Page 105 of Marked By Moonlight
Roux paced and paced until I was ready to scream.
Henrik sat at the table like a chess master, hands at his temples, thinking.
Marius went between pacing with Roux and close by my side, swearing hell and damnation to anyone who dared threaten me.
I doodled horses overlooking a mountainous landscapes framed by ominous clouds and dollar signs.
Bene was the only relaxed one, ordering liberally from room service and lounging on the couch, watching TV.
“It’s on Gordon’s tab, right?” He grinned.
Ah, to be able to switch off all worries about the future, just like that.
I went to my room, gazed out the window, and thought. Hard.
The problem, I concluded, was that I hadn’t been thinking deviously enough. Gordon — and unknown enemies — had been plotting and conniving, and all I’d done was react.
Well, I was about to get proactive. To put myself in Gordon’s — and Celeste’s, Jensen’s, Szabo’s, and Anastasia’s shoes — and think ruthlessly. Greedily. What were they likely to do, and how could I protect myself and Marius — plus Bene, Roux, and Henrik?
Yes, even Henrik. A little less out of loyalty than in hopes of having something to hold over him the next time an unexpected thirst struck.
At three o’clock, Gordon allowed me to visit Anastasia, sending Henrik and Roux with me as protection rather than Marius.
I nearly rolled my eyes. Did he think we would strip and screw in Anastasia’s stairwell at a time like this?
The idea made my pulse skip, I had to admit.
I dragged myself out of the hotel, fearful that Gordon might try to bump Marius off. But Bene promised to look after him, so away I went, plotting the whole time.
No more Mr. Nice Guy — or Nice Girl, in my case. No more principles or ideals. No more hoping. Something much more precious than that painting was at stake, and it was up to me to save it.
In short, it was time to release my devious inner bitch.
So, when a fretful Anastasia asked my advice, I talked up Jensen over the bitter taste in my mouth. Oh, and Gordon too.
“It’s essential to work through Gordon, and only through Gordon,” I said. “Anyone trying to circumvent him is trying to circumvent you too.”
A white lie, but hey. Jensen wanted exclusive rights to one of the most beautiful paintings on earth? Let him fork out another seventeen million for the privilege.
“But he’s…he’s…”
“Unfeeling? Unworthy?” I supplied. “Yes. But he’s also rich. And he’s willing to close the deal before your deadline.”
Anastasia looked sullenly out the window, contemplating her Achilles’ heel.
I looked too, contemplating mine — my ideals and my love for Marius.
Then I patted her dry, wizened hand and forced a smile. “You know what I suggest?”
She tilted her head expectantly.
“We take our tea upstairs and enjoy the painting for a little while.”
I’d meant to sayyoutakeyourtea, but my tongue slipped.
Anastasia flashed a bittersweet smile and led me upstairs, where we sat, quietly drinking in Franz Marc’s masterpiece.
At least, that’s what I did for the first minute. Then I gazed off into the distance, thinking. Scheming. Calculating.
