Chris - Diamond Miss Lexa

The elevator doors opened. She stepped inside, and just before they closed, she added, “Oh, and Chris? The tracker in your shoe? I was lying about that. The real tracker is in your watch. Vane’s men already know where you are.”

“To see if you could resist opening the frame.”

Chris was good at two things: stealing art and lying about it. Tonight, he’d stolen a small, unassuming Monet from a private vault. The client was a shadowy collector who paid in untraceable crypto. The job was clean. Too clean. chris diamond miss lexa

“And if I say no?”

Chris didn’t flinch. He’d learned long ago that flinching got you killed. He turned slowly. A woman sat cross-legged in the dark, her silhouette framed by the downtown skyline. She wore a severe black pantsuit, her platinum hair pulled back so tight it looked like it hurt. Her eyes were the color of frozen vodka. The elevator doors opened

Chris Diamond had one rule: never work for someone smarter than you. But as he slipped the duplicate card into his pocket and watched Lexa slide the real Monet into a cylindrical case, he realized he’d already broken it.

“Seven million,” he said. “And you buy me dinner first.” I was lying about that

Chris looked at his wristwatch. A cheap, reliable piece he’d had for years. His heart hammered once, twice. Then he smiled—a real smile, for the first time in months.