To redeem her father’s reputation in the art world a shy curator teams up with sexy sculptor to pull off a museum heist.
A romantic caper that restores genuine love.
“Darn.” She must have missed the Lake Bluff sign while fiddling with knobs in the rust-bucket.
Instead of air, Claire Raffen found an eight-track player and a cigarette lighter. On an eighty-degree Indian summer day, neither helped.
After Larry handed the VW key to her, she had driven out of the museum’s underground parking lot and stifling heat enveloped her. She tried, but couldn’t reach to roll down the passenger-side window for a cross breeze. Rolling down a window?
“This is worth it.” She tugged her turtleneck away from her neck and swung her bobbed hair. After this exhibit, I won’t have to play Lawrence Chambers’ indentured art servant anymore.
She veered onto the exit. The bungee cords, to secure Coal or Steam, scraped across the van’s cavernous belly. Driving east toward Sinjin Reid’s studio, she flipped down the visor to cut the morning glare. According to the GPS, Claire was only ten miles away from the reclusive artist’s estate on Lake Michigan.
The prospect of meeting Sinjin reduced her to a giddy fan. He’s an artist, not a teen idol. But his sculpture, donated to her Steampunk exhibit, would save her debut opening and she hoped, her father’s reputation.