The Art of Stealing Kisses - Stella London Page 0,4

and get them to the printer.”

The title cards are the last step. The artwork I selected has already been transported and hung with the other donations, and so far, I feel like I’m on top of things. My mom would be so proud. I think she’d like the paintings I chose, too. I hope St. Clair likes them – it’ll be a surprise for him to see what I’ve picked. After our steamy storage room kiss, he had to fly up to Seattle for business, and won’t be back until the opening gala tonight. Despite his absence, I’ve been grateful coming into work every day. This job is my dream, and I can hardly believe I’m here.

“I’m still waiting on them,” Maisie replies. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Thanks.”

I sip my coffee and glance over the schedule of upcoming exhibits and auctions, marking the ones I think we should attend. I hear a chime from my computer and look up to see the Skype icon on my screen bouncing. It’s my best friend, Paige.

“Hey, you,” I say as her face appears on screen. She’s in sweatpants and a ponytail with a Chinese take-out carton in one hand and chopsticks in the other, rapidly chewing a mouth full of noodles. It must be dinner time over there – Paige is eight hours ahead, in London.

I raise an eyebrow. “Dinner of champions?”

She swallows. “Dinner of a single woman working overtime.”

Paige works for an insurance company, investigating stolen art claims around the world. “Still looking for the stolen Reubens?” I ask. Last week, a highly prized painting was taken from Carringer’s, right after St. Clair won it at auction for six million dollars. It’s a huge scandal – and a big mystery too, to have a painting like that disappear into thin air.

“Yeah, that Interpol guy, Nick Lennox, thinks that theft is linked to others around Europe, but he doesn’t have any real evidence or suspects.” Paige shrugs. “I’ve done everything I could think of to find a possible lead, but I’ve got nothing.”

“I hope they find they guy. What kind of asshole steals priceless masterpieces just to hide them in a vault somewhere?” I ask, getting riled up. “St. Clair and other collectors keep things stored temporarily, between exhibitions, but these thieves want to lock the painting away so nobody else can ever enjoy it. Bastards.”

Paige grins at me. “Easy there, tiger.”

“Shut up.” I stick out my tongue.

She twirls her chopsticks. “How’s the new dream job going?”

“Great!” I perk up in my seat. “I keep expecting to get used to it, but every day, it hits me all over again, this really is my life!” I know I’m beaming, but I can’t help it. “I got to choose the paintings St. Clair is donating for the new wing of a hospital. I wish you could come to the opening.”

“Me too,” Paige grins. “Someday, though.

“I hope they like my choices,” I add, nervous. “It’s my first big job, and I want it to be a good reflection of St. Clair.”

Paige grins. “Oh, I’m sure it will be. But how ever will he show his appreciation to his new employee, hmm?” she teases. “I may have a few ideas…”

Before I can protest, my phone pings. It’s a text from St. Clair.

Join me at the gala tonight?

My face heats up.

“A-ha!” Paige misses nothing. “That was him, wasn’t it?”

“He wants to take me to the gala.”

“Like a date?”

My pulse races a bit with hope, but I’m not sure. “Maybe? Or maybe it’s just professional. I mean, I did curate the pieces.” But there was also that kiss… “What do I say?”

Paige rolls her eyes. “Say yes!”

I text Sure and he replies almost instantly. Great! Can I pick you up for dinner beforehand? 7?

Paige sings, “Grace and Charles sittin’ in a tree…”

My face flushes. “Stop!”

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love—”

“Seriously, Paige. He’s my boss now. It’s not so simple anymore.”

“Simple is what you make of it,” Paige shrugs. “Wouldn’t you rather have hot, complicated sex than simple platonic nights alone?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

I smile. This is why everyone needs a friend like Paige. I text St Clair: Can’t wait. Then I think about what I’ve just accepted: an invitation to a fancy black-tie gala, surrounded by San Francisco’s high society. My smile slips.

Paige says, “What’s wrong?”

“I have nothing to wear.”

“Grace, please. This is the part where you go shopping. Splurge on something sexy.”

“I can’t afford that,” I say automatically.

Paige snorts. “You told me what your new salary is,