Page 45 of Trailer Park Billionaire (Distinguished Billionaires #3)

BEN

I f I had a nickel for every time I’ve pulled off a distraction like this, well, I still wouldn’t be a billionaire, but I’d be a few nickels richer.

Usually, it’s easy. Just charm, deflect, misdirect. Smile like I’ve got a trust fund and absolutely no outstanding warrants. But usually, it’s Alexei in the backroom doing the stealing—not Helena.

Today, I’m sweating through my tailored suit. Granted, it was a rather cheap one that I tailored myself. If only I would have had those extra nickels to choose a different fabric—or at least a less body-hugging cut.

Elaine pours wine from the bottle I brought as a gift. It’s a nice vintage—one Alex and I swiped from a former client. Then she begins talking about a painting hanging on her wall.

“It’s a masterpiece, isn’t it?” she concludes after a bit.

I let my eyes wander from Elaine to the painting. It is a striking piece. One of those rare paintings that, despite all the noise, actually gets quieter the longer you look at it.

“It’s a little-known work from a—for now—little-known artist. I’m sure Helena has told you all about it.”

My Helena, who’s hopefully in the archive right now, swapping out priceless art like it’s just another Monday. My Helena, who absolutely cannot go back to pri?—

“In fact, we should get her in here. She’s the real expert on this.” Elaine gets up, spurred by her own idea, and heads for the door.

“No!” I blurt, just a little too loud and a lot too fast. “She can’t come here. I mean—not now. She’s… busy. Probably. Covered in… varnish and… dust.” I wave vaguely at the nearest painting like that helps make my point.

Elaine continues toward the door. “It’ll only take a second?—”

I get out of my seat, and jump in front of her like a human roadblock, pushing the door shut behind me. I don’t slam it, just shut it, firmly. Like someone trying hard not to panic.

She blinks. “What are you doing? Why are you being weird?”

Okay. Think fast. Lie fast. Or…

Tell the truth?

“I’m not here about the art,” I admit, instantly realizing how strange that must sound in an art museum.

Elaine cocks her head, confused and possibly a little intrigued (and maybe also concerned for my sanity). “You’re not?” she asks. “Then why are you here?”

I exhale through my nose and motion for her to sit back down in her chair. “Because of Helena,” I explain.

She leans in, now definitely intrigued. “Go on.”

“Well… I wanted to talk to you. About her. Because you two seem close, and I thought maybe you could help…”

Elaine smiles faintly, but doesn’t interrupt.

I start pacing through her office. Because apparently, instead of being good at running cons, I’m now good at running my mouth and sweating.

“Well, she’s brilliant, and funny, and gifted, and terrifying in the best way.

She looks at me like she sees every part of who I am…

and somehow still doesn’t run away screaming.

She’s also so pretty I’m this close to commissioning a portrait of her just so I can stare at it whenever she’s not around. ”

Elaine lets out a quiet laugh.

I stop pacing and meet her eyes.

“And I don’t want to screw it up. Which is unfortunate, because I already know I will. There’s no way around it. It’s… fate.”

Elaine studies me for a moment. Then she says, “You’re worried you’re not good enough for her.”

I nod.

Of course, I’m not good enough.

Not only am I not good enough for her, I’m using her. To make this heist work.

“Well,” Elaine continues, “you’re right. You’re not good enough.”

Ouch. I know it’s true, but hearing it out loud still stings.

“But,” she says before I can fully sink into the floor, “no one is. Not really. Helena is… exceptional. She deserves the world served on a silver platter by someone who thinks she deserves the world served on a silver platter.” Elaine gives me a look.

“But it’s not your call to make. Or mine.

The only person who gets to decide whether you’re good enough is Helena herself. So maybe… you need to let her decide.”

The air shifts then. My heart stutters, or at least it would, if it wasn’t already halfway across the museum—with Helena, for her to do with as she pleases.

And for the first time today, I relax. I’m just... here. With Elaine. With the realization that I have truly fallen head over heels for this woman a few rooms over. That I’d give up every fake name and phony smile if it meant I could wake up next to her every morning.

Elaine lifts her glass. “To hopeless cases,” she says.

“To hopeless cases…” I repeat, then raise my glass, “and the fools dumb enough to try anyway.”

The moment I step out of the museum, the cool night air smacks me in the face like it knows exactly how close I came to blowing everything.

I exhale hard, loosen my tie (well, technically Alexei’s tie), and make my way toward the RV. The museum behind me is silent, but I swear it’s still buzzing. Or maybe that’s just me.

No, definitely me.

My nerves are still shot, my blood is still pounding, and every part of me is screaming one thing:

Helena.

I spot her the second I round the corner. Arms waving, mouth moving, hair bouncing as if even her ponytail is hopped up on adrenaline. Her tote bag is slung over her shoulder like a treasure.

She’s muttering to herself. Animated. Wired. Electric.

The second she sees me, she lights up like someone flipped a switch.

“Oh my god,” she calls out, barely containing the volume of her voice.

“Ben! That was insane. My heart is still punching me in the throat. I mean, Pat showed up, and for a second I thought I’d have to…

I don’t know, knock him out… with my words or something, but he didn’t see anything!

I just had to promise to go with him on a date, and then he left, and I got out and—holy crap, I think I’m still shaking.

Are you shaking? No, you don’t look like you’re shaking. You look like?—”

Something in my face must change, because she goes still. Her breath catches, her words falter.

I reach her in two strides, grab her, lift her like she weighs nothing, and I pin her gently but firmly against the side of the RV—like I’m hanging my favorite work of art on a wall.

Her hands fly to my shoulders, and before she can say anything, I kiss her.

I kiss her.

Not like a gentleman.

Like a thief. Trying to take what I want.

Hungry and desperate.

She gasps into it—surprised, then not surprised at all.

Her legs wrap around my waist like they’ve been sculpted to fit just there. Her fingers are already tangled up in my hair.

It’s like we’ve done this a thousand times, but won’t ever get to do it again.

“I know that touching the art is not encouraged around here,” I whisper against her mouth, breathless, voice rough. “But?—”

“I don’t want you to touch the art, Ben. I want you to fucking defile it,” she gasps back.