precisely like she’s not the one who spent the last ninety seconds talking about her dogs’ color and weather preferences.
I growl, sighing in frustration. “I’m going to get info about the laptop.”
“You mean ‘get my laptop’,” she corrects. I shrug, not worrying about that grammar point, and she growls back. She probably thinks it’s mean and threatening, but little does she know, it’s fucking adorable. “I’m coming along.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
I’m wasting time. By the time I could get Poppy out of my truck, the truck might have rusted to dust around us. JP would definitely think I’d ghosted him. But maybe . . . yeah, it’s possible. Bring her along, ditch her for a few minutes to meet JP, and she’ll be none the wiser. “Fine. But you have to do as I say. These are dangerous people, Pops.”
She looks a little nervous at that, but she steels her spine and says, “Let’s go.”
We drive downtown to the University Art Museum where JP requested our meeting. I’m not surprised. UAM’s security isn’t as good as it seems, and I suspect JP or someone in Big’s organization recruits their forgers from the local fine arts program. Also, he’s more interested in the amount of money a piece can bring on the black market, but he’s got a good eye. He has to so he knows if something is worth the risk of obtaining.
“Let’s check out the ‘Techno Landscapes’ exhibit,” I tell Poppy, knowing that will get us close to the meeting point with JP. Poppy agrees, and we enter the newest of the exhibits. It’s a curated assortment with some professional pieces mixed in with the best of the fine arts student pieces.
“This one has good technique,” I mention as we stop in front of a painting of a car junkyard. She stares at it, but I can tell she doesn’t see what I see. “The way the steel pipe is so straight . . . you can’t do that without using some kind of edge to guide your brush. But to do that without blurring your base layers . . . that’s skill.”
“I see it,” Poppy says, looking closely. “I never thought of it before.”
“Check out the way they use light and shadow too. Here, the shadows make the still-formed car look slightly threatening and oversized while the light on the crushed vehicle remains in the background give them a sort of angelic feel. It’s quite a statement,” I add, leaning in. I note the artist’s name, filing it away. This is a name I could see having to steal one day.
“You know a lot about art,” Poppy says, giving me a curious look.
“Art Appreciation 101,” I tell her dismissively, hating the lie but knowing that saying anything more is dangerous. “Same as most people.”
“Yeah, well, most people don’t get out of that class with much more than an ability to identify a few Monets on sight. But not you,” she says appreciatively. “And I happen to think smart guys are sexy.”
We’re in dangerous territory again. She just can’t get it through her stubborn head that I’m bad news for her, but I’ve got to keep trying to get her to see reason. “I get the feeling that you think everyone, and everything, is sexy. I’m a thief? Sexy. Family drama? Ooh, baby. Obscure knowledge about boring shit? And you’re dropping to your knees to suck me off in the middle of Techno Landscapes of the 21st Century.”
She blinks in shock at my vulgar words. Time to seal the deal.
“Even now, you’re deciding whether you like me talking like that, but your pulse is racing in your neck, telling me everything I need to know.”
She flushes, not in embarrassment but in fury. Exactly what it should be. “You think you’re so smart? You don’t know anything about me! Maybe my pulse is racing because I’m disgusted by your filthy mouth, you animal. Men should be gentlemen. Like in my books.”
Gentlemen . . . yeah, that’d be a nice dream for me as well. But life doesn’t operate that way, and I left that option behind a long time ago. “If you expect men to be gentlemen, then it only makes sense that women would have to be ladies.”
“Are you suggesting I’m not a lady?” she snaps as I look her up and down.
“Not suggesting. Flat out saying it.”
“Oh!” she huffs. Her cheeks are nearly the same red as her hair now, bright and splotchy with anger.