He smiles brightly and angles toward her. I walk toward them, sure that James will take my arm and make introductions, like he’s been doing all night. He’ll present me as his fiancée, and she’ll back off with a barely hidden frustration.
“I’m so glad you came to the event,” she purrs, stroking down his back.
“Of course. I’ve never missed one of your shows, Genevieve.” He flashes a genuine smile.
“I’d pout if you did. Maybe even cry. You’ve been so kind to me over the years. A muse, really.”
“Now you’re just inflating my ego.” He tips her chin up and strokes just under her bottom lip. “I just recognize talent.”
She notices me and arches an eyebrow, making it clear I’m not welcome. I’m just an intrusion on an otherwise perfect moment. She snorts. “Who let the child in? We were clear, no one under twenty-one.”
“That’s my guest,” James says easily. He glances at me, but doesn’t beckon me closer.
With everyone else, he’s been upfront—I’m his. He claims me and talks about how he proposed to me on his sailboat. Apparently, this woman is different.
He rubs her lower back. “Tell me more about your selection. I want to hear all about it.”
“Of course.” She leans her head to the side to look at me. “Don’t worry. I’ll return your chaperone in a bit. It’s adult time.”
James says nothing to that. He just walks away with her. I blink a few times, then push myself into a corner. Hepaidme to come here and now he just doesn’t care? Are we no longer playing the fiancée game? I don’t get it.
Maybe I let all this acting go to my head.
A younger man joins me and leans his head to the side, staring at the painting I’m next to. I glance at him, then grab a glass from one of the waiters. I don’t care what’s in it, I just have to murder the jealousy in me. I have to remind myself that this is just work. Nothing more.
But the stranger is attractive. He can’t be much older than me. He has light-brown hair, a welcoming, kind face, and a ridiculous expression on it. If James goes off with someone else, I’m allowed to make conversation with good looking men, right?
Plus, even though I’m “taken,” it doesn’t mean I can’t be polite and say hello. Doesn’t mean that I can’t mingle with someone attractive. James is too busy to notice, and even if he does, we’re in public, so what can he really do other than give me a disapproving look?
Or…will it get him to punish me? Will it push him over the edge of his restraint, just like he’s trying to push mine to the side with his teasing and threats? I just have to play things smart. Light flirting, but no promises. If I stay in the gray area, I might get what I want without the threat of being fired.
“I always feel like I’m missing something with paintings.” The stranger huffs.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Like they’re cool, but I don’t feel like I can really appreciate them. I prefer the kind of art I recognize.”
“Sculpture?” I guess.
“Craft beer and hot women.” He offers me a hand, a smile, and a schoolboy name. “I’m Xavier.”
“Claire.” I put my hand in his and grin when he kisses it.
“Any clue as to what this painting means?”
“Sorry, I wasn’t an art history major.” I turn my head to the side to look at the painting. It’s lush, almost opulent.
“Well, give me your most snobby review.”
I giggle and stand a bit closer to Xavier. “Clearly the bold strokes and bright colors mean to overindulge in everything. It’s a slap in the face of moderation.”
“Oh, but my dear, you must be wrong.” His hand follows a curving line. “It’s clearly sex on canvas. Look at those curves, the smoothness of the lines, the way they interlock.”
“I think it’s bad form to tell a lady she’s wrong.” I snort, still trying to act like some stuck-up duchess.
“In that case, the painting is both. There’s no modesty in sex, after all.”
We agree, laugh and continue from painting to painting. Xavier makes me laugh with our game, and I finally have some fun at the stuffy gala. We make comments James wouldn’t approve of as we look at landscape paintings. I lean forward to focus on some details, and one of his hands slides over my ass. I jump and stare at him.