to calm down and that I’d talk to you about what happened last night. In the meantime, I have promised him that you won’t be going anywhere near him or Ainslie Ave.”
“So you don’t think we should intervene if people are being hurt?”
“I didn’t say that.” He motioned for Rhys to take a seat. That was Logan’s way of saying that he was willing to listen. “But I need you to be honest with me. Are you emotionally invested in this girl?”
The question came out of nowhere. Rhys had been prepared to be asked if he was sleeping with Wren, if he felt she’d used sex to manipulate him. If he understood that getting physical with the employee of a client was wrong.
But not this.
“Answer the question, Glover.”
It had started out physical. It was still physical. But last night had taken things to a whole new level, an emotional level. He’d slept with his arms around her, fearful that something might happen if he let her go. Even if that meant spending the night on her shitty mattress on the ground and waking up feeling like his spine had been turned into a pretzel.
It wasn’t just that he was worried for her safety… He didn’t want her to go home to Idaho. Realization ebbed through him like a drug. This wasn’t just about seeing where things might go. He knew where they would go; he knew they would work together.
They would be happy.
“Yes,” he said, the word making him feel relieved and yet more burdened. “I’m emotionally invested.”
“Wrong answer.” Logan stretched his neck from side to side. “If we’re potentially going to breach our service contract, I want to be damn sure we’re doing it for the right reason. And your heart is not the right reason.”
“Is that your way of saying you believe me about Ainslie?”
“I do. He’s always seemed like a cagey son of a bitch, but no one ever put two and two together before you and your team.” He drummed his fingers against the desktop, his expression still unreadable. Logan had a hell of a poker face. “But that doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to keep you on this assignment. You’ll hand it over to Owen and he’ll run with it from now on. Quinn can support him and you can observe, but that’s it.”
Okay, so at least he wasn’t getting fired.
“What about Wren?” He knew it looked bad to even ask, but there was no way in hell he was letting anything happen to her. Pride be damned.
“We’ll keep eyes on Ainslie while this all goes down.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re not off the hook, Rhys. Be thankful you still have a job, but I’ll expect you to work your ass off to get back in my good books.”
A few weeks ago those words would have ended him. But now, knowing that he was doing something for a higher purpose than just furthering himself and his career, he could take it. For Wren, he could endure a lot worse.
WREN SAT IN a meeting room at the front of the Cobalt & Dane offices, staring at a wall clock. Each time the second hand moved, it made a ticking sound that was starting to drive her insane. She didn’t need a reminder that the minutes were slowly melting away.
Rhys had left her apartment in the wee hours of the morning, claiming he needed to be at work as early as possible. After he’d left, she’d tossed and turned, unable to sleep for worrying about how badly she’d messed up his life.
“Wren, thanks for coming down,” Quinn said as she walked into the room, with Rhys in tow. “Sorry to drag you in here without much notice.”
Relief eased through her chest. At least he hadn’t been fired. “It’s fine.”
Rhys nodded at her but didn’t say anything. The line between his eyes told her he’d had a rough morning.
“So Rhys has updated me on what’s been going on with Sean, including that he came to your apartment last night. Is that correct?”
Quinn made notes as Wren relayed what’d happened, leaving out the part about Rhys staying over…just in case that information wasn’t widely known.
“We’re going to monitor the gallery through the security cameras that we’ve set up.” Quinn tapped her pen against the edge of the table. “Now, if you have any contact with either Lola or Aimee, please don’t mention this. We don’t want to spook Sean.”
“Of course.”
“We’re breaking our contract with him by doing this,” Rhys said. “So it’s really important that we keep this activity quiet.”
A lump formed in her throat. “I understand. I promise I won’t say anything.”
“We’ll monitor the cameras for a couple of days and see if Sean accesses the storage room. I understand you think he’s hiding something in there?” Quinn said, watching her with hawk-like eyes.
“That’s right, but I have no idea what.”
“I didn’t see anything but paintings when I was in there. I made sure to look thoroughly, too, because I suspected the same thing,” she said. “It was literally just dozens of paintings. Some very strange ones, too.”
“Oh?” Wren tried to listen to Quinn while pretending that she wasn’t slowly driving herself crazy trying to figure out what Rhys was thinking.
“Yeah, some weird paintings with vegetables that had faces,” Quinn said with a shake of her head.
“Like an angry carrot with a pitchfork?” Wren asked, her blood suddenly running cold.
“Yeah.” Quinn glanced up sharply.
“And a screaming pumpkin?” She knew the painting exactly—right down to the brushes that had created the strange and haunting image.
“Yes.”
“They’re meant to represent the plight of farmers in today’s society and the issues around agricultural decline,” she said, echoing the words she’d heard once before, when the idea of the collection had been conceived.
“Are you very familiar with all of Sean’s paintings?”
“He didn’t paint them. My friend Kylie did.”
The pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. Why Sean was so secretive about the storage room. Why Kylie had refused to let Wren come into her studio after she’d returned from New York. Why the Ainslie Ave shows seemed to be weirdly eclectic and lacking in direction.
Because none of them were Sean’s paintings.
“Why would he have her paintings if she’s no longer working at the gallery? Would she have sold them to him?” Quinn asked.
