Maximus (Guardian Security Shadow World #15)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

E lena Ivanova filled her lungs with fresh air as she walked along the seaside promenade in Sochi, Russia. At sunset, the Caucasus Mountains were a stunning backdrop. The gold, orange, and red hues peeked around the mountain tops, saturating the vistas with colors artists had tried to capture since time began. She tucked her hands into her jacket’s pockets. Although spring was well underway, the air was cool, especially after spending the day in a climate-controlled vault.

Stopping at her favorite café, she took her normal table. The waitress would bring her a pot of tea, and she’d work on her emails while waiting for dinner. She could afford to eat out, and her employer ensured it. The day had been long but rewarding. That morning, she’d sent her boss a video of the newly acquired art, assuming he was out of town. But he wasn’t, and he showed up at the vault an hour later. She showed him every painting, and they went over each one. While she logged the work, Abrasha would quiz her about the origins, the artists, the value, and whether or not each piece was show-worthy. Her vast knowledge of the art she bought for him and her learned knowledge of his preferences had resulted in a collection that was second to very few—except for the handful of paintings she stored deep inside the vault. Those paintings were problematic, but Abrasha didn’t want to hear her concerns.

She took off her coat and thanked Marissa, the café owner, for her tea. While she let the leaves steep, she stared out the window at the promenade. Even as dusk grew into darkness, people walked down the palm tree-lined venue. She smiled at the thought of palm trees in Russia. Sochi was subtropical, and the average temperature along that area of the Black Sea was temperate enough to support the beautiful aesthetic.

She noticed a man sitting at a table just past her as she poured her tea. He was larger than the average male and wore round, wire-rimmed glasses. He ordered tea and his meal. Elena lifted an eyebrow at the American accent. Curious, but not completely unheard of. Some of the more affluent Americans had discovered the beauty of the Russian Rivera, as Sochi was called. Her eyes were drawn to the man. His dark brown hair was combed neatly, and the cloth of his suit jacket stretched over the breadth of his shoulders. The fabric was expensive, and the crisp linen of his shirt collar and cuffs was brilliant white. The aesthetic contrasted against his red tie was eye-catching, to say the least. He turned a bit, and she noticed the angle of a strong jaw. However, he didn’t look around. Instead, he was intensely focused on whatever he was reading.

Elena opened her small laptop to start going through her emails. They’d stacked up as she’d worked on creating the interpretive language for the descriptions of the paintings they’d received. Her employer wanted the descriptions within seventy-two hours of receipt of the art. Of course, she could use the work of others, but that wasn’t what she was being paid for. Abrasha wanted her words and her product. She wasn’t fool enough to take any shortcuts. Her employer had specific requirements, which she provided, and in return, she was paid very well. That was something she kept in the forefront of her mind. Dealing with Abrasha was always a chess game.

The man put down the document he was reading, and Elena’s curiosity was piqued as she glanced at the papers, which she recognized immediately. It was a Sotheby’s brochure for what looked like a private sale. She’d seen the documents many times and had sold and purchased privately through the company. The painting depicted on the open page was fabulous and highly sought after by her employer. She hadn’t been able to coordinate even the opening stages of negotiation for the Salvator Mundi . Although the pedigree of the painting was highly contested, and the debate still continued to this day, she didn’t care if da Vinci painted it or one of his students had; the painting was on the top of Abrasha’s list.

She picked up her teacup and walked to his table. Being a retiring wallflower was never her strong suit, and when an opportunity presented itself, she wouldn’t walk past it. “I see you are an art lover.” She spoke in English, which she’d learned from her mother and perfected while living and attending school in England before enrolling in St. Petersburg State University. Having a mother who was a British citizen and a father who was a Russian citizen gave her the best of both worlds.

When he frowned and looked confused, she nodded to the picture depicting the Salvator Mundi . His eyes cut to the folder and then back to her. My God, the thrill of excitement rushed over her like a wave crashing the shore, nearly knocking her to her knees. The man turned the document over. “Perhaps.”

Elena nodded to the chair next to him. “May I?” She really did need to sit down. The man was handsome from a distance. Up close, he was … magnetic—or perhaps incendiary was a better word.

He hesitated but nodded, and she sat down as gracefully as she could, hoping her tea wouldn’t slosh over the lip of her cup as she made the move. Drawing a reinforcing breath, she continued, “The Salvator Mundi was last sold for four-hundred-fifty million dollars.”

“I am aware.” The man poured his tea that had been steeping.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself. I’m Elena Ivanova. I’m a curator for a private collector here in Russia.” She extended her hand.

The man took her hand in his. “Max Stryker.” The warmth of his hand and the strength of his handshake were a strong indication of his almost over-the-top masculinity. The man was breathtaking up close, but she was focused on the painting.

“Are you a curator or a collector?” She took a sip of her tea, trying to calm her heartbeat. The painting was causing the excitement, not the man. At least, that was what she told herself.

Max cocked his head and stared at her for a moment. “Why would you need to know?”

She smiled. He was making her work for it. She loved a challenge, and that pulled her away from the insane initial attraction she felt to the man. Which was good. She couldn’t and wouldn’t fall for any romantic entanglement. She had goals for her life, and a man was not on that or any other agenda. As she leaned forward, her hair slipped over her shoulder, and she noticed Max’s eyes followed the fall of brown hair, which was unusual because she wasn’t what anyone would call a beauty. She was far too curvy to be considered beautiful in the day and age of stick-thin fashion. Her lips were too full, and having brown hair and hazel eyes was about as boring as possible. She tossed that thought away as she leaned forward to answer his question. “If you were a curator, I’d ask to be included in any consideration for the sale of that work of art. If you were a collector, I’d ask you to meet my employer, who would love to discuss the procurement of that painting.”

His eyes traveled to her cleavage, then up to meet her gaze. “I’m not a curator, but I work in acquisitions for a rather large conglomerate of collectors with Middle Eastern origins.”

Her insides crawled at that look. No, never again. That was why she had very strong boundaries. Her goal was the painting, not a night of hot sex. His answer explained why the Salvator Mundi would be in the material the man was holding. It was rumored a Middle Eastern prince had purchased the painting. But she still needed an opening. She tried another tactic. “The provenance of the painting has always been contested.” She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of her tea.

A twitch of a smile flitted at the corner of his mouth. “A four-hundred-year gap between creation and market does raise eyebrows for some. Of course, the ownership is not contested now, and the value is not questioned,” Max said and lifted an eyebrow.

The gesture made the man even more handsome if that were possible. She smiled and then laughed. It was fun to talk to someone who spoke her language. “Which, in our terms, means the painting is expected to sell for more than it was purchased for.” She tipped her head to him and added, “I happen to know a certain entity who would be interested in purchasing that particular painting.”

Max chuckled. It seemed he also appreciated the conversation, but his next words dashed any hope she might have had. “I’m afraid you’ll have to join a very long line of people who want but cannot have.”

“Alas, I believe my collector does have the money to play in this arena, but I understand. A girl can dream, can’t she?” Elena tried to play off the disappointment. If she could score even an appointment for Abrasha to discuss the purchase of the painting, she would be rewarded handsomely, and then she’d leave and find a position at a reputable gallery. Being the curator at a museum had always been her plan. Her contract with Abrasha was for five years, and she wouldn’t renew it. Her employer was a very powerful and very controversial Russian billionaire. She heard the rumors, the whispers at the showings, the subtle moves away from him, and she saw the fear in people’s eyes when he was present. Her father had warned her not to take the position and had told her horrible stories related to the man, but she’d needed the job and experience.

Abrasha stated his expectations, and as long as she met them, there were no problems. She’d witnessed his ugly side at a showing when someone had said something he didn’t like. After that explosion, the chill in the air would have frozen the Siberian tundra ten times over. She didn’t host a showing for over a year after that event. She didn’t know what was said, but she did know the offender, and he was found dead shortly afterward. A heart attack was the official cause; it wasn’t what was said in her circles, though. Many had warned her to walk carefully around her boss.

Taking a sip of his tea, Max leaned back in his chair. “Dreaming gains little traction in our work, I’m afraid. All our interested parties have been vetted. Would your employer be able to pass through those gates? We don’t let people who can’t afford the price of entry into the discussion. A necessary business decision, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Elena blinked, leaned forward, and whispered, “Truly, are you suggesting there’s a chance my employer could be included in that discussion?”

Max looked around the small café. “I don’t know you. You don’t know me. I suggest we both do our due diligence before assuming any proposed invitation.”

Elena nodded. “I believe you’re correct.” She reached into her pocket and extracted a thick, gold-painted, bevel-edged business card. “My contact information. I can provide my employer’s details.”

Max reached inside his coat pocket and retrieved his card. It was black, made of metal, and had only a number etched in the medium. “You can follow the instructions at this number to leave documentation proving your client is in the league he needs to be. I’ll get back to you when I’m able.”

His dinner was placed in front of him. She smiled and placed the card in her pocket. “I’ll let you eat in peace. It was fortuitous to meet you here tonight.”

Max smiled politely and admitted, “Strange, I thought it was a bit too fortuitous.”

Elena’s smile slipped from her face. Wait. What? “You don’t think I was following you, do you?” She pointed to her table, where her dinner was getting cold. “I was sitting there when you came in, and you can ask anyone here; I come in most nights and have for the last four years.”

Max seemed to consider her words before nodding. “My apologies if I have offended you, but you must admit, the likelihood of both of us in one place at one time is … illogical.”

“I would prefer to think of it as fate.” Elena stood. “I hope to hear from you if I pass your background checks.”

“And I hope you also do your due diligence, Ms. Ivanova.” He put his papers in the slimline briefcase he had with him before tucking it under the table and beginning his meal. She blinked at the action and turned back to her table. As if she would try to steal the document? Floored by the actions, she dropped back into her seat, activated her computer screen, and stared at her email. What an insult . She was well-known in the area. She had contacts and could give the man referrals, but if he wanted to do his checks, so be it. Her integrity was beyond reproach in the art world.

She choked down a meal she couldn’t taste and left before Mr. Stryker. She wasn’t sure if she was more excited about the chance or offended by the sexy man’s actions. She took several long, calming breaths. He didn’t know her and only had her word that her client could enter the exalted world where he worked. Would she have reacted the same way? Perhaps. No, definitely, she would have been suspicious. As she walked home, excitement about the possibility of an opportunity grew, but she needed to tamp it down. She wouldn’t breathe a word of her meeting. She didn’t want to jinx it, but the possibility of being considered into the conversation of purchasing the Salvator Mundi was a lifetime accomplishment .

The walk to her oceanside apartment took only a few minutes. She opened the door and turned on the lights before hanging up her coat and dropping onto her couch. She connected to the true internet, not the Russian State internet, which Abrasha had provided for her at her residence and work. She needed to research Mr. Max Stryker.

For the next two hours, she consumed every article that mentioned the man. Most articles mentioned prestigious acquisitions in the art world, including Max’s work. There were old pictures where he was usually in the background. She smiled as she noticed that any reference to him was always with the highest regard. Closing the computer, she stared out her window. If she could only get her foot in the door. Her employer’s art portfolio was extensive, and he was a billionaire. By all accounts, Abrasha Molchalin could sit at any table with the richest of men. She would provide the documents and hope for the best.

Rising to get ready for bed, she turned off the light, then walked to the window overlooking the Black Sea. The reflection of the moon danced off the water. She glanced at the canvas to her left. She’d captured the scene in oil and watercolors several times. She was talented but not nearly enough to be considered a rising artist. Her paintings would never be hung in galleries, but she found peace and beauty in creating a scene that pulled at a person’s imagination.

She ran her finger over the canvas-wrapped frame and smiled. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder. People with money also dictated what was beautiful and what wasn’t. In her opinion, the Salvator Mundi was not up to da Vinci’s standard of art. She didn’t agree with those who said he painted it. The features were not sharp or defined in true da Vinci fashion, nor was the torso twisted, which was his norm. There was also a problem with the glass orb. Distortion wasn’t present, and da Vinci would have used the glass to reflect such a thing. As a master, da Vinci wouldn’t have missed that nuance. No, she believed that perhaps the master's student had painted the most expensive painting in the world, but her opinion didn’t matter. Abrasha’s opinion and desires did, and she’d explained her concerns about that specific painting to him ad nauseum. She’d do it again if they were presented the chance to bid on the painting.

Her mind wandered back to the man who’d awakened her very dormant libido, even if it was momentarily. He was possibly the most interesting person she’d met in years. The sensations when he looked at her were so immediate and overwhelming. Narrowing her eyes, she glanced back out at the sea. It was vast, beautiful, enticing, and exciting, like Max. Yet she wouldn’t swim in the sea because there were unseen dangers to those who weren’t strong swimmers. She wasn’t. Perhaps it would be wise to remember that fact. Her talents didn’t involve swimming or relationships. She’d stick to what she knew.