"Anything else?" Veronica asked.

Dorian was about to send her off, but Aiden cleared his throat, tapping impatiently on the folder on the desk.

There was no way around it. Not yet, anyway.

"Extend an invitation to House Duchanes for Friday�s festivities," he said grudgingly.

If Veronica was surprised at the request, she didn�t show it. "You got it."

"All right." Aiden rose from the chair and collected his files. "I�m heading out."

"Does this mean I can have my chair back? And my desk? And my bloody coffee mug?"

"Of course, your highness. I�ve got a lunch date�Layla, hot new vampire from marketing. Wish me luck."

"Workplace romance?" Dorian shook his head. "Now there�s a right terrible idea."

"Who said anything about romance? I�d be happy with a shag in the copy room. Or maybe in the boss�s office since he�ll be out."

"As will you, if you make good on that threat."

"Did you know she competed on the Italian gymnastics team in the 1936 Olympics? I might need to limber up for this one."

"Don�t break anything."

"No promises." Aiden leaned across the desk, scooping up the last cookie and smacking Dorian twice on the cheek. "In the meantime, I trust you�ll behave yourself for our Hastings visitors?"

Dorian flashed a wolfish smile. "Mr. Donovan, when am I not a perfect gentleman?"

Aiden waited until he was safely out the door before he finally replied. "Would you like my response in an e-mail, a photo essay, or a spreadsheet with sortable columns?"

"I�ve been thinking about our arrangement." Rudy drained his martini and set the glass down hard on the patio table, making Charley flinch. "To say I�m disappointed is an understatement."

She shrunk down in her chair, hoping no one else in the restaurant�s small outdoor seating area was listening in.

"I know. I�m� I�m sorry." She cringed at the meek and desperate sound of her own voice�a ridiculous combo, considering her r�sum�. She was Charlotte fucking D�Amico, for chrissake. She�d learned how to crack a safe by the time she was fifteen, could spot a fake Dutch Master at a hundred yards, and had amassed more knowledge of art history than most PhDs and museum curators twice her age. Her father�s crew had watched her grow from a gangly kid into the strong, capable criminal she was today, but in Rudy�s presence, Charley would always feel like a silly little girl getting underfoot while the grownups planned their next big score.

Through a cool, gentle voice that belied the anger in his eyes, Rudy said, "Your last several outings have been less than informative."

"How is that my fault? I can�t control what people do with their belongings before we get there."

Rudy slammed his fist on the table, making her jump again. The people at the table behind them looked over.

Great. The last thing she wanted was another scene at Beyoglu. Just a ten-block walk from home, the Turkish caf� used to be one of her favorite lunch spots on the Upper East Side, but ever since Rudy had declared it their "usual" place, she hadn�t been back on her own. He�d embarrassed her in front of the staff too many times for that. Now, whenever they arrived together, the hostess sat them outside.

"I�d advise you not to take that adolescent tone with me," he said, which Charley found ironic, considering he�d never stopped treating her like a kid. Still, she knew she was on dangerous ground.

Pulling off a successful heist wasn�t like the movies, where everything came together seamlessly over a pack of cigarettes, a few cartons of Chinese takeout, and a music montage. It took weeks�even months�of careful, tedious preparation involving blueprints and public records searches, background checks on the property owners, surveillance, onsite intelligence gathering, payoffs of household employees and security technicians, identity theft, document forging, route planning, in-case-of-injury planning, contingency planning, and yes�lots and lots of Chinese takeout. JrNovels.com