Chapter 2

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EMMA

At Christmas time, the concrete jungle of New York always lights up and wows the masses. Streets fill up with a festive cheer, music is all around, the Rockefeller tree can't get any more dazzling, and the stores are crowded with an abundance of shoppers.

It's, indeed, the happiest time of the year—but also the busiest.

So, there was no better time for pulling up a daring heist in one of the most secure museums in the world. Especially if that said museum was hosting a private gallery that no one was supposed to know about...

Looking at my wristwatch, I felt like the night was holding its breath, waiting for the ball to drop.

My eyes wandered around my surroundings until my gaze finally landed on my target, Bruce Huxley, the Met's Chief Executive Officer. He was sitting at a table engaged in a conversation with some of New York's socialites.

After they had their sweet time at the exhibition, it was time for them to have a highly lavish party in the dining lounge. Through perception, I noticed that many of them didn't even care about art. Instead, they mostly took pleasure in having their names graced with a highly-coveted invite to a secret night at the Met to enjoy a private gallery before it became available to the public.

And I concluded that the New York elite society was just as outrageous as they were exciting to watch. The definition of opulence with obliviousness to the world outside of their own. To have the Met close its doors so they could enjoy a night all to themselves proved the amount of power they held. And I found the whole thing ludicrous, and it made me look even more forward to robbing the museum off tonight, teaching the officials a hard lesson.

Shaking my head, I forced myself to regain focus. I wended my way between all the people whose looks screamed money, trying to keep my tray of champagne balanced with one hand as I sought the man I was after.

I knew it would have looked suspicious if I had just walked right up to him, so I took my time mingling among the people around the lounge, offering glasses of champagne and taking empty ones away.

I avoided drawing attention to myself the best I could—though it wasn't that hard. Why would the socialites pay any attention to a miserable waitress anyway?

Still, I was aiming to go unnoticed, making sure that by the end of the night, no one would remember what I looked like. And as an extra precaution, my medium-length hair was styled in a way that hid most of my face. And the huge glasses I had on helped me put on a look of innocence that coated my features.

Once I thought it had been a decent amount of time, I finally decided to close the distance separating me from my target.

When I reached the table where the Chief was seated, I took one of the full glasses off the tray and held it in my hand while the other still supported the tray. Then suddenly, I stumbled forward, splashing the contents of the glass in my hand all over Bruce Huxley's designer suit jacket.

"Oh my god. Sir, I'm so sorry," I said, my tone laced with panic. I placed the tray on the table and took some napkins off it. "Here, let me help."

While pretending to help him clean his suit, I put one hand under the flap of his jacket and held it as if to get better leverage to wipe off the champagne. Then, my smooth fingers reached for his keycard, unhooking it from his inner breast pocket.

He didn't seem angry so much as surprised at first. But then his face started gaining a few shades of red when he noticed we had attracted the attention of some of the surrounding people, who were giving me looks of aversion.

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