Page 15 of Sinful Lies

And this was just the beginning.

Chapter

Four

“Art is the lie that enables us to realize the truth.”

?Pablo Picasso

Jade

25 years old

Five years ago

“I’ll give you five million, take it or leave it, Miss Whitenhouse.”

I tilted my head, a smile tugging at my lips as I crossed my legs, letting my new Louboutins catch the light.

His gaze flicked down, lingering for a moment on my legs before returning to my face.

“Simons,” I began, “my offer is already generous. Two million dollars for Frida Kahlo’s portraits to be displayed in our exhibition next Friday, staying in the museum for just one week. Two million, for seven days. If you ask me, that’s a bargain you’d be crazy to refuse.”

I raised my caramel macchiato to my lips, savoring the warmth and sweetness as he studied me with those calculating brown eyes of his.

Nathan Simons was New York’s golden boy.

At twenty-seven, thanks to his daddy’s shrewd investments in art, he was already a millionaire and a darling of the city’s elite.

Tall, blond, with freckles dusting his high cheekbones, Simons was an infuriating mix of charming and maddeningly entitled.

Women fawned over him, seduced by his gentlemanly facade and that disarming, practiced smile.

But I knew better.

That smile had probably landed on ten other women before me today, each convinced she was the only one.

We’d worked together before—three months ago, on an exhibition celebrating Latin culture. It had been a massive success. But today he was unusually resistant, more persistent than I’d ever seen him.

And I didn’t like the glint in his eye.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m feeling this one.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, his gaze darting to my lips before returning to meet mine. “Is it really a bargain? Handing over my paintings just for strangers to ogle? I don’t know, it feels… cold. Transactional.”

I raised a brow, setting my coffee down. “So whatdoyou want, Simons?”

He leaned back, his smirk widening. “A date.”

I coughed, the coffee catching in my throat.

Clearing it quickly, I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear—a nervous tic I hated.

“Simons,” I began, carefully.

“Jade,” he interrupted smoothly. “We’ve known each other for months now. Don’t you think we’re past last names?”

---