Page 18 of His Secret Merger

“And I’ve got the Germany trip coming up in three weeks,” I added. “A restitution handoff. A Kandinsky, stolen in 1941. The family wants it returned directly. No headlines. No gala. Just me, the art, and a curator at the regional museum in Baden-Baden.”

Anthony blinked. “And you’re flying it in yourself?”

“I’m taking a private jet the agency keeps on retainer. Security’s already coordinated. But it has to be personal. Symbolic. We’re trying to build trust.”

Then I shook my head and smiled, humorless. “A job for someone with credibility. And right now, all I have is polish over a crack I hadn’t figured out how to seal.”

He sat back slowly. “That’s a high-profile move for someone trying to dodge bad press.”

“Tell me about it.”

I took another sip of my drink, letting the bitterness settle on my tongue before swallowing it down. The collar of my shirt suddenly felt tighter, though I wasn’t even wearing a tie.

“I can keep the foundation standing,” I said. “But I don’t know how many more leaks I can plug before someone notices I’m using duct tape.”

Anthony didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then he nodded once. “Then you’d better figure out who’s got steady hands. Because the next drop’s not going to be private.”

Anthony sipped his drink, slow and thoughtful. Then, without looking up, he asked, “So what’s the plan?”

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders like the question’s weight didn’t land the way it did. “Ride it out,” I said. “Keep things polished. Name a new advisor with museum-world clout. Let the Diaz acquisition carry the headlines for another week or two. Schedule a donation drive, leak a photo of me shaking hands with someone respectable, and pray the bankruptcy filing gets buried under someone else’s scandal.”

Anthony made a noncommittal noise, but I saw the flicker of skepticism in his eyes.

“And Juliette?”

It came out too casually. Like he was just curious. But Anthony didn’t ask casual questions. Ever.

I gave him a grin, the practiced kind that didn’t touch the parts of me that mattered. “She’s a hell of a time. Smart, hot, wild. I can’t even find my little black book anymore.”

It was a joke. Mostly. But I heard the hollowness in my voice the second it left my mouth.

Anthony didn’t laugh. He just raised a brow and waited, like he was giving me space to backpedal—or dig deeper.

I tapped the edge of my glass. “She’s fun. And she doesn’t want anything complicated. That’s the best part.”

Anthony didn’t speak, so I filled the silence. “She’s not looking for rings or titles. She’s not asking questions. She’s untamed. The kind of woman who shows up, looks incredible, blows your mind, and then goes home to paint like nothing happened.”

My voice had gotten quieter. Tighter. Because even as I said it, I couldn’t stop the thought from sliding in sideways?—

What would happen if she asked for more?

And why the hell was I afraid I’d say yes?

Anthony’s phone buzzed with a soft chime, and he gave me a nod before answering it. Something work-related, probably. Something solvable.

I stood, straightened my cuffs, and went down to the dock without waiting to say goodbye.

The sun was at its peak now, throwing gold across the water like someone had cracked a bottle of vintage champagne and poured it over the bay. The boats rocked gently in their slips, expensive and still, ropes tight, paint glinting. Everything looked calculated, serene—like the entire marina had been arranged for a photo shoot I hadn’t agreed to be in.

I walked to the end of the dock and rested both hands on the railing, watching the water ripple between the hulls. The surface shimmered, perfect and controlled, but I knew better. Underneath, everything was shifting—pushing, tugging.

The calmest days could still hide the strongest undertow. It looked like nothing was about to break. But then again, so did I.

The wind lifted slightly, just enough to rustle my shirt and cool the sweat gathering at the base of my spine. I should’ve felt relieved. Unburdened. I’d finally said it out loud—admitted the bankruptcy, acknowledged the cracks. But the weight hadn’t left.

It had just settled differently. Lower. Heavier.

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