Pippa tries to wiggle out of my grip, but I don’t give her any leeway. She isn’t leaving. But this sorry excuse of a human I regret ever inviting sure is.
“You can’t be serious,” Jason hisses, outstretching his hands to try and play it cool.
It isn’t.
He just called Pippa stupid in multiple different ways, and he thinks everything is cool? Absolutely pathetic.
“Camden, it’s fine,” Pippa insists from my side. “I can go.”
I don’t even give an answer. There’s no way in hell she’s going anywhere when she’s done nothing wrong.
“Jason, don’t make any more of a scene than you already have. You can leave, or I can make you leave, which would make me very, very upset because I don’t like drama or theatrics.”
“You’re going to defend a server over me? I’ve been friends with your father since before you were born.”
I hate the feeling of all eyes on us. I’ve never been one who enjoys attention. It reminds me of when I was a child and my parents would parade me around to all of their friends—some of whom are in the room right now—and then discard me the moment the doors were shut. It made me hate the attention because I caught on at a young age that I was being used. I don’t like being used.
“It’s a great thing I don’t give a shit about that.” My jaw tenses. This conversation is already far longer than it was supposed to be. Tonight was supposed to be about the art, about bringing luxury art somewhere new. Jason’s narcissism and egotistical personality fucked that up.
“But I’m not the one who—”
“Go,” I interrupt, my voice booming because my patience is wearing thin.
He and I stare at one another. It’s like he’s trying to figure out if I’m being serious or not. It’s a stupid mistake of his. He’s been around all thirty-six years of my life. He should know by now that I mean what I say.
It’s comical now that the men surrounding Jason all pretend they don’t know him now. He looks to them for help, but they say nothing. They’re all cowards. The only person here brave enough to speak for themselves is the woman trying to pull out of my grip.
“This is a mistake,” Jason rants.
I click my tongue, cocking my head as I stare him down. “No, the mistake was inviting you.”
He finally gains enough common sense to leave. But not without stomping his way out, acting far too childish for a man who has grandchildren.
The moment he’s gone, I look at the guests around us. I fake a smile, even though my body hums with rage.
“Now that that’s handled, let’s get back to the reason you’re here. The pieces are flying off the walls, so if you see something you’re interested in, make sure to find an employee to help you purchase it.”
The group of people milling around us begins to chatter, but I don’t listen to them at all. I’m already busy pulling Pippa through the group of people until we’re safely out of sight in my back office. The door slams behind me, shaking the walls of the old building.
The door is barely shut before I’m pushing Pippa against it, my eyes roaming over her body. “Did he hurt you?”
She shoves against my chest. “What? Get away from me, asshole.”
My vision begins to clear as I regain a sense of reality and no longer see red. “Did he hurt you?” I repeat, backing away from her until I bump against my desk. I undo the button of my jacket, placing my hands safely in my pockets as I wait for her to answer.
“No, of course not. He was just being a demeaning prick.”
“He’s an asshole.”
She laughs. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“What happened?” I was busy selling one of Margo’s—Beck’s wife—pieces for the highest price one of her pieces has ever sold for when I heard the commotion from across the room.
Maybe costing me the sale, I left Jared Stingmore and his wife immediately to go see what was happening. I’d gotten close enough to hear Jason call Pippa a stupid bitch when I started to see red. When he called her worthless, I was moments away from grabbing onto his collar and dragging him out by his neck to prove who the worthless human in the scenario was.
Pippa glares at me as I stare at her right back. Her chest heaves with angry breaths. Mine does, too. The problem is she looks at me like I’m the one who’s done something wrong.
“I didn’t need your help. I had it handled,” she snaps, completely ignoring my question.
I chuckle under my breath because while she was handling it, he wouldn’t have left until I told him to. And even when I did, he argued. “Sure you did, shortcake.”
A loud, aggravated noise comes from her throat. It’s something between a growl and a shriek. “Stop calling me that!”
“What did he say to you?” I press, needing to know what the hell happened. I’ll ask his dimwit little friends, too, but first, I want to hear it from her.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“Why? So you can use the same insults as him against me?”
My jaw snaps shut. Damn. Her words hit deep. Because they aren’t completely out of line. I’ve been a dick to her. Numerous times. Because she gets under my skin in a way I haven’t experienced before.
Pippa rolls her eyes, reaching for the door.
“No,” I hurriedly say, reaching out to stop her but thinking better of it. Maybe I should let her go. Jason is gone and surely not coming back. I really shouldn’t care anymore what she has to say.
“I know I’ve been an asshole, but I’d never call you the help. Or worthless. Or stupid or anything that he said because they’re all lies. You’re none of that. You’re—”
“I don’t need you to tell me what I am, Camden. I know what I am. His words don’t matter.”
Her words cause me to pause because they weren’t what I was expecting. Was she really not hurt by what he said? I blink, trying to figure her out. She’s like staring at an abstract painting. Just when I think I can make out what she is, I notice something else that shifts my entire perspective.
“No, they don’t matter. But I need to know.”
I’m beginning to accept that she won’t tell me and I’m going to have to get the story from someone else when she takes one hesitant step closer to me. “It all started because I ran out of food. He said you needed to hire new help, and, well, I won’t let someone insult me. You know that very well.”
I laugh because it’s true. “I’m sorry he said those things.”
Pippa’s eyes search my face. I wonder what she sees in me. What she thinks of the man standing in front of her. I stuff my hands into my pockets to give them something to do.
“I never thought I’d hear those words come from your mouth,” she teases. “Even if you were apologizing on somebody else’s behalf instead of your own.”
I’m about to open my mouth when her eyes catch on something in the corner. “What’s this?” she asks, closing the distance to the small table with the sculpture on it.
“Oh, just a piece I’m debating about selling in the gallery,” I answer, feigning nonchalance.
“Can I touch it?” she whispers, her eyes trained on the piece in front of her.
“I don’t think the artist will mind.”
