Page 26

Mia

The next morning, I wake early, my body trying to adjust to the jetlag. It’s dark, but with a glance out my window, the promise of the dawn is making itself known. I can hear the chirping of the birds in the magnolia tree that dominates my back courtyard.

My body melts deeper into my mattress and I stretch my arms high above my head. As sleep leaves my brain, a pang of disappointment hits me in my chest. Dillon isn’t here. He and the guys left late last night after dessert and coffee.

It’s strange not to start the day with urgency. It’s strange to get ready in my spacious bathroom. To dress in a suit and heels. Public transit seems boring in comparison to the recent modes of transportation I’ve gotten used to.

I settle into my seat on the subway, pulling up the news app on my phone. I’m subscribed to channels and topics mainly having to do with art and history, so when I see the top headline, I stop immediately.

Priceless Artifact Recovered from Black Market by Collections Manager From The MET , it says.

The subtitle reads: American Financier Conrad Perry attempts to sell an artifact that was priceless; loses millions in the process. Sheds light on the secretive black market of antiquities.

I open it and begin reading.

Adriatic Sea—On an extravagant mega yacht, a group of ultra-wealthy international collectors convened. They shared two things in common: their love of antiquities and their considerable fortunes. Among them was self-made billionaire Conrad Perry, drawn to these pieces for their history, cultural significance, and elite status of selling or owning one.

Perry, known for his ambitious pursuits, had gone to great lengths to acquire “The Love Cuff”, a pre-Columbian solid gold bracelet. It was a relic thought not to exist in the modern world. To uncover this fabled relic, Perry resorted to blackmailing his own daughter, The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Collections Manager, who specializes in Ancient American Art. It was a gamble. Perry lucked out, and his risky ploy succeeded.

What Perry failed to foresee, as is often the case with individuals blinded by hubris, was his daughter’s tenacity. With the help of a team of highly skilled ex-special forces, she recovered the relic. The operation was not without its costs; Dr. Carl McIntyre lost his life during the mission.

With the Love Cuff safely in the hands of a dedicated professional, the art world can anticipate a public exhibition. The priceless artifact will be available soon for viewing, cementing its legacy lasts.

Meanwhile, Perry has vanished since fleeing a black-market auction. His disappearance has led to the collapse of several pending business deals, costing him millions and sullying his reputation—both personal and professional. His involvement in such illicit activities raises additional questions about the extent of his dealings in the world of black-market artifacts.

It begs the question, just how many artifacts are sold—

I stop reading. How had this news travelled so fast, that within twenty-four hours a detailed article is printed? The specifics give me pause. And then I smell a rat.

Toggling out of the news app, I pull up my text thread with Dillon. I send a screen shot of the headline.

You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you?

It’s early still—four in the morning for him, but I get an answer almost immediately.

*cough cough*

Dillon.

Mia.

I sigh. The subway jostles me in my seat as I tap out a reply.

Not sure I want to know how you pulled that off on such short notice.

?? I know people. Many people. Powerful people…

Should I keep refreshing my feed…?

Nah, it won’t make headlines today. Maybe not for a while, but it’s coming.

Define ‘it’.

His assets. Properties. Accounts. Toys. They’re all going to be seized.

I don’t respond for a beat. Part of me is sad, but it’s overshadowed by the fact that my father is a criminal. And he made his bed. If that means he’ll lose what he’s worked for—legally or not— so be it.

I suppose that makes…sense.

I told him I’d ruin him. And I am.

You did. Hey, I’m at my stop. Text later?

Anytime. Have a good day.

And then before I think of it, I tell him I miss him. Because it’s true. I miss him a lot. And what does that say for me…not even separated by twelve hours and he’s at the forefront of my mind?

There’s an evident chill in the air as I take the steps to the museum. The once bright and welcoming Corinthian columns now look dull to me. I try and get my head in the game. I’m assuming the wing has been packed away and all safely put in storage since my impromptu time off.

I don’t even get to my office door and Liz is approaching me. There’s a subtle buzz driving her energy. “Is it true?” she practically breathes. “The cuff has been found?” She follows me into my office and I motion for her to close the door.

I allow myself to place my bag down, taking stock of the room. Everything is as I left it. “And you assume I can confirm this because…?”

She rolls her eyes, taking a seat. “The article ,” she says with great emphasis. “We all know who your dad is—sorry about him, by the way—and it practically mentions you by name. Plus, you were gone on a ‘family emergency’ as the higher ups called it.” Leaning back, she picks at the fraying edge of her tattered jeans. “So?”

Inhaling, I wish I had a cup of coffee (preferably fresh Colombian beans) before this conversation takes place. But I can’t fault her for her enthusiasm. I’d be the same way.

“It’s true,” I say, a sly smile creeping across my mouth.

Liz slaps her hands in the air. “I knew it! And you, you found it ?” she asks in awe. “Where? How? Does it look like artists’ renditions? Is it heavy? Wait. Do we even get to keep it, because you sort of technically stole it…”

I laugh at her million questions. She reminds me so much of myself. She has the fever. The passion for this job.

“Yeah, about that…” It’s crossed my mind that the cuff doesn’t automatically belong to The Met. I found it, but that doesn’t mean the Colombian and Turkish governments won’t vie for their rights to it. That part of the job is the worst, and with a discovery this important, I’m not sure I want to dredge through the quagmire of red tape.

“I’ll give you the Cliffs Notes version, but I’m going to call a meeting with the rest of the department and the other curators. Then you can hear all the details.” I fill her in on what I meant to make brief. It takes me fifteen minutes to relay the past week to her. And she hangs on every single word.

After, she fills me in on the things I missed while I was away. We go downstairs to storage and she shows me proof of how well the items all have been packed. (I hadn’t doubted her. Liz is thorough.) Before I know it, lunch has come and gone. I spend the rest of my day catching up on emails—two hundred and thirty-three to be exact. I make a substantial dent, but it’s tiring. And a little mind-numbing.

I yawn the entire way home and feel dead on my feet by the time I get inside. There were little leftovers remaining after the team destroyed most of the dishes, but when I open the fridge to see a plate made up, I smile. Thought you might be wiped. Be home soon. -Ash

I’m asleep within minutes of finishing my dinner.

The next day at work, the meeting commences. The board room is filled with departments that will work directly with the cuff, and ones that are simply curious. The cuff has created quite the buzz around here. I’m getting stopped everywhere I go. Sifting through my inbox is the only quiet reprieve I find. And I think it strange that it’s the silence I’m craving.

“Thank you all for coming,” I say, getting the meeting underway. The cuff is nestled inside the foam case from the auction, and it sits on the table in front of me. If the condensed version of my tale took fifteen minutes yesterday, today it takes over two hours for me to share it completely. With questions being fielded, it bleeds into a working lunch.

I prepared a short slide show to augment the cuff and my time away. It consists of the few images I snapped on my phone, maps of the locations where clues were found, and a proposed sketch of how I best think the cuff should be displayed temporarily until the Rockefeller Wing is complete, if we get to keep it.

I cover everything. And during my explanation, I look at the screen. At the candid picture of me taken at a courtyard in the Alhambra. I can still hear the babbling water that ran behind me. I remember how Dillon told me to pose like a tourist. He offered me a devastatingly handsome smile in the process.

There’s a thumbnail of the Colombian jungle taken from the helicopter as we ascended to the site. If I shut my eyes, I can feel the adrenaline that coursed through my body. And I can see Dillon piloting the chopper. How jealous he was that Blaze was rappelling me tandem. I can laugh at the memory now, though it causes a sadness to wash over me at the same time.

I find myself scrolling down, actively seeking the images from my phone. I’m suddenly desperate to relive that time. A time where I was so out of my element. But a time that, in retrospect, was the most alive I’ve felt.

Knowing there are more images on my phone, I scroll through my photos. The cylindrical seals and their impressions are in there. Dillon’s hip is in one that I took at the kitchen counter at my dad’s penthouse. Another is of the team; I took it when nobody was looking. I pinch the screen to zoom and look at each of the guys. Legion has Blaze in a chokehold and Midas is looking at the two admonishingly. Phantom has his hands on his hips while he and Dillon are lost in conversation. My heart beats stronger in my chest when my eyes land on him. It might have something to do with his thigh holster, or the way his biceps pop while crossing his arms, or maybe it’s the distinct and intimate way I’m all too aware of his hands. Or his protective instincts. And if I’m being honest…his heart.

“You adjusting back to normal life yet?” Our new assistant curator, Madeleine breaks me out of my memory cocoon.

“Hmm?”

“I was wondering if you’re adjusting after being home?” Her French accent is barely perceptible, but I consider her question for a minute before answering.

Have I beat the time change and found my Circadian Rhythm yet? I’m not waking up in the middle of the night, if that’s what she’s meaning. Am I easing back into my work? I am, but there’s something different about it. With the discovery of the cuff, I should be ecstatic. I should be thrilled to carry on conversations about it whenever people stop me. Ordinarily, it should be the first and last thing on my mind each day.

But what does that even mean anymore…“ordinarily?” Mundane? Limiting? Unfulfilling? They’re the emotions that I realize I’ve been trying to ignore since being back.

Have my priorities and desires shifted so drastically in such a short time? Has my perspective on life changed? That answer becomes crystal clear.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to share if you’re not ready,” Madeleine says, placing a hand on my arm. She offers me a kind smile.

“I’m sorry,” I say, eyes unfocused. I like them that way; I can get lost in my mind’s eye easier. “I-I don’t think that I have adjusted…” It’s like I’ve got peanut butter on my tongue because my words come out slow. I don’t think I ever fully will adjust.

“You’ll get there. Give yourself some time.”

“Yeah.” I blink rapidly, bringing the room back into focus. “Speaking of time…I-I have to go.”

My body moves on autopilot. I tell Madeleine she’ll fit in beautifully here. Liz catches my eye as I exit the boardroom. I hardly remember hugging her goodbye, but I tell her the cuff is in her hands now. I leave her in my wake, stunned.

I text Ashlee on the subway home. An hour after I get home, she walks through the door.

“If you wanted to make our girl’s night earlier, all you would’ve had to do is ask—” Her words are silenced when she views me in the parlor. Then her voice grows quiet. “What took you so long, babe?” Her eyes go from the suitcase I have my hand propped on, to my anxious face.

“I’ll tell you in the cab.”

Ashlee accompanies me to La Guardia. She walks me through baggage check and verbally goes through the rundown of security with me. She’s like a proud mom sending her first born off to college. But the tears that track down her cheeks show the amount of sadness she’s experiencing. “We’ll work out the house details and everything else once you’re settled.” She wraps me in the tightest hug possible, and I breathe in her sugary perfume, committing it to memory.

“I’m going to miss you,” I say, holding back tears of my own.

She snorts, in typical Ash fashion. “No, you won’t. You’ll be getting it morning, noon, and night.” I know she’s saying it to break the tension, and I appreciate it, even though she garners a few looks.

“I’ll text you when I get there,” I say, kissing her cheek.

She pulls back, holding me at arm’s length. “Go. Go get your man.”

So, I do.

My Uber turns out to be a lifted Ram truck. The driver is nice enough, helping me inside and taking care of my bags for me.

Everything from the endless sky, to the expanse of land, to the lack of population hits me all at once. Wyoming is absolutely opposite of New York.

I love it.

Ashlee confirmed with Midas during my flight that the team is idle, waiting for their next job in a few weeks. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know how he’ll react. But I know that this—doing something crazy and bold—might just be my new norm. I smile at the thought.

I think about how much I’ve changed. Ash says it’s good. “My little bird has grown enough to fly the nest,” she teased. And she’s right. Change can be scary, but what I’ve learned recently is that risks are worth taking. Mistakes may happen, things may not turn out exactly how you plan, but none of that matters if you have the right person by your side.

The truck pulls onto a gravel drive that seems to go on forever. Pine fencing encloses the land that surrounds two large buildings. I don’t see the airstrip until we park. I recognize the jet.

“Thank you,” I say to the driver after he’s placed my luggage beside me. I haven’t looked at him once; my eyes are glued to the man on the private tarmac that’s at least half a mile away.

As I approach, I see a neon yellow tape measure is in his hand, and he’s got it laid out on the ground away from the hangar. I take careful, quiet steps. I can hear music coming from a speaker nearby. It’s oddly familiar and I find that I can’t quite place the instrumental piece.

I pass through the open fence. His back is to me, and even from a short distance, I can see the muscles in his shoulders flex and ease with each movement he makes.

I inch my way closer, not wanting to reveal my position quite yet. He’s in a flannel and jeans, his gun at his hip. I swallow. He’s so relaxed and in his element. Wide open spaces, fresh air, a job he was born to do.

The tape snaps back, recoiling several feet. “Need any help?” I ask.

He freezes in place, and the way his hand instinctually goes to his hip does not go unnoticed. He turns around slowly.

And his face morphs into a smile that reaches the corners of his eyes. “Blaze is going to be pissed when he finds out he lost his bet.” It’s not what I expect him to say, and evidently my quizzical look urges him to explain. “He gave you til yesterday. Legion said today.”

He stalks his way toward me, each stride confident and sure. It takes too long to close the gap. I break into a run, propelled by a longing so strong it makes my insides do a summersault. Dillon catches me with one arm. My legs wrap around his waist, my hands doing the same around his neck. His other hand comes to rest at the base of my skull. His finger pads dig into my scalp when he pulls my face to his, crushing his lips to mine.

Any doubt I had, any fear or reservation about going after Dillon is a far-gone memory. His tongue weaves with mine, his dominance showing when he pulls away with my bottom lip gently between his teeth. He releases it, then places a kiss to it. All I can do is smile. I’m giddy with the best kind of joy. A joy I’ve never felt until this man came into my life. With the tight grip he has on me, like there’s not a chance in hell that he’ll ever let me go again, I know he feels it too. I can see it in his eyes, and the way the delicate skin softens as he takes me in. The way his gaze turns molten.

“I think I might love you, Dillon.”

He drops me an inch and I squeal. “You think ? Come on, Mia. You can do better than that.”

My grip on him tightens, though I know he’ll never let me fall. I place a kiss to his right cheek. “I.” Then a kiss to his left one. “Love.” Then I place my lips over his, pausing a split second longer. “You.”

Before I can ask if that’s sufficient, he slaps my ass playfully. “Damn right you do.”

I gasp, acting affronted, but it melts into a giggle that’s out of my control.

“For Chrissake, if you don’t tell Mia you love her, Arch, I’ll take her off your hands.” Blaze. And Legion, Midas and Phantom. They’ve come out of the woodwork, smiles plastered to their faces.

Dillon doesn’t take his eyes from me, but yells, “Fuck off, kid.” Whatever rebuttal Blaze has fades away when Dillon says, “Mia, I fell for you from the fucking get-go. It was impossible not to. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we left the other night. And if you hadn’t shown up, I was hopping the red-eye to New York tonight.”

“You were?”

He nods. “Because I love you, too. And I don’t think it, I fucking know it.”

I open my mouth to scold him for his sassiness, but his lips are on mine once again. There’s nothing to say beyond what we have already. We found one another under crazy circumstances. We both fell for each other. Both of us willing to place ourselves in harm’s way if it meant the other was safe.

A screeching whistle pierces my ears, followed by cheering and clapping. Dillon groans, vibrating beneath me. I want him badly.

But right now, he’s got me tightly in his arms.

Right where I’m supposed to be.