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The first time Nate meets Sophie, they are at the Boston Museum of Art. Nate has always liked art, another interest that his father dismisses as soft and overly intellectual, but even his father’s disapproval doesn’t stop him from impulsively buying a ticket to see a special exhibit of Impressionist art. The opening is black tie, and he feels uncomfortable and out of place in his rented tux. Everyone else there is rich and powerful, a far cry from the circles he normally runs in. But the champagne is free, and the opportunity to see the beautiful pieces is worth the effort of trying to blend in with the Bostonian elite.
He is wandering from room to room, trying to enjoy the art and avoid most of the small talk, when he spots her. She is easily the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, and there is something about the way she carries herself that immediately attracts his attention. Unlike him, she is right in the middle of party, surrounded by three wealthy men who are hanging on her every word. As he watches her, he notices her lean towards one of the men and slide her hand into his jacket pocket. A second later, she slips his wallet into her purse, all without him noticing.
When she excuses herself to the bathroom a few minutes later, curiosity overcomes Nate, and he decides to follow her at a discreet distance. Using a card from the man’s wallet, she goes down a restricted staircase to the museum basement. In contrast to the liveliness of the party upstairs, the basement is quiet and nearly empty. It is easy enough to follow her to a storage room where he finds her pulling a Degas painting out of a wooden box.
The woman looks shocked to see him standing here. “Who are you?” she demands.
Nate smiles. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Her shock turns to annoyance. “You aren’t security,” she says, “because if you were, you would have already tried to arrest me. Another thief? Because I got here first.”
He is honestly not sure how to explain what he is doing here, but before he has the chance to try, another man bursts into the room.
The man glares at the woman. “Hands up, Jenny.”
The woman, Jenny, glares venomously back at him, but sets the painting down and does as he says. “Hello Sterling.”
Sterling looks at Nate. “Who is this? Your new accomplice.”
She gives him a sideways glance. “Actually I have no idea who he is.”
Sterling shrugs. “Boston PD can sort it out.” He pulls out a pair of handcuffs and gestures at Nate. “Hands up.”
But Nate has no intention of being taken to the Boston Police Department. He rushes at Sterling and knocks him out cold with a single punch. Jenny looks impressed but wastes no time in grabbing the painting and carefully removing it from its ornate frame.
“Leave it,” he snaps. “Before someone else comes.”
She shrugs. “It’s only Sterling. He always works alone.”
“He isn’t the police?”
She makes a face. “Insurance cop. Takes his job far too seriously if you ask me. Almost takes the fun out of it.” She works quickly, and before he can protest that they really should run, she has it freed from the frame and carefully places it within a packing tube.
“I don’t suppose you have a way of getting out of here,” Nate says.
“Of course. Never do a job without an exit strategy.” She goes to the air vent and pulls out a black bag. Inside there are a pair of coveralls, and in an instant she transforms herself from an elegant socialite into an ordinary janitor. She glance at Nate. “Your best bet is probably to be a caterer,” she suggests, and he sheds his jacket and tucks a white rag into his waistband like an apron.
No one looks twice at them as they make their way out through the loading dock into the alley behind the museum. Once there, Nate’s instinct is to run all the way to the nearest T stop, but Jenny hesitates, looking cautiously at him.
“You know, I still don’t know your name,” she says.
“It’s Nate. Nate Ford.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Ford. You can call me Sophie.”
“I thought your name was Jenny.”
“It was, but I think it’s time for a change.” She gives him a curious look. “So why were you following me, anyway?”
“I saw you make that lift upstairs,” he admits. “I wanted to meet you.”
She raises her eyebrows. “And punching Sterling? Because you didn’t have to do that.”
“Let’s just say that I had my own reasons not to be thrown in prison.”
Her eyes light up when he says that. “Ahh, so you are a thief.”
“Not exactly.”
She frowns. “But that still doesn’t explain why you didn’t just run. I doubt Sterling would have left me to chase you.”
“Maybe I didn’t want you to get thrown in prison either.”
“I can take care of myself,” she says, but a wistful smile tugs at the edge of her mouth. “But it’s been a long time since a had a white knight.”
“At your service.” He clears his throat. “So can I buy you a drink, after all that? I know a good place not far from my apartment. It’s quiet, discreet.”
Sophie shakes her head. “Can’t,” she says, and she does not bother to explain herself further. “But maybe next time, Nate Ford.”