“Get out before I call security.”
Liz didn’t heed the warning. She merely strolled over to the chair in front of Harold’s desk and plopped down arrogantly, placing her bag down in the chair next to her. She crossed her legs, reclining in the seat and watched as Harold sighed in defeat, looking up from his work.
“What are you doing here, Liz? You should be on vacation.”
“I’m here to start working again.”
“It’s inhumane to have you working so much, Liz. You know that, right? You know that I’m bound by the law to give you some sort of break so you don’t drop dead on me.”
“I know all about the law, Harold, but trust me. When you hear what it is I have to say, you won’t be singing that tune anymore.”
He leaned back in his large, black leather chair, folding his fingers over his pot belly. Again, he sighed heavily, something he tended to do a lot when Liz was around. He was in his late sixties, a man who dedicated almost as much of his time to his job as Liz did—except that he had a young wife and children he still needed to focus on. And with their new eight-month-old son, he had even less time on his hands. Despite all that, he didn’t allow Liz to pick up any of his workload, because he believed she should be getting less, not more. She was the hardest working person he knew, and straight from the horse’s mouth, he was sick and tired of it.
Liz knew it was mainly out of concern for her health. She did eat pretty regularly, and managed to spend a decent amount of time at the gym, but there was no denying that she was overworked. The company was always loading more things onto her plate, but she managed to balance it all without toppling over. It just went to show how good she was at her job. She knew it, Harold knew it, and everyone else in this gallery knew it.
Which was exactly why Harold wasn’t carrying out his very serious threat to have her dragged out by security. Whatever it was she had to say, it was going to be good.
“Alessandro Ricci,” she said, getting straight to point. She tried not to smile when she saw his eyes light with interest. “He’s back.”
“So?”
“And he has a new painting.”
Harold narrowed his eyes. “Where did you hear this?”
“You remember Mr. Grenville?”
“I remember you going all over the globe trying to get that piece for him.”
“And you remember that he paid out of his ass more than triple what we would normally charge to get that for him. You know how valuable he is as a client. And you know how dedicated he is an art collector.” Liz ran her finger along the armrest. “Apparently, Alessandro has finished his painting, but now he’s gone off the radar. Mr. Grenville wants to secure that painting for himself before Alessandro pops back up on the radar and hands it off to an auction.”
“Who says he will?”
“We don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “But that’s half the fun, don’t you think?”
Harold breathed heavily as he leaned over his desk. “So, you want me to put you on this job.”
“Yes,” she said confidently. “Mr. Grenville said he wanted me specifically. He trusts me, and I’m sure I’ll be able to get what he wants.”
“How did he even find this out?”
Liz hesitated for a moment. Mr. Grenville’s source wasn’t solid. Hearsay from a maid wasn’t the most reliable information, but she knew Harold would understand why it was important that they chase this lead. Not only was Mr. Grenville an important client, but building a connection with the famous Alessandro Ricci was an opportunity they couldn’t pass up. The elusive painter had a habit of briefly taking the world by storm before disappearing to work on even better pieces—always one upping what he’d done before—and this painting would surely be sought after worldwide.
“A maid,” she told him. “One that works for Alessandro. She let it slip that his newest artwork is finished and Mr. Grenville’s assistant got the scoop.”
Harold grimaced, no doubt recalling the hell they had gone through when working with Analise. Liz smiled at that. “So, you’re trying to get me to put you back on based on a piece of gossip you picked up somewhere.”
“Valuable gossip,” she pointed out. “But yes.”
“You’re making this very difficult for me, Liz.”
“Then let me make it easy for you. Send me to Italy. I’ll find out if Alessandro really has something coming out soon and get it for Mr. Grenville as quickly as I can. With the highest commission for us.”
Harold didn’t answer straightaway. Liz allowed him some time. She kept silent, watching him steadily as thoughts and emotions raced across his face. His wrinkles always deepened with contemplation. The struggle was harder than she expected it to be and by the time he opened his mouth again to speak, Liz was already growing impatient.
“Alright,” he conceded. “I’ll send you.”
She resisted the urge to smile victoriously. Instead, she sat up straighter, eager to get started. “You always make the right choices, Harold.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just know that if you get sick while you’re over there, you’re on your own.”
“I know,” she said, but she knew he was lying. Harold wouldn’t hesitate to fly her back as soon as he could if he caught the slightest whiff that something might be amiss with her.
“And if you go breaking any laws then you’re also on your own.”
“Of course.” Also a lie. He would probably march straight to the nearest embassy, even the White House to get her back if she got in any trouble.
He sighed again. Only God knew how he wasn’t tired of doing that. “I’ll have your flight and accommodation details ready by tomorrow. Don’t disappoint me on this, Liz.”
“Do I ever?” She flashed him a wide grin, rising to her feet. Like the charming stranger from the gallery, she winked at her boss, feeling better than she had in days.