Romance: The Art Of Love: A Billionaire Romance Page 7

  The man beamed. “That last one was good, though. My cousin sold it to a man in the city for one hundred dollars!”

  Clifford and Annette looked at each other. Hank spoke with the careful enunciation and unbridled enthusiasm of the developmentally delayed.

  “Your cousin is Hans?” Annette asked.

  “Hans Grüber is my Mother’s best friend’s son,” Hank said proudly. “We have known each other for our entire lives.”

  “Can I see that painting?” Clifford asked.

  Hank looked uncertain. “Hans says to never let anyone in the house.”

  “Hans isn’t here now,” Annette said. “He doesn’t need to know.”

  “All right.” Hank agreed, pushing the door open. “I like having visitors.”

  Hank’s cabin was full of paintings. They hung on every wall and were stacked on the table and chairs. Clifford walked around wide-eyed. There were pieces in every conceivable style, capturing natural scenes, wholly abstract, and portraiture.

  “You painted all of these?” he asked.

  Hank nodded. “I love painting.” He looked sad. “For a long time, I haven’t been very good, but I’m starting to get better. Did I tell you my cousin sold one of my paintings for one hundred dollars? I never made that much money before.”

  “I think your paintings are very good,” Clifford said. He turned to Annette. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Annette nodded. “You are an excellent painter, Hank.”

  Hank beamed. “Thank you! That is a wonderful compliment.” He took a painting off the wall, seemingly at random, and thrust it toward Annette. “Here, you can have this one.”

  Annette blinked, flummoxed. “It’s beautiful, thank you.” She faced Clifford. “I really think that if you showed this painting to some of your friends, and let them know Hank painted it, they’d want to buy some of his paintings for themselves, don’t you think?”

  Clifford nodded slowly. “I think they would be very happy to buy your paintings.”

  Hank shook his head. “I can’t sell any of these ones. Hans has got people who will maybe buy them. He’s supposed to come on the Saturday that comes next to get them.”

  “Do you mean tomorrow,” Annette asked. “Is Hans coming to see you tomorrow?”

  Hank turned his back on her abruptly and walked over to his desk, rummaging until he found a small calendar. “He was supposed to come the last Saturday,” he said, pointing to a red H on the calendar. “But then he had a bad day, and he can’t come until the Saturday that comes next.” He pointed at the next day’s date.

  “We’d like to see Hans when he comes,” Clifford said. “We haven’t seen him in a long time.”

  Hank smiled. “Will it be a surprise party?”

  “It will be a surprise,” Annette said.

  “I like surprises,” Hank said. “I am sorry I cannot sell you a painting now. But Hans is going to give me ten dollars for this one, and ten dollars for that one, and that one, and that one and that one and this one and these four over here. That is another one hundred dollars.” He puffed his chest out, clearly proud of himself. “I am getting rich!”

  Clifford nodded, and was about to speak, when suddenly Hank’s expression changed. His eyes dimmed, and he frowned.

  “What’s the matter, Hank?”

  “What if Hans is not happy with the surprise?” Hank asked. “Sometimes he gets really mad. And then I won’t have one hundred dollars. You guys better go away now.”

  “I’ve known Hans a long time,” Clifford said. “He will be happy to see me.”

  “If he knows you so long, how come I don’t know you?” Hank asked.

  “Clifford will give you money,” Annette said. “If you let us stay here and wait to surprise Hans, he’ll give you…”

  “A thousand dollars,” Clifford said.

  Hank’s eyes narrowed. “Is that more money or less money than one hundred dollars?”

  “It’s more,” Annette said.

  Hank stood and thought for a long moment. “I guess that is all right then,” he said. “But you have to promise me that you will hide until Hans comes so it is a real good surprise.”

  Clifford and Annette looked at each other. “We can do that.”

  15

  Annette hiked back down the trail and carefully moved Clifford’s car so it would be hidden from view. When she got back up to the house, Clifford was sitting on the front porch, cell phone in hand.

  “Who are you talking to?” she asked.

  “I have a friend in Bangor,” Clifford replied. “And he put me in touch with law enforcement here. If Hans does show up here tomorrow…” He glanced toward the interior of the cabin, where Hank had happily returned to working on his painting. “It will be a good surprise.”

  Annette sat down on the porch beside Clifford. “I can’t believe we actually found Hank. To find such a talented artist, out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  “He’s amazing,” Clifford said. “I counted at least a dozen different styles. And did you see the pictures of the geese and crows? They didn’t look like anyone else’s stuff. They must be Hank’s own style.”

  “He’s really talented,” Annette said. “I’m not surprised he hasn’t made a name for himself though. An innocent like that? The art world would eat him alive.”

  “What can we do about that?” Clifford said. He dropped his voice to the point he was barely whispering. “Without Hans, it looks like he won’t have any income at all.”

  “You could be his patron,” Annette suggested. “Check in on him, make sure he’s got supplies to paint. Food in the house. Stuff like that.” She paused. “And then when he does paintings you like, buy them. Or sell them to your friends. For more realistic prices.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure how that all works, but I bet Madison will be able to set something up.”

  Clifford nodded. “I wonder if we could get him to move somewhere less…remote.”

  “You can’t be upending his life like that,” Annette said. “Some people need to be where they are in order to be happy.”

  “I can hear you two talking,” Hank announced from the doorway. “And it’s after dinnertime, which means it’s almost bedtime. I can’t let you sleep in the house because how will you hide from Hans?”

  Annette and Clifford looked at each other. They had no answer for that.

  “But you can sleep on the back porch,” Hank continued. “Hans never goes back there.”

  “All right,” Annette said. She stood up. “Why don’t you show us where we’ll sleep?”

  16

  “I can’t believe you never slept in a hammock before,” Annette said. She was nestled up against Clifford’s side, one arm thrown over his chest. “For all your money, you’ve really never lived.”

  Clifford moved his hips experimentally, starting the hammock swinging gently from side to side. “I don’t know about this. It doesn’t seem very safe.”

  “It’s perfectly safe, as long as you don’t tip us out,” Annette laughed. “Just hold still and relax.”

  “That sounds suspiciously like ‘lay back and think of Britain’” Clifford quipped. “If you can’t fight it, you might as well enjoy it.”

  “Sleeping in a hammock is enjoyable in its own right. And we’ve got a beautiful view from here.” Hank’s back porch was simple, extending some distance over a rocky landscape that sloped sharply away from his home. Tall pines grew close by. There were bats wheeling through the night sky, dipping as they caught insects on the wing.

  “Tell me those aren’t vampire bats,” Clifford said.

  “They’re not,” Annette said. “Vampire bats live where it’s warm. South America, places like that. Up here, the bats eat bugs and fruit. So we’re safe on both counts.”

  Clifford relaxed. “That’s good to know.”

  “You’re really nervous,” Annette said, astonished. “You go to the world’s largest, most dangerous cities without a second thought, but a simple night under t
he stars in Maine has you freaked out.”

  “You’re not scared?”

  “There’s nothing to be scared of,” she said. “There’s nobody around for miles except you, me and Hank. And he’s asleep.” Already they could hear Hank’s snores emanating from the interior of the cabin; he’d gone to sleep promptly after telling them bedtime was ten PM sharp.

  “We clearly don’t agree on what ‘nothing to be scared of’ means,” Clifford said. “What if there are bears out there? Or mountain lions? Or weasels?”

  Annette burst out laughing. “Weasels? Really?” She moved to embrace Clifford more intimately. “You need to stop worrying about wild animals.”

  “And your plan is to distract me with sex?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  Clifford smiled. “This plan may just work.” He moved his hips slightly, raising his pelvis to meet Annette’s grip. “All of a sudden I don’t care about weasels at all.”

  “Really,” Annette said. She undid Clifford’s zipper, moving his silk boxers to the side and freeing his stiffening shaft. “How about now?”

  “I seem to have lost my fear of mountain lions,” he said. Annette moved her hand, stroking and squeezing until he was fully erect.

  “Let’s see if we can get rid of those bears.” She rolled on her side, sliding her skirt up so her bare flanks came up against Clifford’s rigid flesh. “How’s that sound?”

  He sank into her depths with a grateful sigh. “It sounds super to me.”

  “Just go slow,” she said. “We don’t need to go falling out of this hammock.”

  “I can do slow.” Clifford kissed the side of Annette’s neck. “It’s hard, because you feel so damn good, but I can do slow.”

  Annette pushed her hips backward, setting a leisurely pace for their lovemaking. “I like slow.”

  “God, so do I,” Clifford groaned. His grip on her hips tightened; in the morning, Annette would find a ring of small bruises. “This is so good. You’re so good.” He thrust a little deeper. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Annette.”

  Hearing that took Annette’s breath away. She froze for a moment, and then relaxed back into the rhythm of their lovemaking. “Me too,” she sighed, repeating herself as her orgasm approached. “Me too, me too, me too.”

  17

  The sun came up early. Annette and Clifford rolled out of the hammock carefully. They were both a little sore and stiff from a night sleeping outdoors. Annette was stretching when Hank came onto the back porch.

  “You guys have to hide now!” he announced. “Hans will be here before too long. Don’t ruin the surprise!”

  “I guess that means we’re not getting any coffee,” Clifford said to Annette. Hank said nothing, turning on his heel to re-enter his cabin.

  “Don’t ask him for anything,” Annette said. “We don’t want him to change our mind and tell us to leave.”

  Hank reappeared at that moment, carrying a mug of coffee. He thrust it into Clifford’s hands. “I will need that cup back because it’s my favorite cup,” he said. “So drink fast.”

  Clifford took a sip of the coffee and winced. “Wow,” he said. “That’s hot and sweet.”

  “Three spoons of sugar in every cup,” Hank said. “That’s what makes a boy sweet and strong.”

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  The sound of an approaching vehicle filled the air. “That is Hans coming!” Hank said. He snatched the coffee mug from Clifford’s hands. “You guys need to hide right now.”

  Clifford and Annette positioned themselves on either side of the cabin’s back door. Clifford texted his police contact, showing Annette the message that said two units were on their way.

  “Hank!” Hans said. “I have come to see you. Do you have the paintings I asked you to do?”

  “This one is ten dollars and this one is ten dollars and this one is ten dollars and this one is ten dollars,” Hank began.

  “It looks like they’re all here,” Hans said. “I can’t stay long and visit with you this time, cousin. I have places to go and people to see.”

  “But you’ll miss your surprise if you leave too soon!”

  Hans’ voice grew very serious. “What surprise, Hank?”

  Clifford took this as his cue. He opened the back door and stepped inside. “Hello, Hans.”

  Hans paled. “Oh, my God. How did you find me here?”

  Clifford shook his head. “The question you should be asking is how come Wilbur Ross’ goons aren’t here first?” He smiled. “Someday he’ll learn how to hire quality help.”

  “I can get you your money,” Hans said. “Well, not all of it. But most of it. Sixty percent of it.”

  “Somehow I don’t imagine you have that kind of cash on you,” Clifford said. “And I’m not willing to take a check.”

  Hans was trembling. “I can get it though. Honest to God I can.”

  Hank looked troubled. “This is not a good surprise.”

  “You think?” Hans snapped at him. “You moron, you’ve ruined everything!”

  Hank froze. His eyes filled with tears.

  “Don’t be an asshole to him,” Clifford said. “He’s got a real genuine talent that you’ve been exploiting shamelessly. If anyone’s a moron here, it’s you.”

  Hank had been following conversation carefully. He crowed with glee at Clifford’s pronouncement. “You’re the moron, cousin! Not me.”

  “We’ll talk about that another time,” Hans said. He turned on his heel and started for the door. “I’ve got to go now.”

  “What about my hundred dollars?” Hank wailed. “You said it was ten dollars for this one, and ten dollars for that one, and ten dollars…”

  “Shut up!” Hans lost his cool and broke for the door. He opened it, only to find himself face to face with a Maine State Trooper.

  “Hans Grüber, we have a warrant here for your arrest.”

  “I have to say you clearly went above and beyond your job description,” Madison said, raising her champagne glass high. “A toast is definitely in order. To Annette!”

  “Hear hear!” Moshe Feigenbaum was beaming. “I knew you were something special when you first came to work for us. But I never dreamed that I would be reading in the New York Times about you single handedly capturing a dangerous fiend!”

  “Well, it was hardly single handed,” Annette said. She’d had more than a few glasses of champagne at this point, and it seemed very important to her that she be very clear about what happened. “Clifford was there. And the police did the actual capturing thing.”

  “Pfft!” Moshe dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. “You are a star. Nobody can tell me different.”

  Clifford laughed. “Don’t argue with Moshe, darling. He’s a very wise man.”

  Annette blushed. She was still adjusting to Clifford acknowledging their relationship in front of others. It felt strange, but good. Also strange but good was the experience of checking her bank balance: since Madison arranged for the three million in reward money to be paid to her, Annette was a rich woman in her own right.

  “I guess you’re right,” she said.

  “It’s going to be hard to go back to shopping for surrealists after such an adventure,” Moshe said.

  “I’m looking forward to it. And there is an artist I want to talk to you about, Moshe. We discovered him in Maine. He’s a little different, but very, very talented.”

  “What artist isn’t different?” Moshe said. “If you think his work is interesting, it’s probably worth taking a look at.”

  “We’ll bring a few pieces down next week,” Annette said.

  “Don’t fill up your calendar just yet, darling,” Clifford said. He set his phone down, looking very serious.

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “That was Wilbur Ross, of all people.”

  Madison’s eyes went wide. “What did he want?”

  “He’s calling for help.”

  “We can’t help with the Hans situ
ation,” Madison said. “He’s going to have to go through the same process we did to recover his money.”

  “No,” Clifford said. “It’s not that. Someone’s stolen his entire collection of Warhols right off his walls.” He turned to Annette. “And he wants us to find them.”

  THE END