Chelsea Whitney.
Free day


"Mr. Lindberg is here Miss Whitney” Zara announced through the door, Chelsea waved her approvingly and waited behind her desk. 

She was shocked when a handsome men, with deep blue eyes and a “je ne sais quoi” walked inside her office in the museum, the door shut down and he smiled at her. 
“Mr. Mercer, please take a seat” She said, recognition flashed through his eyes and instead of being angry he smirked and took off his reading glasses, slipping them in the inside pocket of the expensive Italian suit.

“I see you play no games Mrs. Whitney” He stood straighter in the chair.

“Miss” she corrected.

“My apologies” he flashed a beautiful smile.

 “Since I know your real name, why don’t you call me Chelsea, and I’ll call you Logan, what im going to ask puts us both in first name bases” 

“Im all ears Chelsea” Her name rolled off his tongue and she smiled at the sound of it, Octavia ( @effyeahleofashionista ) was definitely right she had a thing for bad boys.

“My family is quite tricky you see, among ourselves we live by the motto what’s yours is mine, and the other way around, but lately my DC cousins have taken upon themselves to empty my personal bank vault, and they only took one thing…” She said standing up, walking to the office safe and pulling out a file, she could feel his eyes on her, and it both thrilled her and scared her, he was a criminal after all.

She tossed it at him, and she saw as his smile widen as he read farther into the file, she sat on the desk and waited while he caught up with everything. 

He looked up at her, but his eyes were no longer staring at her legs, or at the slight gap in the middle of her chest, his eyes were fixed in the Renoir on the wall. 

“Mi… I mean Chelsea, is that…?” He trailed off.

“Oh it’s my Renoir, pride and glory, that portrait of Manet’s daughter is one of the most beautiful pieces on my opinion…”

“It’s a little late in his life Im I right?” he said, walking with no regard for personal space right next to her standing inches away from the canvas.

“Its not a forgery” He smirked.

“I know, I inspected it myself” 

“Beautiful and smart…” He mumbled to himself.

“So you want me to recover the painting?” he asked, back in business talk. 

“Yes, I need my Cézanne by any means necessary, I can help you even further, my painting is now being kept at the Henry Clay Frick House on Fifth Avenue, between 70th and 71st Street"

“I have my history with the Frick house, it will be no problem, I might have to be in contact with you again”
She handed him her house number, car number and mobile.

“By any means necessary, I mean it, money is not an objection"

“You’ll be hearing from me Chelsea” he said, kissing her hand and walking away with the file under his arm.

From that moment on, he could not keep his eyes off that painting. Or her.
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