Page 54 of Savage Prince
I turn and walk away, my eyes smarting with the need to let tears fall. My best shot at my dream just disappeared with whoever drove away with my fucking car.
I pull out my phone and hit Rafe’s number. It goes immediately to voice mail, doesn’t even ring.What the hell?I hang up and call again. Same thing happens. This time, I leave a message.
“Rafe. I need you. Please. Call me.”
I hang up and immediately dial a number I deleted long ago, but still know by heart.
He answers on the first ring and skips the polite greeting. “You change your mind?”
“I need your help.”
* * *
I trudge backto the gallery with nothing but Elijah’s promise to make some calls to see if he can find my car. Valentina pops her head out of the back room when the front door chimes signal my entrance, and her face creases with confusion.
“Couldn’t find the spot?”
“Not exactly.” I’m not proud, but that’s the moment a few of my tears finally sneak free. “Someone stole my car.”
“Oh shit! Honey, I’m so sorry.” This woman, who I barely know, crosses the room and throws her arms around me. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I’ll call my husband. He’ll get the cops on it, and they’ll find it.”
I jerk my head up at the wordcops. Where I’m from, we don’t call the cops. And working at the distillery, that’s certainly not my first inclination either.
“Cops?”
Valentina steps back and tilts her head to the side. “Yeah, unless you’ve got a bunch of illegal weapons or drugs in it. If that’s the case, definitely don’t tell me.”
Shockingly, her statement rattles a laugh out of me.
“No. Nothing illegal. Just ... my sculpture. Which no car thief is going to want. They’ll probably toss it out as garbage.”
“And then we’ll kill them. I mean, catch them. Hold on.”
She walks to a desk at the back of the gallery and picks up her phone. She taps out something on the screen.
When it rings moments later, she answers, “That was quick. Can you come to the gallery? No, everything’s fine, but I need a cop and I don’t want to call the precinct.” She pauses. “I’ll explain when you get here.”
When she hangs up, she looks at me. “My husband will be here shortly. Just has to pack up the baby gear first. In the meantime, is there anyone else you want to call?”
I think of my brother, who is undoubtedly doing something illegal, and then my boss ... who is most certainly on a plane right now. “Not really.”
“Then I think you need a drink.”
“I should probably say no ...”
“Pshh. Stop that. You need it. You’re practically shaking. Now, sit.” Valentina nods to the chair in front of her desk before she disappears into the back room. A few moments later, she returns with a wine bottle and a champagne flute. “I know this is more of a hard-liquor situation, but prosecco is all I have at the moment.”
“Thank you.”
She pours the wine with a steady hand, and I try to stop mine from shaking.
“I just can’t believe ...” I trail off and take a sip.
“Honey, this is New Orleans. I’m sure a car gets stolen down here every day. Rix doesn’t work that beat, but I’m sure he could back me up with figures.”
As I drink in silence for a few minutes, she tells me a few stories about artists whose pieces are for sale in the gallery, including her part-time employee who’s in art school.
I’m halfway through my second glass of prosecco when a beautiful man who could practically double for Shemar Moore walks in the door with a baby strapped to his chest. His silver gaze cuts to Valentina, and he wastes no time closing the distance between them.
