Page 12 of The Scarab's Game
“Sounds good. I’ll grab my stuff.” She left, leaving me with Mr. Coffee.
Jean-Philippe gravitated toward the couple, who eventually waved him over.
“She’s your sister’s best friend, you said?” Dante folded one arm across his chest, still holding the cup Jenn hadn’t taken. He was an attractive man, wealthy, and clearly interested in Jenn. But if Massimo was hiding the stolen scarab, that made Dante the son of a criminal. He was no better for her—or any woman—than I was.
“She’s…” I turned in the direction where she’d gone, pretending to consider my words while instead studying the hallway from a better angle than on the stairs. “She’s like a sister.”
“And you’re an overprotective brother?”
I faced Dante again. “It’s a quick walk to the hotel, but who knows what could happen to a beautiful young woman out on her own? She might get into a car with a stranger who whisks her off to another country?”
He didn’t react to the dig. No appearance of insult or irritation at my suggestion that accepting his drive from Nice might have been an unwise decision. “I’m sure she can handle herself.”
“I know she can.”
Jenn appeared with a purse over her shoulder and the bag of macarons. “I’m ready.”
Dante leaned in to kiss the air at each of her cheeks. “I’ll see you at nine tomorrow morning?”
She smiled at him, tucking back a strand of her blond hair that had escaped her bun. Was she flirting with him? “See you then.”
I escorted her out the door and into the warm mid-August day. We hung a left, passing a row of parked scooters. I wasnow officially hours behind schedule. My team wouldn’t be impressed.
Hell,Iwasn’t impressed with myself—so many stupid decisions since I saw Jenn last night.
But she was safe from Dante for another day. And that was what mattered most.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
But goddammit, it did.
Chapter 6
Jenn
Still no callfrom Aunt Penny’s contact. It was four o’clock in Monte Carlo but only ten a.m. in the Eastern time zone. Maybe his office was just opening?
“Were they good?” asked Emmett.
“What?”
He nudged the empty bag in my hand. “The macarons. Did you taste them at all?”
I peered into the empty bag. I hadn’t even realized I’d eaten them, let alone tasted them. “Of course. They were delicious.”
The smeared paint on the Constable played on a loop in my brain. The hotel lobby’s marble floors, statuary, and decorated ceiling had barely registered. Same as the sights and sounds of the city.
Plus, my macarons.
Emmett had walked by my side the entire time in silence. Rare for him.
To be honest, he tried talking to me a few times, but I was poor company.
I may have been relatively new as an art restorer, but I knew how to follow instructions. God, my entire job was about following instructions. I hadn’t missed anything or pulled thewrong materials. It was acetone and distilled water, which I mixed to exactly sixty percent dilution, per the conservator’s notes. My work had been perfect. I was sure of it.
Something else was going on.
We walked through the white-paneled hallway inside the hotel, along the lush cream and light brown carpet. I had a fourth-floor room with a small balcony overlooking a beautiful courtyard at the center of the hotel.