Bartered Betrayal - The Billionaire's Wife 08 Read Online Free PDF Page A

opened the door. The smell of take-out Chinese hit my nose, and my mouth watered.
    He smiled at me, a huge predatory grin. Not half as sexy on him as the one that Anton sported. My heart gave a little twist, but I shoved it away. "Felicia!" he said, clearly happy to see me. And why not? I'd probably already made him gobs of money. Good for him.
    "I need help to get part of my work to the kiln."
    "Can I take pictures?"
    I rolled my eyes. "Yes, god, of course. Just give me a hand."
    Within the hour he procured a truck, and together we loaded it in. He stood back and took a few photos as I hauled a couple of the smaller pieces into the truck myself, presumably to send off to the tabloid he'd contracted with, but it didn't take long with his help. Hauling the big pieces downstairs is a lot easier if you have a second person.
    "So what is it?" he asked me as we drove to my friend's studio.
    "It's a sculpture," I said.
    He blew air out his nose, clearly unimpressed with my clever sidestepping of his question. "Yes, I know, but... oh, forget it. Why is it in pieces?"
    "Because it's too big to fire in one piece, duh."
    "I haven't been able to get a good shot of it through the window," he said after a moment.
    "Good," I told him. "You have my butt, though, right?"
    "Yeah."
    "I'm guessing that'll sell better than the final piece anyway."
    His mouth twisted. "Then... okay, seriously. Why are you doing this if you think the final piece won't be worth much?"
    "I said it wouldn't sell for a lot," I told him. "Personally I think it'll be priceless."
    "Artists," he said, disgusted. "Why do you want me to take pictures of you building it, then? Just to show off your ass?"
    No, I wanted to tell him. My ass just gets it where people can see it. Specifically where one person can see it.
    "I'm sending a message," I told him, and refused to say anything more.
     
    *
     
    I had to call Sadie. I used Mrs. Andersen's phone, much to her disgruntlement. I actually had to enter her apartment to do it. The place smelled like roses and dust and had a scary amount of WWII paraphernalia.
    "Don't you give me the stink eye," she said as I tried not to stare at her extensive collection of tank helmets. "I salvaged those fair and square."
    "Salvaged?" I said.
    "I was a little girl in Europe in the forties. You don't have to be a soldier to steal boots off dead bodies."
    I decided not to press her on that claim and instead called Sadie.
    "Yeah?" she said when she picked up.
    "I need some glass," I said.
    For a long moment she didn't say anything, and it's probably to her credit that she didn't immediately start yelling at me. "Yeah?" she said again. "How much?"
    I gave her the measurements. "Though I dunno, maybe plexiglass would be better. Actually, yeah. Clear plastic glass. And I need a really big hammer, like a sledgehammer."
    "I'll see what I can do," she said.
    The receiver in my hand cut into my fingers. I was holding so tightly I heard it creak.
    How is Anton? I wanted to scream. Is he okay?
    "Thanks," was all I said.
    "No problem," Sadie told me. "Keep it up."
    She hung up, and I felt a great wieght lift from my chest.
    Keep it up.
    Okay. I would.
     
    *
     
    Four weeks after I left Anton's house, I assembled my finished piece in Times Square. I didn't have permission or anything like that, but I figured no one was going to stop me, at least not until I was done and everyone had taken their pictures. The paparazzi had been gathering outside my apartment for days after the photos of me loading the biggest part of the finished work into the truck came out. Jake told me blogs were abuzz about it, all the gossip sites, all the gossip mags, all the gossip tv shows. It's amazing who gives a shit about what you do when you're rich and take all your clothes off. Never in a million years had anyone cared so much about my work.
    And that was okay. Because in a few hours, pictures of my art would be beamed around the world, bounced back and forth between here and