The Billionaire And The Waitress (gxg)

09 - a chase

MUSE didn't make it far before crashing.

    Adrien felt as if she saw it in slow motion: Muse's ringlets streaming behind her, a glimpse of her tan, sun-kissed face as she looked back―just for a fraction of a second―at Adrien. The inevitable slip, the too-late change of speed. And the finality, the echo, of the collision: as Muse dove headfirst into a sculpture of a naked man.

   It just had to be a naked man.

   The velvet ropes and Muse's limbs tangled, an interchangeable weave. The sculpture wavered. Tilting on its axis. 

   Please don't fall, thought Adrien.

   The sculpture of the naked man swayed, then toppled over. Hitting the marble floor with an impact that echoed, echoed, echoed. Someone shouted, maybe a security guard.

   Adrien skidded to a stop just before the scene. Crouching down in high heels before Muse, as if the damage of priceless art was of no concern.

   "Are you okay?" she asked, gently. And it was true: she didn't give a fuck about priceless art, not right now. Not when Muse could be hurt.

   Muse wrenched her legs free from the red velvet ropes. The black stands clattered. Her face, flushed, twisted into hot fury. The sculpture crumbled, more grey rock falling free. "I'm fine," she hissed. "I'm perfectly―"

   "Hey!" A security guard, panting. "This is―destruction―of art―oh, man―" And, beneath his breath: "I don't get paid enough for this."

   "It was an accident," said Adrien, rising to her feet. In her heels, she towered over the pale, lanky security guard. 

    To his credit, he stood his ground. A radio on his belt crackled. He unclipped it, his mouth hovering near the mesh, and said, "Code white. Code white."

    What was that? 

    Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds, in which Muse struggled and Adrien didn't break eye contact with the security guard. Thirty seconds, and then real guards―this time, armed with guns and vests and eye shields―swarmed the gallery. As if this was a billion-dollar heist. Adrien's gaze flickered from Muse, still stuck in a tangle of rope, and the sculpture of the naked man, which had cracked into several pieces. This didn't look good. Adrien didn't have to implicate herself; she could walk away right now unscathed. But before she could think better of it, she grasped Muse firmly by the waist and lifted her to her feet.

     With one hand still lingering on Muse's hip, Adrien said, "This is all just a misunderstanding."

     One of the guards, eyes masked beneath a sleek black shield, gun strapped to his back, stopped only a foot away. "Hands in the air!" he barked. "You're both coming with us."

SO, it had come to this.

    An interrogation room. An officer. Adrien, cuffed to a table with Muse.

    It was only their third time seeing each other, their third time meeting. What were the odds? A fake relationship and now, some bonding time as they were accused of art theft. Adrien's eyes slid to Muse. She seemed calm, contained, although frizzy strands of hair haloed her face and her jaw clenched so hard her bones must have been aching.

   The officer had already gone through a dozen questions: Were you trying to steal the art? Who are you working for? What did you hope to achieve? Along with twice as many threats: You could go to trial for this. You could end up in prison. This could be on your record forever.