Free Romance: The Art Of Love: A Billionaire Romance by Veronica Cross

red.”   He lifted a silver dome to reveal what looked
like some very well done chicken, surrounded by a heaping pile of bright green
asparagus spears and earthy brown mushrooms.
              “Pheasant,
Max?” Clifford smiled. “You are spoiling me.”
              “That’s
my job. But you’re not officially spoiled until you have dessert.” Max leaned
over to tap the second shelf on his cart. “There’s a chocolate torte here
you’ll adore. Raspberries liqueur in the ganache; fresh cream in the silver
bowl. Mind you don’t forget.”
              “How
could I forget?” Clifford said. “Thank you, Max.” His smile was very genuine.
“Anything I guess is my absolute favorite dinner.”
              Max
left smiling.
              “Now,
where were we?” Clifford asked.
              “I
was trying to keep us on track,” Annette said, “But honestly, right now, I
really want to eat.”
              Clifford
laughed. “I knew you’d be hungry.” He walked to the tray and brought a plate
back to Annette. “Do you like pheasant?”
              “I
don’t know,” she replied. “I’ve never had it. They live in the woods all around
my parent’s place in New Hampshire, but we never got hungry enough to actually
eat them.”
              “That’s
a pity,” Clifford said. He stabbed at his plate with a heavy silver fork.
“They’re delicious. You’ve been missing out.”
              Annette
took a bite, surprised at how tender and juicy the meat was. “I see that,” she
said. “Although I’m sure Max is much better at cooking them than my Mother
would be.”
              They
ate a few bites, and then Annette’s computer beeped, dominating their
attention. “What’s that?” Clifford asked.
              “It’s
just a Facebook notification,” Annette said. She glanced at the screen. “One of
my friends just posted about her new show. She’s a printmaker.”
              “She
did that on Facebook, not LinkedIn?” Clifford asked.
              “LinkedIn’s
more of a professional space,” Annette explained. “Facebook is casual.
Everyone’s on Facebook.”
              “Is
Hans on Facebook?”
              “Let’s
check,” Annette replied. A few keystrokes brought the art dealer’s profile up.
“It looks like he hasn’t posted in about a week and a half.”
              “Well,
if I was hiding from Wilbur Ross, I wouldn’t be posting on Facebook either,”
Clifford said. “It would lead his goons right to me.”
              “That’s
true,” Annette said. “As it is, right now, we can’t tell where he is. We can
only tell where he’s been.” She scrolled through the pictures Hans had posted
over the previous six weeks. “Our boy spends a lot of time in Belgium.”
              “That’s
Prague,” Clifford corrected. “I recognize that shopfront.”
              “Okay,”
Annette said. She continued reading Wilbur’s feed until she came across a
picture of an inn. The small building was set in a wooded countryside, where
pine trees grew close together against a cerulean sky. “That’s not Prague.”
              Clifford
shook his head. “No, I don’t know where that is.”
              Annette
examined the picture closely. “It’s Maine,” she said. “See the sign there? The
Millinocket Motel.” She shook her head. “That’s way up there in Maine. Great
fishing. You can hunt moose. But there’s no reason for a man like Hans to go
there…unless…”
              “Unless
that’s where his forger lives.” Clifford sprang to his feet and pulled his
phone out of his pocket.
              “What
are you doing?” Annette asked.
              “I’m
going to call Jerry and tell him I need the plane ready. We’re going to Maine.”