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.

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.

"I'm telling you," Adrien said, over and over, "it was an accident."

Nobody seemed to believe this. Again, what were the odds Muse had just coincidentally crashed into a priceless, centuries-old sculpture?

"Listen," said the officer now, who had introduced himself as Brian. "If you confess, the charges―"

Adrien leaned forward. She realized she had spread her legs as wide as a man's, meeting Brian's gaze with no remorse, and she smiled at how naturally the instinct came to her. She noticed the sudden uncertainty of Brian's posture, the twitch of his hands. How cute, she thought. He was intimidated by her.

"You're going to drop the charges," she said in a soft, steely voice. Thoroughly tired of this whole interrogation. "Because we did nothing wrong."

Flustered, he clenched both fists on the table. "Damages―the cost of the art―it was worth millions―"

"It was a naked man," Muse interjected.

"Whatever it cost," Adrien added, "I can offer the museum triple."

"Just who," snarled Brian the officer, "do you think you are?"

A knock startled them. It was a sharp rap against the door, next to the reflective glass―where more officers or security guards or agents must've been watching, concealed, masked. The knock had to mean something, because without hesitation, Brian was already leaving the room. Slamming the door behind him. It happened so fast Adrien blinked. The silence became deafening.

She knew they were being watched, knew their body language was being analyzed. Anything they did right now could incriminate them. Still, she asked Muse, "Are you okay?"

"I'm . . . fine," said Muse, not looking at her.

They were only two feet away. Both handcuffed to the rusty grey desk. It had been almost thirty minutes, maybe more, since they'd been arrested.

Adrien paused. What, exactly, did she say to a woman she barely knew? A woman who was legally her fake fiancee, whom she had proposed to yesterday, who had splashed a drink in her face, who had run away from her three times in the past twenty-four hours?

This was ridiculous. Adrien had never had to chase a woman before, had never even wanted to. Clearly, Muse Gardner did not want to be chased anyway. Adrien should probably just take the hint and―

"I'm surprised to see you're not dead yet." The words were sarcastic, but not unkind.

Right. The second-degree burn. "What, are you offering to finish the job?"

"I figured your pride would do that by itself."

"In that case, I'm sorry to say I'm well and alive. Doctor did a good job." Out of the corner of Adrien's eye, she noticed a flash of movement from behind the thin window of the door. "Besides, you were nearly taken out by a sculpture of a naked man."

Muse's eyes flashed gold.

Adrien's bandaged hand, still a little tender, rested on the table. Muse's gaze flicked down to it. Adrien wondered if she was thinking of the hospital waiting room. After the doctor had checked Adrien out, she'd scoured the rows of chairs for Muse, and then the bathroom, before coming to the conclusion she had been abandoned yet again.

"I'm sorry," blurted out Muse.

"You're―?"

"I'm sorry, okay?" Defeat. Pure defeat. "It's my fault. All that lying yesterday. I started it with the waterpark story. And I'm sorry about ripping up your cheque. And telling you to die of blood poisoning. And leaving you at the hospital. It's just that you're kind of beautiful, and―"

"You think I'm beautiful?" Logically, Adrien knew she was. She'd been called beautiful countless times, by countless women. However, it was a different kind of compliment altogether coming from Muse.

"And," Muse continued, without answering, "you know, I guess I'm pretty avoidant when it comes to facing my problems. I really shouldn't have run away from you just now, but I panicked, okay? I panicked, and I crashed, and it's just―it's all my fault. I need a job, like right now, and the museum was hiring. I didn't want you to know why I was here. You shouldn't even be here. And now I broke a naked man, and we're both taking the fall. I'm so sorry, I'll come ring shopping with you, and I promise I won't complain."

Under the dimming, static fluorescent lights, their eyes locked. It was just like the first time, just like the second, just like the third. Adrien couldn't catch a goddamn breath.

"You need a job?" was all she managed to say.

"Yeah, I―I just need the financial security of one. Like, um, right now."

"But the money from the deal . . ." Adrien didn't care what the security agents heard anymore. They wouldn't be a problem for much longer.

Muse's voice broke. "I need to pay this month's rent, okay? And don't say you'll give me money. I don't want your charity, like I told you. I just need a job."

"You'll have one by tomorrow," Adrien said. A promise.

Before she could say anything more, the door opened back up again. Brian the officer had a red, blushing sheen to his cheeks. As if he'd been scolded.

"In light of, um, recent discovery of identities―"

Adrien narrowed her eyes. Had they finally realized who she was, how powerful the Vitale name could be?

"And, um, the generous donation offer―"

Yes. They had.

"Both of you will be let go with a warning. Granted, um, a cheque payable to the museum is necessary first."

And, onto the table, he slid a single, creamy-white cheque between Adrien and Muse.

"I can pay half," said Muse, leaning over to glance at the sum―

All the colour drained from her face.

Brian rolled a pen towards the cheque. Adrien stopped it with her fingertips and scrawled her name quickly in cursive, before Muse had a chance to protest. The sum was of no importance to her.

After Brian handed the cheque to someone outside the interrogation room, it took five minutes for them to put it through―making sure it didn't bounce. Another sharp knock, and Brian was unlocking both their cuffs with a key.

"Make sure," he said sternly, "this never happens again."

Adrien, circling her raw wrists with two fingers, narrowed her eyes at Brian. She did not appreciate the threat. Or the fact that he had scared Muse enough for her hands to be trembling, even after they had been freed. Just the white pallor of Muse's face was enough to make Adrien furious. How dare they?

Despite it, against her will, a smirk curved her lips.

Two hours later, Adrien Vitale made a deal with the city of New York. Within three hours, she was named the new owner of the Museum of Modern Arts. After four, every single piece of artwork in every single gallery and hall legally belonged to her. Including the fractured sculpture of the naked man. The transition of ownership was smooth, unknown to the public, and throughout the process, her lawyer kept asking her: "But why? Nobody will know. This has no benefit to your company, your business, or your reputation. It will cost you billions."

Adrien thought of Muse, and how she'd gone pale at the threat, at the sum of the cheque. That would never happen again, not here, not while Adrien could help it. Muse should be able to shatter any statue of a naked man she wanted. Hell, Muse should be able to set every last artwork in that damn museum on fire. If only so Adrien would never have to see that expression of fear on her face again.

To her lawyer, though, Adrien only shrugged.

"I guess I just have a newfound love for art."