Chris - Diamond Miss Lexa

“Because, Chris,” she said, stepping close enough that he could smell her perfume—oud and gasoline, like a billionaire’s funeral, “I don’t need a thief anymore. I need a bodyguard. One who thinks on his feet. One who noticed the frame was wrong.”

“Dinner is for survivors, Chris.” She pressed the elevator call button. “Try not to die before dessert.” chris diamond miss lexa

The doors shut.

Chris froze. His eyes darted to the painting. The Monet was lovely—hazy water lilies, soft light. But he’d noticed it the moment he lifted it off the wall. The frame was slightly thicker on the bottom edge. Just a millimeter. But a man who steals art for a living notices millimeters. “Because, Chris,” she said, stepping close enough that

“To see if you could resist opening the frame.” One who noticed the frame was wrong