“Grace! I need you to come back here and help me.”
“Alright,” she calls back. “Let me set this thing down first—any bigger, and it wouldn’t have fit in the elevator. At least it’s light without a frame.” Her voice grows louder as she moves toward us down the hall. “Where are you?”
“Back bedroom.”
“Okay, I’m coming.”
When she appears in the doorway, she takes in the scene with a surprising degree of calm. “Oh! I see. I remember those days.” Grace is in her early seventies. The last thing I want to do is picture her doing whatever it is she thinks we were doing.
“It’s a long story,” I say in lieu of an explanation. “I need you to get the keys—they’re on my dresser in the master bedroom.”
“Primary, Tommaso. I keep telling you, we call it a primary bedroom now.” She raises her carefully manicured brows at me.
“Please, just get the fucking keys, Grace.”
As a designer, she came highly recommended, but what I appreciate about Grace is her pragmatism. Despite hergenerational tendencies and her perfectly coifed appearance, she doesn’t stand on ceremony. Grace calls it like she sees it and isn’t afraid to get shit done.
“Here we go.” The platinum blonde in a black leather pencil skirt waves the key with a grin. I take it from her and unlock the cuffs.
“Let me throw on some clothes, and I’ll meet you out there,” I tell her before heading to my bedroom. I don’t want to make Grace any more uncomfortable than she may already be by meeting with her in my underwear. Once I’ve got on joggers and a T-shirt, I join her in the dining room, where she’s eyeing the painting that now rests against the wall.
“What do you think?” she asks brightly.
I look at the muted colors blended to varying degrees with all manner of brushstrokes and see … paint on a canvas. I sigh. “It’s a painting.”
Unfazed, Grace pats my arm. “We’ll let it simmer there for a few days. I think it looks amazing here.”
“Oh,wow.” Danika’s reverent admiration of the canvas announces her presence. “That is absolutelystunning.”
“Better be, considering the price,” I note.
Grace tsks. “I told you, think of it as an investment.”
Danika moves up close to study the painting. “I thought so—it’s a Todorovic. His work is exceptional. This one reminds me of Central Park in the fall.” She peers back at me before continuing. “These gray strokes here are like the surface of the reservoir on a foggy morning. Absolutely stunning.”
So she knows art. I’m still not letting my guard down because she could be an artistanda thief.
I look back at the canvas and can see what she means, but I never would have seen it without her explanation. I’m suddenly curious to see her artwork. She must be decently talented if she makes a living off it.
“The painting works as well as any other. You can bill me for it,” I tell Grace.
She beams. “Excellent, and I’ll get it framed, too.”
“Leave it for now,” I say, eyeing Danika as she continues to study the canvas. “There’s no rush.”
Grace gives me a funny look, knowing as well as I do that for someone like me, there’s always a rush when it comes to getting work done at my house. I hate disorder. Even a painting set haphazardly against a wall is an annoyance. My comment doesn’t make any sense, so I choose not to analyze it. I’d be better off beating my head against a wall.
“Alright,” Grace concedes. “You know how to reach me. And Dani, it was lovely to meet you.”
I stand frozen as the two say their goodbyes. Her familiarity with my little thief startles me before I remember I left them in the bedroom together while I put on clothes. Did Danika introduce herself as Dani, or did Grace take the liberty of a nickname?
It doesn’t matter what her name is or what I call her. The ID I took from her could have been fake. Danika Dobrev may not even be her real name. I have to remember that. This woman walking freely in my home is not to be trusted.
I’m suddenly in a foul mood as I head to the kitchen to start breakfast. Never in my life have I suffered such internal conflict, and I hate it.
“You eat eggs?” I ask briskly when I notice her leaning against the wall beside the fridge.
“Yes, thank you. I really appreciate all you’re doing for me.”
