our makeup in the mirror.

  We’re both in evening gowns and heels. Even though the event doesn’t start until 8:00 p.m. I opted to bring my dress in a garment bag this morning and change at work rather than go home. I couldn’t risk the chance that Gaultier—still a bit sore from what happened Tuesday—would lay some last minute work on my desk.

  As it is, Yasmine and I have been tasked with “helping out” with the setup. Sonia and Becca remain behind, the former to actually serve as a personal assistant in our absence, and the latter so that Gaultier has a nice trinket on his arm when he makes an appearance.

  Fine by me. I’d much rather help the event planners direct the caterers and bartenders than sit at my desk right outside his office.

  “I’m just looking forward to seeing the painting,” I say as I smooth down the stray hairs that have escaped my French twist. My make-up is far more dramatic than what I normally wear. The mascara and eyeliner make my already cat-like eyes seem li
ke something more exotic. The lipstick is a dark red to match the noir effect of the black one-shoulder, skintight gown with a daring slit up the left thigh. It’s paired with black strappy sandals. The only bit of brightness are the two gold medium sized hoop earrings.

  “Somebody cleans up nicely,” Yasmine says, admiring my look as I pull away to inspect myself one last time.

  My eyes slide to her reflection.

  “Not so bad yourself,” I remark.

  She’s gone the opposite direction in terms of style, wearing a bright orange, haltered, open-back crepe gown that drapes down to her heels. It’s accompanied by two citrine chandelier earrings and gold bangles on her wrists, making her look like the flamboyant mistress of some sheik. Her hair is in loose waves down her back, already looking slightly mussed for effect. She’s definitely in party mode.

  For me, tonight is pure reconnaissance. Maybe a bit of champagne to celebrate.

  “Shall we?” she says, lifting one shoulder teasingly.

  “We shall,” I say with a smile.

  One thing I can say about Gaultier is that he doesn’t half-ass it when it comes to public perception. Tonight’s unveiling will be a who’s who of the New York elite. The guest list is select due to the pre-unveiling hubbub surrounding the painting itself. Yet another thing Gaultier didn’t half-ass.

  The event is on the penthouse floor of the Gaultier building. In fact, the only reason his own office isn’t on the seventy-third floor of his own building is so that he can show off the lavish space—not to mention mind-boggling views—of the penthouse level. It’s the perfect place for an exclusive, upscale event.

  Noise about the painting began around the time that he supposedly purchased it from a private collector about two years ago. Back then, the news circulated mostly within the art world, which is where I first caught wind of it.

  Once upon a time, I worked as a private buyer for an art gallery with ideas of maybe getting my masters in Art History. That all changed when I was practically knocked over by the news about a painting I practically had etched in my head, even though I’d never even seen photos of it before.