Chapter 2 - The Man Who Finally Looked
Anton did not attend gallery openings.
He especially did not attend gallery openings because his secretary happened to be there.
At least, that was what he told himself at 8:12 p.m. while his black SUV stopped across from Mariah Calloway’s gallery.
His security chief, Luka Petrosian, glanced into the rearview mirror.
“You suddenly interested in modern art?”
“No.”
“Then why are we here?”
Anton looked through the window.
“Drive.”
Luka’s mouth twitched.
The SUV moved 6 feet.
“Stop.”
Luka laughed.
Anton gave him a look capable of ending lesser friendships.
Luka had known him since they were teenagers.
Unfortunately, this made him immune.
“You’re terrifying,” Luka said. “Except apparently around secretaries in black dresses.”
Anton got out.
The gallery was crowded.
Odessa stood near the center beneath warm hanging lights, laughing beside a painting covered in violent blue brushstrokes.
Anton had heard her laugh before.
He realized now that he had only heard the office version.
Polite.
Contained.
This was different.
Her head tipped backward.
Her shoulders relaxed.
Her entire face changed.
A man beside her said something that made her laugh again.
Anton immediately disliked him.
The realization was so irrational that Anton almost turned around.
Then Odessa saw him.
Her smile vanished.
“Mr. Kazarian?”
The man beside her looked over.
Anton crossed the room.
Odessa’s confusion deepened with every step.
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking at art.”
She stared at him.
“Do you like art?”
“No.”
The man beside her coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.
Odessa folded her arms.
“Then that clears everything up.”
Anton glanced toward him.
Odessa noticed.
“This is Elliot.”
Elliot offered his hand.
“Elliot Warren.”
Anton shook it.
“Anton Kazarian.”
Recognition immediately entered Elliot’s expression.
Most people in Savannah had heard the surname.
Elliot’s posture changed.
Odessa noticed that too.
She did not like it.
Anton could tell.
“This is my cousin’s gallery,” she said. “So if you’re here for business—”
“I’m not.”
“Then why are you here?”
There it was.
The question he had no respectable answer for.
Before he could invent one, a waiter passed carrying champagne.
Anton took 2 glasses and handed one to Odessa.
“Congratulations to your cousin.”
Odessa accepted it slowly.
“That sounded almost normal.”
“I’m capable of normal.”
“I’ve worked for you for 3 years. Evidence suggests otherwise.”
He nearly smiled.
Across the gallery, Priscilla Vance walked through the entrance with 2 coworkers.
She spotted Anton first.
Then Odessa.
Then Anton looking at Odessa.
Her face changed.
Odessa saw it happen.
Priscilla approached.
“Mr. Kazarian! I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Neither did I,” Odessa murmured.
Priscilla wore a silver cocktail dress and the expression of someone who believed every room contained a competition she had already won.
Her gaze moved over Odessa.
“Oh. Wow. Odessa.”
Here it came.
Odessa felt herself brace automatically.
Priscilla smiled.
“I barely recognized you.”
Anton’s expression cooled.
But Odessa surprised herself.
“Funny,” she said. “I recognized myself immediately.”
Priscilla blinked.
Elliot choked on his champagne.
Anton looked at Odessa.
Really looked.
And something inside her changed because she did not need his approval.
Still, the unmistakable admiration in his eyes felt dangerously good.
Priscilla excused herself soon afterward.
For the next hour, Anton remained.
He talked to Mariah.
He bought one of her paintings for an amount that made her temporarily forget how words worked.
And when Odessa finally prepared to leave, Anton appeared beside her.
“I’ll take you home.”
“I have a car.”
“It’s raining.”
“My car has a roof.”
“Odessa.”
“Anton.”
His eyebrow lifted.
She had never called him that.
She smiled.
“Good night.”
She walked away.
Anton watched her leave.
Luka appeared beside him.
“That went well.”
“Be quiet.”
“Should I buy you a book?”
Anton glanced at him.
“What book?”
“Something about talking to women without sounding like you’re negotiating a hostage exchange.”
Anton ignored him.
The next morning, however, everything changed.
Odessa arrived at work wearing her usual navy skirt and cardigan.
Three people looked up when she entered.
Then 5.
Priscilla did not say good morning.
Odessa reached her desk and found a coffee waiting there.
Black.
No sugar.
She looked around.
Nobody claimed it.
At 9:05, Anton stepped from the private elevator.
His gaze found her immediately.
“Morning.”
Odessa nearly dropped her pen.
“Good morning.”
He entered his office.
Priscilla appeared 30 seconds later.
“Okay. What was that?”
“What was what?”
“You know exactly what.”
Odessa returned to her computer.
“I really don’t.”
Priscilla lowered her voice.
“Anton Kazarian doesn’t go to random galleries.”
Odessa’s fingers stopped.
“Maybe he wanted a painting.”
“He bought one for $18,000.”
“How do you know?”
“Mariah posted it.”
Odessa sighed.
“Then perhaps he really wanted a painting.”
Priscilla leaned closer.
“Or perhaps he wanted something else.”
Before Odessa could respond, Anton’s door opened.
“Ms. Vance.”
Priscilla straightened.
Anton stood there.
“If you have enough free time to investigate my secretary’s personal life, I can find additional work for you.”
Priscilla turned pale.
“No, sir.”
“Good.”
She disappeared.
Anton looked at Odessa.
She looked back.
“Your secretary?”
His expression changed almost imperceptibly.
“You are my secretary.”
“I’m technically executive administrative coordinator.”
“Would you prefer I correct her?”
“I’d prefer you stop terrifying people before breakfast.”
His eyes warmed.
“Noted.”
He disappeared inside.
Odessa stared after him.
Something was happening.
She simply did not know what.
At 2:17 that afternoon, she discovered something far more serious.
A container manifest crossed her desk for approval.
Odessa looked at the number.
Then looked again.
Container KIF-7714.
According to the document, it contained machine parts arriving from Rotterdam.
But Odessa remembered that number.
She remembered almost everything.
KIF-7714 had entered Savannah 6 months earlier.
Containers were reused.
Numbers were not.
Her pulse quickened.
She pulled the archived manifest.
Same number.
Different origin.
Different cargo.
Different signature.
Odessa examined the newest document.
The authorization at the bottom belonged to Anton.
Except it didn’t.
She had seen his signature thousands of times.
This one was almost perfect.
Almost.
Odessa stood.
For 3 years, she had never crossed the threshold of the private office without permission.
Today she opened the door.
Anton looked up.
His expression immediately told her she had broken a rule.
“What happened?”
She placed the manifests before him.
“I think someone forged your signature.”
Anton became perfectly still.
He compared the pages.
Then looked at her.
“How did you notice?”
“I remember container numbers.”
“All of them?”
“Most.”
Anton pressed a button beneath his desk.
The office doors locked.
Odessa heard the click.
Her stomach tightened.
“Anton?”
He looked at the manifest again.
Then at her.
“That container disappeared from the port 2 hours ago.”
A chill moved through her.
“What does that mean?”
“It means somebody inside my company just stole something worth considerably more than this building.”
Odessa swallowed.
“And now?”
May you like
Anton stood.
“Now they know you’re the person who noticed.”
