Page 102 of Trailer Park Billionaire
“I will keep that in mind,” Alex says politely, clearly eager to get out of here. He shoots us a look.
“Shall we then?” Ben says, offering me his arm like we’re leaving a gala instead of a crime scene. “A pleasure doing business with you.”
Waylon nods again, eyes still glued to his new acquisition, while Isabella escorts us to the door, still clinging to Alexei. She presses a kiss to his cheek, leaving a hot pink lipstick stain, and then we’re on our way back to the getaway vehicle.
Once we’ve put some distance between us and the estate, Ben leans in and murmurs against my ear, “You’re disturbingly good at this.”
I smile sweetly. “Must be the company I keep.”
He doesn’t respond—just gives me a look that makes my knees do that thing where they consider early retirement and moving into Haven with him permanently.
We make it out to the RV, the seniors already piled inside, giggling and clearly high on crime—or whatever pills they’re supposed to be taking.
Paige Turner turns an antique book over in her hand while chatting with Sienna, who has the big burlap sack from earlier resting on her lap.
“All I’m saying is I could add some adorable embroidery on the sack. It would look cute,” Paige says.
“Live, Laugh, Loot?” Earnest asks dryly, closing his laptop.
Ben takes his place in the driver’s seat and presses a kiss to my lips. As the car pulls away, I finally exhale—not from the tension of the crime, but because of Ben. Ben and his breathtaking… everything.
Yeah. I’m screwed.
And not just because I want another quickie.
34
HELENA
The next few days blur together in the best way possible—like a soft-focus montage at the end of a romantic movie, only interrupted by the occasional moan or sound of Ben slapping my ass (maybe making it more of an adult movie).
We fall back into our routine. A routine that mostly consists of finalizing my grandpa’s forgery, finishing preparations at work for the big exhibition, and fucking until we’re both sore, satisfied, and vaguely concerned for the bed frame’s structural integrity. Every now and then, he brings me tea, snacks, and back rubs.
We kiss for the thousandth time, and it’s still like we’re starved for it. At home, we rarely wear any clothes, we sleep tangled up, melting into each other like we’re watercolors on paper.
One morning, I wake up to find he’s moved my easel next to the bed. When I ask him why, he shrugs and says that it’s time I draw him like one of my French gargoyles. So I do. Like one of my naked, brooding French gargoyles.
So yeah, there’s a lot of sex.
But there’s more than that.
There’s the way he massages my shoulder when I’m having a cramp, the way he listens when I complain about varnish layers, the way he smiles at me like I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen—even when I’m in a stained hoodie with paint in my hair, swearing at a stubborn brush.
The forgery that my grandpa started is finally coming together, and I’m sure there’s something poetic about me finishing the painting he got imprisoned for, so I can get myself out of trouble. It feels like completing something he never had the chance to. I try not to dwell on it too much though. Instead, I focus on what will come after. On Ben. On whether he’d have to move to another city. Whether I’d go with him. Whether that’s even something I want, something that he wants.
We don’t talk about the future though, like it’s a bottle of absinthe flying at the window of this pretty little gallery we’re curating here. The only time it does come up is when we start planning the swap of the forgery with the original that’s arriving at the museum soon.
Elaine and I are finalizing the exhibition setup. Luckily, no additional security measures are being added—for lack of funds. Who would have thought. The real painting will be stored in the exhibition room two days before being hung to let it acclimate. During that window, it’s just Pat on duty. Pat, whom I promised a dinner date.
“This is the best shot we’ve got,” I say, tapping the homemade blueprint spread out between Alex, Ben, and me, and a pile of convenience store snacks that should probably be classified as hazardous waste, since Alex got them for free when his go-to gas station was about to throw them out. “It’s just Pat on duty. If I bring him dinner and keep him busy in his office, you two can sneak in here, and do the swap.”
“Keep him busy?” Ben arches a brow.
“I’m not gonna have sex with him, Benedick.” I roll my eyes. “He’s old enough to be my dad. Quick handjob, blowie at most. Nothing too serious. Don’t worry.”
Alex pops a nacho into his mouth, which turns his laugh into an expression of disgust. He swallows and shakes it off. “Bring him gas station sushi. That should keep himbusyfor at least an hour. Maybe two if it’s from the station on 4th.”
Ben wears a look of disapproval. “We can’t poison him.”
