“I thought as much,” he says, letting go of one of them to raise a hand in the air. He looks at someone behind me and makes a beckoning gesture.
“What’s the matter? We were just having a bit of fun,” the first one asks, scoffing. “Man, people have no sense of humor these days.”
“Yeah, and she was asking for it,” the second one says, still squirming under the man’s strong grip. “Seriously, let me go. My Dad’s not going to be happy if he hears about you trying to embarrass me.”
“Embarrass you?” My savior turns his dark gaze upon the boy, glowering down at him from his significantly taller height. “Oh, I’m not trying to embarrass you. I’m having you thrown out so that none of the people here have to listen to your disgusting little jokes.”
The two of them try to protest, even try to pretend that they don’t care, but it’s no use. A pair of men in dark suits, even broader and taller than the man who came to rescue me, appear behind him. They have earpieces in their ears and tattoos on their knuckles, and they summarily grasp both of the boys by their collars and begin to drag them away.
“Wait,” the first one says, looking desperately. “Don’t you know – I’m Pierre Francoud’s son!”
There’s a collective gasp from the people around us who have stopped to watch, and even my protector turns to look at him with a raised eyebrow.
So much for Prince Charming. Money always talks – I should have known.
Maybe I can get away from here and go outside before these two boys make it even more embarrassing for me by managing to get away scot-free.
CHAPTER FOUR
Finn
I can hardly believe what I’m hearing.
Does this little twerp actually believe that his family name would excuse any kind of behavior he wants to engage in?
I step closer to him, making sure that his full attention is on me. I see the look on his face he thinks I’m about to grovel and beg for forgiveness, offer him a free drink and tell him not to let this get back to his father.
And he’s oh, so deliciously wrong.
“I’m sorry,” I say, getting right up into his face. “That must be terrible for him. Do give my condolences to your father when he picks you up – from outside of this gallery.”
“What?” he splutters. “You can’t talk to me like…”
“You can’t talk to her the way you did,” I say. “And since you did, I can talk to you however I like. Get them out of here, please.” I wait to catch the security guards’ eyes and make sure they understand and then turn back to check that she’s alright –
Only to find that she’s gone.
I swear under my breath and push forwards, past the small group of people who gathered to observe what was happening. Most of the guests of the event don’t seem to have noticed, which is a good thing – but it also means that most of them are still milling around, making it hard for me to get past the table and look for her.
Thankfully, I see her as soon as I break past the thin layer of the crowd that had circled around us, she’s walking forward, her way just as hindered by the people standing around talking as mine has been. That gives me the chance to catch up with her, pushing my way forward quickly and moving to stand in front of her rather than grabbing her by the arm. I don’t want to spook her, not after what just happened she must still be on edge.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m sorry about that. Some kids just aren’t brought up with manners. They’re gone, now.”
“You kicked them out?” she asks, glancing towards the doors for confirmation. Above the heads of the crowd and behind an impressive sculpture of a dog, it’s just possible to make out the two of them being shoved out of the event by the security team.
“Of course,” I say, taken aback for a moment. Did she really think that I would be swayed by their money? I regroup for a moment, then gesture off to the side of the gallery. “Why don’t we step onto the terrace? You might need some fresh air.”
She nods gratefully and I move through the crowd, easily parting them aside until I reach the delicate doors that open onto the terrace at the back of the building, where a railing looks out over a small piece of land dotted with sculptures. There are tables and chairs here, but I go to lean on the railing, turning to let her choose where she will stand.
I watch as she first strolls away from me, all the way down the terrace, and then back to stand at my side. I love to watch her walk away – but I also like every other angle of her. It seems like every moment I look at her, I want her more and more.
But I have to temper myself right now. The most important thing is that she’s alright. Hitting on her right now would be far from the gentlemanly thing – and I doubt she would appreciate it, either.
“Are you alright?” I ask her. “Can I get you a drink of water?”
She rests her hands on the railing and I realize that they’re shaking. “Yes,” she says. “Thank you. That would help.”
I turn to go and fetch it, even if I don’t want to leave her alone. I know I can expedite the request through one of the waiters walking around the exhibition and offering drinks to guests. Whatever she wants right now, she will have.
And if she happens to want the balls of those stupid boys on a platter, well, I probably wouldn’t object.
CHAPTER FIVE
Candy
Everything feels like it’s not real. Like I might be dreaming. I don’t know whether it’s the stress and the shock of being treated that way, or simply being close to him – my rescuer. Maybe it’s the party, the view over this little sculpture garden filled with fantastical shapes, this small patch of space in the middle of the city – which continues on beyond the walls. I couldn’t say. All I know is that I’m waiting to wake up and have this beautiful part of the dream shattered.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the cold glass of water from his hand. I take a sip immediately, feeling the cool liquid refresh me. It’s a clear evening, the temperature just fine, and I start to feel a little more like myself.
“I’m glad to help,” he says, leaning next to me on the railing again. “Did you get much of a chance to look around before all of that?”
“I did,” I nod, glancing back towards the gallery. From here in the darker area of the terrace, everyone moving around through the bright lights of the windows look like they’re performing in a play or on television. Completely removed from us. “It’s a great show.”
“Mm.” I look over to see him smiling a little, a mysterious look in his eyes. “I don’t know. Some of the pieces are a little… gauche.”
I gesture towards the piece I’d found kind of offensive before. “You mean like that one?”
He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “I suppose you have to cater to all tastes at an event like this. But, yes. It’s not something I would want to hang up on the wall, let’s put it that way.”
I giggle, emboldened by his admission. I point at another painting that had caught my eye a mixed media piece with embroidered gold threads bringing life to a beautiful portrait of a young woman. “I prefer that kind of thing,” I say, spotting it through the window just briefly before someone else steps in front of our view. “The way the thread works against the paint is just stunning.”
“That’s my favorite of the lot,” he says, grinning. “The style is exquisite.”
“I did enjoy the brushwork as well,” I say, thinking about something else I saw recently. “It reminds me of this artist I follow online – she makes these paintings of women, utterly lifelike, and surrounds them with fruit and flowers.”
“Oh,” he exclaims, digging his phone out of his pocket. He taps on the screen a couple of times and brings up a page of work by the same artist I was describing. “This one?”
“Yes,” I say excitedly. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“I’ve been following her for years,” he says, nodding. “What about this one? Have you seen this?”
He scrolls to another page, and I gas
p in delight. “I haven’t come across this one before. What’s their handle? I should follow them – oh, look at that one, that’s just amazing.”
“You’re not just here for the party, then?” he asks, letting me examine the screen as I type out the handle into my own phone. “It sounds like you really appreciate this kind of stuff.”
“I do,” I say, smiling. I feel almost weightless, talking to him like this. To think that we actually have some tastes in common – it’s almost too good to be true. I wouldn’t have imagined that I would be able to hold any kind of coherent conversation with him, but here we are, and it just keeps getting better. “I’m an art study major with a minor in business studies.”
“Oh, really?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “What are you thinking of doing, after you graduate?”
“Maybe manage a gallery,” I say, shrugging. “Maybe become a freelance art dealer or manage artists. I don’t know yet. I just know that I want to work with art.”
“Do you create anything yourself?”
I blush slightly. “Sometimes. It’s not my greatest talent. Even though I can see what I want to create in my head, it never comes out anywhere close. I guess I just don’t have the skills that real artists do.”
He tilts his head slightly. “That’s okay. I’m not an artist either, and yet I work with art all day long. Sometimes it’s enough to just appreciate it, rather than to make it yourself. At one point I thought I wanted to be a painter, but – it didn’t work out that way. Still, I feel happy with what I do.”
“That makes me feel better,” I say. I look up with a start – if he also works in the art industry, then that must mean he was here to do business. And here I am, taking up all of his time and distracting him from what he was supposed to be doing. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry – I’m sure you want to get back to it. I’ve kept you out here for too long.”
“No, no, not at all,” he says, smiling. At first, I think that he’s probably just being polite, but then he leans a little closer. “I suppose I should get back to it, but… I’ll only go if you’re alright. That’s the most important thing.”
I blush a little, glad that we’re out here, where the night washes out all of the colors and might not reveal the full extent of the redness of my cheeks. “I’m fine, now. Thank you.”
“And yet, I still don’t want to go.” He makes a humming noise, then looks back at me playfully. “I think I need some kind of incentive.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, completely unsure of what he wants and yet drawn in by that playful look. It transforms him entirely, from serious artist-type to someone who looks years younger. His longer hair suits him so completely, I can’t help but notice – that edge that hints at a more young-at-heart nature underneath.
“Well, I think I could drag myself away from you so long as you promise to get together again sometime soon. What do you say?”
My breath catches in my throat. No – surely…? “Are you asking me out?” I ask.
“Yes, I am,” he says, his eyes sparkling in the reflected light from the windows. “Well? Can I take you somewhere?”
“Yes,” I breathe, without a moment more of hesitation.
Oh, god, yes.
CHAPTER SIX
Finn
“Hand me your phone,” I say, reaching out with a smile. I can’t quite believe that she said yes. Well, actually, I can, because all of this feels like it might be fate. That she would be here today, right at the moment when she needed saving, and that I would have the power to do it. That I would see her and want to talk to her, and be given the perfect excuse to do so without even trying. Something about this was meant to be.
I take her phone and type in my first name and number, saving it to her contacts. “There – now you can call me,” I tell her. “Let me know when you’d like to meet again. I’ll take you to dinner – my treat.”
“Finn,” she says, reading from the screen, and that does something to my insides. The sound of my name on her lips. I want to hear it again. I want to hear her scream it.
But right now, regretfully, I have other things to do – and since we’ve already agreed to meet again, I no longer have any excuse to linger around here.
“It was nice to meet you,” I say, my hand still holding the phone, her hand also cupping it. On a whim, I grasp her wrist and pull it upwards, twisting as I go, so I can kiss the back of her hand. “Until next time.”
I turn to walk away then, because if I stay any longer, I will stay forever, and she won’t be going anywhere but home with me. I do still have a job to do, and I’m sure she has her own plans, so I step into the busy gallery and take a breath. I have to keep moving.
But it’s as I’m stepping towards a group of investment bankers who I know are usually good for a few sales that something strikes me. I didn’t get her number, which was intentional; I want her to reach out to me.
But I also didn’t get her name.
If she doesn’t call me after all, I need to get a second chance. And to do that, I need to be able to find her.
I didn’t get her name.
What an idiot. I spin around and stride back towards the terrace, but it’s empty, the doors standing closed. I turn again, desperately searching with my eyes, but I can’t see her anywhere in the crowd; I rush through them to the exit, going as fast as I can past the clusters of people talking, the exhibits scattered through the room, waiters who always seem to be walking exactly where I need to pass through.
I step out into the street and look left and right, but there’s no one in sight. I eye the taxis waiting on the other side of the road; no wonder I can’t see her. If she left, she probably hopped in one of those and is too far for me to follow already.
Damn it. Why was I so careless? I should have paid more attention – but I was too blown away by her beauty, too concerned with making sure that she was alright. How could I forget such a big thing as her name?
I rub my mouth thoughtfully as I step back inside. I can’t do anything about it right now – not only because she’s gone, but also because I still have work to do. But I desperately hope that she will use the number I gave her. That she won’t forget me, or get too shy, or have her phone stolen before she can get in touch, or any of a million other mishaps that might get in the way.
Maybe I made a mistake in not taking her number. I should have thought about it and made sure there was no chance we would miss one another. I should never have left it to chance.
But there is one thought that sustains me as I throw myself back into doing the rounds: the thought that all hope might not be lost. If she doesn’t contact me, there may be one way to find her, as time-consuming as it might be. I know that there are at least two artists that she follows, and even though it might take me a long time to trawl through hundreds of thousands of social media accounts looking for her – I will do it if I have to.
I will find her again, no matter what.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Candy
I sit in my seat in the lecture hall, trying to resist laying my head down on the keyboard of my laptop and having a nap. I managed to make it in time for Professor Clarke’s lecture, but that doesn’t mean I’m really here – at least, not in my mind.
I’m so tired after last night. I could barely sleep even after getting home late, thinking about the mysterious man that I met – Finn – and trying to decide what to do. I almost wanted to text him the moment that I got home, but it seemed like it would be too soon. I don’t want to seem too keen.
All of the cheesy teen movies I’ve ever seen pop up in my head – all of the endless discussions about when is the right time to send a text, whether to keep them waiting, how many days there should be between the first date and the second. It all flies around in my head instead of whatever Professor Clarke is talking about, and above it, all is one more thought, him.
I can’t stop picturing him, remembering every aspect of last night in fine detail. His eyes. The way he pulled those
boys away from me and took charge. How he looked for me and brought me the glass of water. His smile when he asked me out.
I think I’m losing it.
“Alright,” Professor Clarke says. “We’ll take a fifteen minute break. If you leave this hall, make sure that you’re back on time. I will be locking the doors again.”
There’s a flurry of general movement around us, and I let my head thunk forward onto my laptop, pressing the space bar down. Finally, I can stop pretending to be awake.
“Not doing great after last night, huh?” Alex chuckles.
“I’m so tired,” I groan. “And I can’t concentrate. All I can think about is…”
“Your Mystery Man?” she teases.
I gave her a mild version of what happened this morning – after all, I had to explain to her why I’d left on my own instead of waiting for her.
“Yes,” I say. “When should I message him? I don’t want to screw this up.”
Alex grins. “You’ve really got it bad, haven’t you?”
“He was so gorgeous, Alex,” I groan. “And so kind to me. I can’t believe he actually wants to go on a date with me. This is such an amazing chance, I don’t want to put him off.”
“What does he look like?” Alex asks. “He must be something pretty special.”
“Tall, dark, and handsome,” I say, relying on the old cliché – which in this case, just happens to be true. “And amazing in a suit. What am I supposed to do, Alex?”
“Just send him a message.”
“What, right now?”
Alex rolls her eyes and laughs. “Yes! You don’t need to be coy about how you feel. Don’t bother playing it cool. We’re adults now. Just tell him you’d like to meet up tonight. You already know he’s interested, so go for it.”
My Roommate's Dad: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance Page 2