Shit.

It was rare that Amber Lacey got so drunk that she made reckless decisions, but as she rolled over in the four poster bed, her eyes still blurry from sleep, the body beside her let her know immediately that she had messed up. Never mind the piercing headache threatening to split her skull open, or even the nausea churning in her stomach, she was more concerned with the fact that she had slept with her ex-boyfriend rather than the hangover that was going to kick her ass all day—one she rightfully deserved after this.

It also happened to be the same ex-boyfriend that had cheated on her with her cousin, then began dating said cousin right after …

Yeah. She was an idiot.

Not sure whether her need to puke was from the alcohol, or just being in the same bed as Rob, Amber carefully slipped from beneath the covers, frantically searching the floor for her clothes, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

There were two things she had promised herself two years ago when she had found Rob with Piper.

First, no matter how hard it would be, she wouldn’t call her parents for money. At the time, Rob had been helping her out with rent—he said it was his duty as her man—but once he was out of the picture, that was definitely no longer an option. As an art student, there hadn’t been many positions in her field that were very lucrative, at least not right away. And though she was selling some of her own work—had been featured in a couple of shows in galleries around the city even—it wasn’t enough to live on just yet, especially not in a city as expensive as Manhattan.

Luckily for her, her art history professor, Remus Tolbert, had helped her get a position as a curator for a privately owned gallery in the Village. So far, it was everything that she needed to keep the bills paid, even if she wasn’t completely fulfilled.

And second, and this was the most important, she would never, ever, speak to Rob again.

To say he had broken her heart was an understatement. Worse, she had been the one to catch them together, in her bed, after she had returned home early from a trip out to California to see her family.

She hadn’t felt anger at seeing them together.

No, that came later.

The emotion that had consumed her was something else entirely. She had never experienced anything like it before, and after waking up days later with a pain in her chest like her heart was trying to explode, she hoped she never would again.

But that was over three years ago, back when she still lived in the brownstone with her then roommate, Lauren. She wouldn’t lie and say that she didn’t still feel a pang in her chest when she saw the two of them together—hard to avoid your ex when he was dating your cousin, even when you tried to avoid them both—but she had moved on.

Or at least she thought she had.

Waking up in his bed didn’t allow much credence to that.

Dropping to her knees, she scanned the floor, finding her other shoe beneath the bed like it had been kicked under there. Keeping hold of it and its pair instead of pulling them on, she attempted to ease out of the room, but froze when she heard Rob shift. Braving a look back, she hoped he was still asleep and was merely moving to get more comfortable, but unfortunately for her, his sleepy gaze was trained directly on her face.

“What time is it?” He looked to the clock, answering his own question, then back to her. “You don’t have to leave. We can …”

“This was a mistake.” Amber was more than a little thankful that her voice didn’t waver despite the way she felt. “I’m not sure how we got here exactly, but this won’t happen again.”

Running a hand through his messy hair to push it back out of his face, he looked thoughtful for a moment, then understanding dawned. “Piper and me … we’re on a break, remember? I told you about it last night.”

She didn’t hate Piper, even if her cousin gave her every reason to, so ‘break’ or no ‘break,’ that didn’t make her feel any better. To her, a break still meant they were in a relationship, but were going through a rough patch.

So now, Amber had done the very thing that had been done to her.

Great, she was definitely going to be sick.

“It doesn’t matter, Rob. This still shouldn’t have happened.” Twisting the knob of the door, she pulled it open. “Let’s pretend like it didn’t, okay?”

“We didn’t have sex if that’s what you’re thinking,” Rob was quick to say.

Thank God for small favors. “Even better. Let’s pretend I was never here.”

“Amber, wait.”

Why she chose to stand there and listen to what he had to say, she didn’t know. “What is it, Rob?”

He shoved the covers off his legs, striding over to her with only a pair of boxers on—she hadn’t realized how much she hated boxers until after they broke up. When he reached for her hand, she immediately took a few steps back.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” he began carefully, his eyes scanning her face. “Ever since we broke up, I’ve been thinking that—”

She tuned his words out as she gaped at his audacity. He couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t possibly be about to say what she knew was at the tip of his tongue.

“I made a mistake,” he finished on a rush, looking at her with an expression that told her he was hoping for some other reaction than the one he was about to get.

“You’re not serious…”

Maybe years ago, that would have been what she had hoped to hear, but not now. Back then, she would have wanted to believe that it was a mistake, that he still loved her, and she was still the only person he wanted to be with. She would have forgiven him, moved past the indiscretion, and they could have continued on with their lives—even if she hated herself for it.

But no, he had humiliated her, then made it worse by actually dating Piper, and showing up to their family events with her like no one would notice.

No, it definitely wasn’t a mistake.

“This, even if nothing happened, was a mistake, Robin,” Amber continued, using the name she knew he hated. “Whatever conversation we had last night, or whatever notion I entertained talking to you, was a mistake. You cheating on me with my cousin and staying with her for this long is not a mistake. Just … leave me alone. Don’t call me.”

This time, she didn’t linger, not even when he called her name again.

---

Back home, Amber scrubbed the night away in the shower, lathering up her hair, not wanting to think about where she had been and who she had been with. It was better left as another bad memory.

Since it was only ten in the morning, and she didn’t have any plans for the day, she popped a couple aspirin, and ate greasy diner food she had grabbed on her way home. There was nothing quite like fat and calories to cure a hangover.

Amber was flipping through channels when her phone rang. Leaving her plate, she sidestepped the towering boxes that overwhelmed her living room—trying to sort through it all was not at the top of her list of things to do at the moment—and dashed for her phone before it could stop ringing.

She was almost afraid it would be Rob, but after checking the caller ID, she was glad to find it was just her boss.

“Yes, darling,” Elliot said with a grand air after she answered. “I was hoping you could come by today?”

Elliot Hamilton III was the owner of Cedar Art Gallery, named for its custom wooden floors with intricate, but subtle designs carved into the wood. He was a buyer and collector of fine art, and more importantly, Amber’s boss. He wasn’t a hard man to work for, though he did require near perfection in most things, but he was quite demanding of her time.

It had only been about three months ago that she’d brought in a few of her own pieces for him to peruse, hoping he would be interested in showcasing them for the upcoming ‘New Artists’ show that they were having a few days later.

After his acceptance, which had come as a surprise to her considering his reputation, he had inquired about her technical skills, then put her to the test to see what she could do. Before the Art Institute, she had studied at other art schools, some of the best in the country since her father could afford to send her there.

And once she had passed his test, besides her work in the gallery, she worked with him personally to restore paintings that his clients entrusted with him to have brought back to life.

At first, she had been surprised by his trust in her with something so priceless. Art restoration was a daunting task. It took an eye for detail, a knowledge of the time in which the painting was created, and more importantly, the right mixture of paint, and canvas. Amber knew some artists that had practiced and studied for more than four decades, so she was honored to be given the task.

And more, there was always a bonus for her when she finished a piece.

Glancing at the time, Amber contemplated whether she felt like going in, especially with the headache that was now more of a dull ache.

“I only need you to look at a painting that was brought in by a good friend of mine—a personal favor, I should say,” he went on when she had grown quiet. “It’s an original, and I only want the very few I can trust to see it beforehand.”

Amber rolled her eyes, already heading toward her closet for something to wear. If there was one thing Elliot was good at, it was kissing the ass of whoever he needed to get what he wanted.

“Sure, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, doll.”

He promptly hung up before she could get another word in.

She wanted nothing more than to throw on a pair of sweatpants, a threadbare T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers, but even if she wasn’t officially working, Elliot always expected everyone to either dress like a professional, or dress like you had just stepped off the runway—there was no in-between.

He had an image to uphold after all.

New York was known for its fashion, but SoHo, where Cedar was located, was home to a lot of celebrities and elite members of society, and the only way the gallery could survive was to keep up.

Eventually deciding on a pair of black skinny jeans with a slash across both knees, a loose white crop top that dipped low in the front, along with an oversized plaid shirt tied around her waist, and a pair of matte black Doc Marten’s, Amber grabbed her satchel, threw in everything she needed, and was out the door.

Her apartment was only a few blocks down from Canal Station, but in the time it had taken her to get ready, clouds had rolled in, obscuring the once beautiful sky. Just as quickly as that thought formed, the first few droplets of rain splattered her face, and before she knew it, the skies were opening up.

She ran the last block, glad that she hadn’t gotten too wet in her dash down the street, otherwise she would have looked like she was competing in a wet T-shirt contest. Heading down into the station, she swiped her metro card, walking through the cage-like turnstile. Her train was already boarding, and as she hurried across the platform, she could hear the beeps, the red lights flashing, signaling the doors were closing.

Before she even had a chance to curse her bad timing, a rather large hand reached out, snagging one of her belt loops and tugged her in, seconds before the doors closed at her back.

She stumbled as the train started to move, her Docs squeaking with the movement. Reaching her hands out, she tried righting herself without knocking the guy over that helped her, not that she could, she soon realized. He seemed to be made of stone.

Prepared to thank him—or thank his chest since that was what was directly in front of her face—the moment she tilted her head up to get a better look at him, her breath caught.

Not just because he was attractive, he was definitely that, but because he looked so familiar. It wasn’t because of Rob—Rob was very selective about the circles he ran in. Those were the same circles she had tried so desperately to fit in, but he would never associate with someone so … scruffy.

And this stranger was definitely that.

His eyes were a perfect blend of greens and yellows, flecks of silver near the pupils, brightening them to an even lighter shade of green. How eyes that pale could seem warm, she didn’t know, but they were. He also had a full beard, one that was a deep auburn, a few shades lighter than his darker hair.

Amber realized, almost belatedly, that she was still pressed against him, her hands resting on the firm planes of his stomach, and even if the train wasn’t so crowded, there was still enough space for her to stand on her own.

But she kind of liked where she was.

Even with the shirt around her waist, she could still feel the heat of his palm on the small of her back.

Dropping her hands, she moved back a little. “Thanks.”

His smile was easy, friendly, even as his eyes blatantly swept over her. “No bother at all.”

She couldn’t withhold her smile even if she wanted to. His accent was a dream to hear. It was lilting, and had an almost smoky quality to it.

Irish. He was definitely Irish.

When he turned his head, staring off at something in the distance, she discreetly checked him out in return. He, like her, wasn’t particularly dressed for this weather, only wearing a soft-knit gray tee, dark-wash jeans that seemed tailored for him, and boots that looked like they had seen better days.

There were two thick, black bands tattooed around his right forearm, the only tattoo she could see, if he had others. The knuckles of the hand wrapped securely around the metal pole to the left of her, like the knuckles of the hand he used to pull her in, were scarred—as though he had been in a number of fights all his life.

If her stop wasn’t just a few minutes away, she would have been tempted to spark up a conversation with him, maybe even get his name, but she decided against it, stepping off the train when the doors opened at the next station.

She didn’t need to make another bad decision.

But at the last minute, unable to help herself, she glanced back one final time, smiling when she found his eyes on her. Caught, he gave her a charmingly crooked smile, and didn’t even bother to look ashamed that she caught him checking out her ass.

Men.

Shaking her head, Amber headed out onto the bustling sidewalk, glad that the rain had lightened up in the short time she had been traveling. Cedar came into view rather quickly, and as she walked in, Elliot was in the parlor already, instructing movers on where to bring several crates they were wheeling in.

Elliot was in his mid-thirties with the misfortune of having a receding hairline, even at his young age. He fixed this by wearing a rather natural looking toupee. He worked out at least five times a week and made a point to buy at least one new suit every two weeks. He cared more about his appearance than the majority of his staff of females.

Today was no different.

He was wearing one of his suits, one that was a bit too snug, and shiny black loafers. Noticing her, he broke out in a grin.

“Amber! You look beautiful as always.” He air-kissed both of her cheeks. “And I love what you’ve done with your hair.”

For the longest time, she had bleached her hair, leaving her mane of curly hair blonde though she kept dark roots, but two nights ago, she had decided to dye it back dark.

“Come on back, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Briefly waving to Tabitha, one of the other floor girls she had grown close to during her time in the gallery, Amber followed Elliot toward a back room and waited while he unlocked the door with the key he carried around on a delicate chain around his neck.

This particular room was climate-controlled, and specifically used to store some of the gallery’s more prominent works while they weren’t on display.

There was someone already in the room, standing next to a tarp-covered painting, a phone in his hand. As they entered, he turned ever so slightly, just enough that his profile could be seen before he faced them completely.

“Ah, Gabriel,” Elliot announced once they got close. “This was the artist I was telling you about. Amber, meet Gabriel Monte.”

He had a wide, charming smile with dark eyes that seemed to miss nothing. His hair was mostly black with a few silver streaks throughout, and while Elliot acted superior, this man radiated it. It was almost uncomfortable being in his presence.

“Amber, very nice to meet you. I’ve heard great things.”

Smiling politely, she accepted the hand he offered, releasing it a second later. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Monte.”

“Gabriel, please.”

Clearing his throat gently, Elliot spoke up. “Gabriel has a special request, one that he would like to ask you pers—”

Gabriel cut him off. “An associate of mine has asked that I hold an auction for a painting from his private collection. Due to the history of the painting … he is a bit concerned that should anyone know that it is being sold, there will be a strong chance of someone trying to steal it.”

Amber might not have known what painting hid beneath the covering, but if it required this kind of mystery and speech, then it was probably worth more than she could put a number to. Art thefts were common throughout the world, especially if the artist was well known. Some paintings were worth a cool few million just off face-value alone, and those same ones could go for much more on the black market.

“I thought it best to have someone come in,” Gabriel said, drawing Amber from her thoughts, “and create a replica of the painting for further security. Once the auction begins, no one will be able to tell which of the two paintings is authentic, and thus decrease its chances of being stolen.”

That was actually a pretty brilliant idea, though Amber didn’t voice that thought aloud.

“Elliot tells me you are one of the best he’s ever seen, and that you’re more than capable for the job.”

Amber glanced over at her boss in surprise. She was good—she had worked hard enough to describe herself as such—but Elliot was obviously putting a lot more trust in her than she would have thought he would.

“Of course, before we can discuss anything further, I would ask that you sign this non-disclosure agreement. It’s just a formality,” he was quick to explain when she frowned, “to ensure my client that only those that are directly involved with its sale know of its whereabouts.”

“Of course,” she replied, though she was still a little unsure that it was absolutely necessary, but it only made her more curious about what was hanging beneath the fabric.

Gabriel withdrew a folded sheet of paper from his breast-pocket, along with a pen, opening both for her to sign. After only a brief hesitation, she did so, carefully scribbling her signature along the dotted line at the bottom after she finished scanning over what it said.

“Very good. Let’s have a look, shall we?”

Wrapping thick, but manicured fingers around the edge of the sheet, Gabriel lifted the fabric, dropping it to the floor as he unveiled the painting.

Amber blinked once, then blinked again, trying to make sure she was seeing correctly, because if she wasn’t mistaken, this artwork was not one that had been seen in public for the last twenty years, at least.

She had learned about this very painting when she was still in school. While the painting’s origin had started in Germany, ultimately it had been purchased by a family that had chosen to stay anonymous, though they did lend it to museums to be shown, but after a few years, for whatever reason, the painting had been thought to be lost, or at the very least, sold in a private auction.

As she looked it over, taking in every detail she could, from the shades of black and gray used in the actual art, to the gilded frame it came in, Amber wondered whether this particular painting had, in fact, been stolen.

It would explain the non-disclosure agreement she had been made to sign.

L’amant Flétrie was what it was called, The Withered Lover, christened after the woman featured in it—painted in cool shades of gray, black, and white. The subject sat in a lone chair, the room around her barren and lifeless, as she stared out the window though nothing was there. Only the profile of her face could be seen, displaying scarred skin that had excruciating detail.

It was both beautiful and haunting.

Even if the circumstances that had brought her in contact with it were sketchy at best, Amber was still grateful to have been close to something of this magnitude.

She didn’t have to voice her awe at the sight of it, not in a room with the two of them. They understood its value, maybe even a little more than she did.

“You would like me to make a replica of this?” Amber asked, still having not taken her eyes off of it.

“Yes. Only the one. After reviewing a little of your work with Elliot, I’m sure you’re more than capable of meeting our expectations.”

Nodding, Amber said, “I’ll need to find supplies—the right paint and canvas for …”

“Not to worry, we have already covered that for you. Just let Elliot know of anything you need, and I’ll make sure you have it.”

“I would love to.” Just the experience alone would benefit her in the long run … even if she could never tell anyone about the work.

“Just so you’re aware, we expect them to be identical in every way, so do not leave any personal signatures that declares it different from the original.”

Though she wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea, she still nodded and said, “I understand.”

“Excellent. The auction is being held in three weeks, we’re—”

“I’m sorry, three weeks? I can’t guarantee they will be ready in that short of time.” Amber looked to her boss. Since he was the one that assigned her hours, he really had the final say in whether or not she would have time to both work at the gallery and get the painting done.

“Elliot and I have already spoken,” Gabriel said drawing her attention back to him. “He’s giving you time off to complete it. Of course, you will be compensated for your time. Twenty-thousand dollars. Half now, and the other half once the painting is finished and delivered.”

It took everything inside her not to react at the number she had been given. Though the painting was worth more than two-million dollars alone, she was sure, getting paid twenty grand was still amazing to her.

And though she wasn’t getting paid nearly that much for her own work, she was still getting more than she ever had for her skills alone.

“Do you think you can handle this?” he asked when she didn’t respond.

She would be an idiot to turn it down—or maybe she was an idiot for accepting. “Absolutely.”

“Excellent.” He reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out a small rectangular piece of paper, her check. “If you have any questions or concerns, please have Elliot get in contact with me. I’ll check in with you a few days from now to make sure all is going according to schedule.”

Amber nodded again, almost at a loss for words. “Thank you.”

Gabriel inclined his head, then looked to Elliot. “A moment.”

As they stepped away, Amber took another moment to look over the painting, a slow smile spreading across her face. In the art world, this wasn’t just as simple as doing someone a favor, this could open doors for her that she wouldn’t have been able to on her own.

This was the break she had needed.

And she had herself to thank for it.