I take a second before going back to the event. Pippa walked out the door a few minutes ago, yet I haven’t moved since she left. It still smells like her in my office, the scent of her surrounding me, even though I’d prefer it not to. I don’t like how she smells unlike any woman I know. I’m used to the scent of a few different expensive perfumes. All women in my circle wear the same handful of fragrances. They’re either way too flowery or way too overpowering.
Pippa doesn’t smell like either. Everywhere she goes, she leaves the scent of vanilla and strawberries. I find myself taking a deep inhale, hating myself for wanting to get another waft of her.
I stare ahead of me at the statue in the corner of my office. It’s something I almost didn’t bring with me from Manhattan. It wasn’t intended to be sold; there was no reason for me to bring it with me. But I couldn’t help it.
And now after watching Pippa marvel at it, I’m wondering if maybe it has a chance to sell. Maybe I should give it a chance.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t even notice the door to my office opening. I don’t see the person until he comes to a stop in front of me, softly clearing his throat to get my attention.
“Everything okay in here?” Beck asks, looking at me with concern.
My back straightens as I look up to make eye contact with him. He watches me warily, which I don’t blame him for. He witnessed me kick out a man who is very prominent in our social circle and then disappear, pulling someone by the arm into my office. It probably doesn’t add up to him.
I let out a slow breath. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
He chuckles, running a hand over his mouth. I hate it, but he’s known me almost my entire life. Beck can read me like a damn book, no matter how much I hate it. We’ve had the same friend group since we were in school, but he and I have always been the closest. He’s my best friend. Which is great occasionally, but times like right now, it’s rather inconvenient.
“Because you basically just told someone who spends a lot of money on art to fuck right off.”
“I don’t want his money,” I snarl.
Beck’s hands come up in front of him defensively. “Calm down.” He laughs. “I gathered that by the way you basically shoved him out the door, no matter who was watching.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“Everyone here is an asshole,” Beck responds.
I throw a dirty look his way. I hate that he has a response for everything. Apparently, I need to find a friend who doesn’t like to talk at all.
“I should probably go back out there and make money off the assholes.”
“Probably should. Although I know Margo is doing a great job out there in your absence.”
This makes me laugh. Margo is my most profitable artist. I wouldn’t tell her this, but I also consider her one of my closest friends, even though we work together. Margo’s hard to not like. Plus, she makes Beck happy. He’ll always be an asshole in my mind, but he’s a lot more tolerable to be around now that he finally has his girl and they’re happily married.
“Maybe I’ll just let Margo take over the gallery, and I’ll ride off into the sunset.”
Beck crosses his arms over his chest, the humor wiping straight from his face. “Not going to happen. She works too much for my liking anyway.”
“Says the guy who is constantly working.” Beck is the CEO and creator of Sintech Cyber Security. He doesn’t fully know how to take a day off, even though he may tell you otherwise.
“Right back at you, Hunter. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if you weren’t always working.”
I have ideas, but I don’t say them out loud. There’s no use. I know some things I could do if I wasn’t always worrying about my galleries, but that’d never happen. It’d take a lot for me to let go of them. I started them to prove something. And I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like I proved enough to stop.
“How long could we hide in here until Margo comes looking for us?” I change the subject, trying to deny the inevitable. After the confrontation with Jason and my conversation with Pippa, I don’t feel like going back out there. I want to be alone, but I don’t have a choice. Despite Jason derailing things for a bit, I need to get everything back on track. I need to sell more art. And I need to prove that I can make a gallery profitable, no matter the location.
“She’s too busy to—” His words stop when his wife comes into view.
Margo gives Beck a look, her dark eyebrows raised to her hairline. “You said you’d be one minute.” Her voice goes up an octave at the one. Maybe she didn’t have as much fun out there as he thought she would.
Beck shrugs, closing the distance and pulling her into his body. He plants a kiss on her lips. I’m worried they might start making out in front of me like a pair of horny teenagers, but Margo pulls away. “No, no, no,” she scolds. “You don’t get to kiss me and pretend that you didn’t leave me talking to two dudes who kept asking me who my art tutor was as a kid so they could get their grandkids in with them.”
“Did you have an art tutor?” I ask, fairly confident Margo grew up in Iowa. Or was it Ohio? I don’t remember what state it was, but I know it wasn’t New York.
Margo laughs, shaking her head as her almost-black pieces of hair dance with her movement. “I had an art teacher, Mrs. Kiebler, and she was a saint. But my family couldn’t afford an art tutor. They could barely afford the supplies I begged for.”
“What’d you tell the men?” Beck asks. His fingertips stroke over the bare skin on her shoulder. I never thought I’d see the man so happy and in love. For a fraction of a second, I wonder what it’s like to love someone as much as he loves Margo. What it’s like to be loved the way she loves him. It’s only a thought I humor for a moment before I rid it from my mind. I don’t want to be in the position he’s in. I remember the terrified phone call I got from him when he thought she’d ended their engagement.
To love is to be vulnerable. I’ve never been very good at being vulnerable.
I’ve been lost in my own world, not hearing a thing either one has said. I only catch the tail end of their conversation. One that has apparently reverted to me because they both stare at me expectantly.
“What?” I ask, stepping around them to finally leave this office and return to the event.
“I asked how you felt it was going.” Margo’s voice is cautious. I don’t know why.
“Oh.” I clear my throat, my fingers absentmindedly fiddling with one of my cufflinks. “I think it’s going great—despite the one minor mishap. I haven’t rung up all of the purchases, obviously, but it seems like a lot of it has sold. Last I checked, there was a bidding war going on over your newest piece.”
Beck hums. “Maybe I need to put them all to shame and buy it for my own personal collection.”
This makes Margo roll her eyes. She playfully swats at his abdomen. “Like you don’t have enough already.”
Beck’s voice gets low as he mutters something against her ear. It makes me want to throw up. I need space from the lovesick puppies, and I need it immediately.
“I’m leaving. The two of you aren’t allowed to fuck in my office,” I growl.
I hear Beck’s laugh from behind me. “Maybe we already have, Hunter.”
I don’t enlighten him by reacting. But before I step through the small entrance to the hallway and join the party, I rattle off a text to one of my employees still in Manhattan despite the opening and tell him I need the entire art gallery cleaned. Immediately.
