The air in the Penthouse Gallery tasted like expensive champagne and desperation. Maya adjusted the strap of her borrowed Dior dress—a vintage piece that cost more than her apartment—and scanned the room. She wasn't here for the bubbly; she was here for the "Midnight Nebula," a sapphire pendant guarded by two men who looked like they'd been carved out of granite.
Maya wasn't a thief, but she was a world-class restorer, and the man holding this gala had "acquired" a stolen artifact that belonged to her family's estate. She just needed a distraction.
"The brushwork is mediocre," a deep, velvet voice vibrated behind her.
Maya didn't turn around. She knew that voice. Every business magazine in New York featured it. Julian Vane. The man who bought companies for breakfast and broke hearts for sport.
"It's not mediocre," Maya replied, finally turning to face him. Julian was taller than the photos suggested, with eyes the color of a stormy Atlantic. "It's a forgery. A very expensive, very beautiful lie."
Julian arched a dark brow, leaning closer. The scent of sandalwood and cold ambition rolled off him. "That's a bold claim for someone wearing a dress from the 1994 Spring collection. You have an eye for classics, but a tongue for trouble."
"I prefer the term 'accuracy,'" Maya countered, her heart hammering against her ribs. She needed him to stay talking. The security guards were distracted by their boss's sudden interest in the girl in the vintage silk. "Most people here see the price tag. I see the shaky hand of a student trying to mimic a master."
Julian took a step into her personal space, his gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. He wasn't just looking at her; he was dissecting her. "And what do you see when you look at me, Miss…?"
"Someone who thinks everything has a price," she said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline. "But some things, Mr. Vane, are simply not for sale."
She reached out, her fingers grazing his silk tie for a fraction of a second—a move that looked like a flirtatious adjustment but was actually a masterclass in misdirection. As she pulled back, she felt the cold weight of the security keycard she'd lifted from his pocket tucked into her palm.
"You're a dangerous creature," Julian murmured, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face. He didn't look angry; he looked boredom-shattered. He looked like a man who had finally found a puzzle worth solving. "I think I'd like to see how long it takes for you to break."
"Don't hold your breath," Maya whispered.
She turned and vanished into the crowd, the stolen keycard burning a hole in her hand. She had the prize. But as she glanced back, she saw Julian Vane watching her, not with suspicion, but with the intense focus of a hunter who had just spotted the only thing in the room more valuable than the gems.
He knew. He definitely knew. And he was letting her run just to see how far she'd get.