Read Romano and Albright 01 - Catch Me If You Can (MM) for Free Online Page A

“I’ll bring your car home.” I had her studio key on my ring for exactly this kind of emergency.
    “Ce. I’m sorry about Shep. I had no idea he would come to the show. He’s such an asshole.”
    “Yeah. I know.”
    “You’re kidding me, though. Right? He’s in the gallery buck naked?”
    “In the kitchen as we speak. He’s wearing a tablecloth. He’s orange and he smells like puke.”
    Shep leaned back to watch me warily. His drape barely covered his thighs and was split to his armpit on the right side. He clutched the folds over his hip, but one wrong move and I’d see everything again. Big hairless deal.
    Poppy whispered, “Can he hear me?”
    “Not now he can’t.”
    She hissed, “Sex in your workplace? Like he picked up someone in your place of business and banged that skank—wait, was it a chick? Not that it matters—and then he waited until you came to work to leave? Oh. That’s just exactly like him. Exactly. That prick.”
    “Yes. Got it. Nutshell. Let’s move on.”
    “I’m so, so sorry. I looked for him last night. I thought he left or I’d have thrown him out. It was just so fucking crazy with the clean up and the waiters and then I…packed everything and went home.”
    I could hear some mumbling again and Poppy covered the phone. There was some muffled talking and then, “I’m going to have to go in a sec.”
    “Wait. Did anything get broken last night?”
    “Just that damn oven—maybe a couple glasses. Nothing major. Why? You break something?”
    “Maybe. I’ll talk to you later. Use a condom, Poppy dear.” I hung up.
    Shep offered a heartfelt, “Thank you.”
    “I’m not doing this for you, sweetheart, so save it. There’s a coatroom by the front door. Go see what you can find.” I poured my coffee, added two and a half sugars, and went back to my office. My space was puny, but at least there was a window. Daylight warmed my cheerful philodendron, its healthy leaves hanging in lush bunches nearly to the floor. I glanced around hopefully. Maybe an invoice had fallen under the bookshelf? Kneeling on the carpet, I checked for the fifth time. Shep came to stand in the doorway. He had on my jacket and it was too small. I wasn’t a little guy, but like many men of my ethnicity, I wasn’t reaching six feet in this lifetime.
    I popped into my chair and my cell rang. It was Jean Luc. I swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Hello?”
    “Caesar.”
    “Jean. How are you this morning?” I wanted to scream, Do you have the missing head of Justin Timberlake? but I closed my eyes and prayed for a miracle.
    “Good. Better, now that a river of cash will be flowing in my direction.”
    “Right. Congrats on a lucrative evening. Well done.”
    “Yeah, it was. So listen, Mallory and I spoke last night and she finally bent enough to put together a show. An evening of New York-themed contemporary artwork. Relevance , I think she said. Some shit like that. I need you to take two of the heads down to Parinella’s—before you ship them, yeah?—and get them photographed.”
    “Me? That’s not really in my job description—”
    “Peter will call you. We had a powwow late last night. After you left.”
    He hadn’t left a note. “Fine, which ones need to go?” I waited breathlessly for what I knew was coming. “We have stock photos from the printer, perhaps I can select—”
    “No, she’s got some curatorial vision. Those won’t do.”
    “Of course she does. Dandy. Which ones? The Bloomberg? That defines regionalism.”
    “Nah. Not really interesting, is it? That was on commission. She wants the Timberlake.”
    “Uh. But…he’s not from New York.”
    “Whatever. She’s the boss. I just want to sell it.”
    I cleared my throat. Shep watched me from the doorway, taking in every word. “Mallory wants these?”
    “Yeah. The Timberlake and the Trump. I’ll have the transport guys come to crate everything. Are you there today?”
    “No! No. Uh. I’ll be busy tomorrow. We can