Page 29 of The Picasso Heist
I TELL SKIP what happened, that Chanel just up and walked out, and he knows exactly what I’m doing now. And what I’m not doing.
“Stop staring at her. You’re wasting time,” he tells me. “You’ve still got a job to do. Get moving, metalhead.”
The only thing I hate more than my big brother being right is him calling me that.
Metalhead. And, no, it has nothing to do with my taste in music.
It’s because I had to wear one of those ridiculous headgear contraptions when I was eleven years old to fix my overbite.
He never let me forget it. He still hasn’t.
Point taken, though. Enzio Bergamo just bought a Picasso for a hundred and forty-nine million dollars.
Well, technically, Anton Nikolov bought it, but what no one in the room knows won’t hurt them.
Right now everyone’s treating Bergamo like he’s more than a fashion icon.
Tonight, he’s a certified rock star. They can’t get enough of him; an entire fawning mob of the filthy rich are all rushing from their cushioned seats to be the first to say congratulations.
“Introduce me,” I say to Pierre.
He didn’t hear me slink up behind his left shoulder. I made it from the upstairs seating to the auction floor in twenty seconds flat.
Pierre turns and looks at me, chuckles. “Introduce you to Bergamo? No way,” he says.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s a womanizer.”
“You’re a womanizer,” I say.
“Trust me, he’s in a different league,” says Pierre. “Enzio Bergamo makes me look like a eunuch.”
“First of all, eww. Second of all, his wife is with him.” I look over at Bergamo and the throng around him. “Well, she was a second ago.”
I’m really making Pierre laugh tonight. “Bergamo being with his wife is hardly a deterrent for him,” he says. “As for her whereabouts, I’ll bet you a hundred and forty-nine million dollars she’s off getting another drink.”
That’s fine by me. I’ve been listening to Pierre but my eyes are scanning the room.
I don’t want to see anyone who was at the Bergamo party I crashed.
Or, more important, I don’t want any of them seeing me.
This level of wealth isn’t exactly the party-in-the-Hamptons crowd, but better safe than sorry.
That’s why I opted for a sedate pantsuit and minimal makeup tonight.
“Pierre Dejarnette, are you worried that I might think Enzio Bergamo is more witty, charming, and handsome than you are?” I ask.
“Of course not,” he says, playing along.
I nudge his rib cage. “Then prove it.”
“Fine. I’ll introduce you,” he says.
The crowd finally begins to thin around the man of the moment, not that it matters. Bergamo knows I’m coming. He knows what to do.
“Pierre!” Bergamo exclaims as he sees us walking toward him. “Can I borrow some money?”
The joke gets a laugh from the few people still within earshot. Pierre and Bergamo shake hands, and Pierre wastes no time offering his congratulations. After some brief chitchat about the excitement of the auction, Bergamo notices the young woman standing next to Pierre, otherwise known as me.
“And who’s this?” asks Bergamo.
“This,” answers Pierre, “is someone who would like to meet you.”
“Hi,” I say, extending my hand. “I’m Halston Graham.”
“Nice to meet you, Halston. Very nice indeed.” He turns to Pierre. “Where have you been hiding her?”
Pierre shoots me a quick, knowing glance: I told you. World-class womanizer. “In the basement. That’s where we’ve been hiding her,” he tells Bergamo. “She works with me in valuations.”
“I just started,” I say. “Tonight’s my first auction.”
“And what a night for it to be your first,” says Bergamo. “For a while there, I wasn’t sure who would prevail.”
“Me neither,” I say, matching his poker face. “Congratulations.”
“I have to tell you, Enzio, I was surprised to see you here,” says Pierre. “You normally don’t—”
“Do paintings? You’re right.” Bergamo points up at the auction block. “But that’s not your normal painting, now, is it?”
“No, you’re quite right about that. It’s very special,” says Pierre. “And now it’s yours.”
“I definitely like the sound of that,” says Bergamo.
“As you should. Are you ready to make it official?”
“Ah, yes. The requisite paperwork.” Bergamo points again up at the auction block. “Let me go take one more look before you put it away for the night.”
“Actually,” says Pierre, “we’re not vaulting the painting just yet. There’s something new we’re doing, a new security measure.”
“There is?” asks Bergamo. There goes his poker face. I can see him trying to think quick. I’m doing the same.
“Yes,” says Pierre. He motions to the doors. “You know Terrance Willinghoff, right? The head of valuations? He’s waiting for us downstairs. Don’t worry, it won’t take long.”
And just like that, in an instant, we’re screwed.