Page 16 of Sticky Fingers

Chapter Six

Sonia

I smirkas I grab a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. Nobody in this room has a clue I was the thief from the other night.

It’s been two days since that adrenaline-filled night, and I’m back in the Clarendon Tower Art Gallery with no one the wiser.

“Sonia, darling,” a raspy feminine voice says at my side.

“Felicity,” I reply with a fake-ass smile on my face.

I can’t stand most of the rich assholes in this room, but Felicity…now that’s someone Ireallycan’t stand.

“It’s so generous of you to donate one of your very own watercolor paintings to replace the one that was stolen the other night,” Felicity rasps. “I had no idea that you could even afford such a painting. I know your father has a nice sizable income, but I didn’t think it was that grand to be able to afford such an amazing piece.”

What a bitch.

“Oh, my father does have a large salary, but he wasn’t the one who bought the painting,” I throw back at this pompous ass who thinks she’s better than me. “I bought it with my own hard-earn money. Not borrowed from dear ol’ Dad.”

I see her jaw clench.

I knew that would piss her off. Little miss fake boobs, fake hair, and five pounds of Botox has never worked a day in her life and leeches off her parents still at the ripe age of forty-five.

A lot of rich people wouldn’t have a problem with the fact that they don’t have to work for their money, right? But in Felicity’s case…she feels she always has something to prove and end up on top.

Not going to happen when she comes up against me.

“Well then,” she forces through her tight lips, “it was very generous of you to donate it.”

“Thank you,” I reply, offering her one of the smiles I reserve for idiots who think they’re better than me. “Now, excuse me, but I have to go prepare for my speech.”

“Of course,” she says as I start to walk away from her.

Yup, that’s right—I’m to give a speech in about ten minutes. Hilarious, right? I steal the most valuable painting this gallery has ever seen, and now I’m being hailed as a hero because I provided a replacement.

I go over what I plan to say in my head as I stand near the stage—a few things about being grateful for being here, saddened by the art theft that occurred a few days ago (even though I sure as hell am not) and say how blessed I am to be able to donate my own painting and share in the beauty of art here tonight.

Yeah, that should do it.

It doesn’t take long before the emcee for the night is calling for everyone to welcome me to the stage.

I head towards the podium to the sound of gentle clapping.

The crowd goes silent, all eyes focused on me.

“Thank you all,” I start, my soft voice amplified by the speakers mounted overhead.

I give them the whole spiel I played out in my head earlier, adding a few statements here and there to elicit some sadness and full grin smiles. I think I even see tears in a few of the extreme art lovers when I talk about the stolen Picasso.

Jesus, people, calm your tits.

I wrap up my speech with a sweet thank you and walk off the stage to yet again a gentle wave of applause from the crowd.

For a while, I talk with a bunch of party goers who compliment my speech and thank me for my donation. I put forward my best effort, though I’m bored as hell. I just wish they would all go back to talking to their other rich friends about which yacht to take out on the water tomorrow.

“Sonia!” someone calls out.

I turn and see it’s Daphne.Thank God.