"You did realize it was a Brighton Beck original, didn't you?" The assumption beneath the question is glaringly obvious. I have no interest in sharing my connection with Brighton with anyone I work with. They don’t need to know. I'm just glad that I hadn't given Sadie any of their names when it came time to draw up the guest list for my party. If I had, I'd been dodging questions about Brighton left and right.
"I heard that, yes." I don't add anything more. Maybe she'll drop the subject and take up where she left off last week when she was gossiping about what one of the fifth grade teachers eats for lunch.
"Do you know him?" It's much more direct than I expected.
"That's an odd question." No, Alexa. That's an odd response. She was looking for a yes or no answer. You're only pointing the spotlight at your guilty face when you answer simple questions like that.
"He said he knew you." She leans closer. I can hear the shift to gossip tone in her voice. "I called him to see if he could meet with the buyer and he mentioned you."
Holy shit. Goddamn my life to hell.
"We met briefly in Paris." It's not a complete lie. We had only met briefly the first day we met in the park. The next day we were in bed in my flat.
"He'll be here tomorrow night for the reception for the donors." She turns to leave the staff room. "He asked specifically for you to be here. It starts at seven."
***
"No. I don't see why you need to mention it, Lex." Kayla shakes her head from side-to-side as she lies on my bed.
"No?" I sigh deeply. "You don't think it's a lie of omission?"
"Tell me everything you know about Noah Foster. Go."
"What?" I move quickly and the sudden shift in weight causes her to roll to the side.
"Go," she repeats as she sits up straight.
"He's twenty-nine, hot, a photographer, his father's name is Ron, he lives downtown and he was stabbed." I stop short, not wanting to share Noah's confession about the night he was injured.
"That's it?"
"I guess." I search my mind for any other telling details. I'm not sure she needs to know that he's fucked hookers, has a friend named Arianna and knows some chick named Camilla who needs his help.
"He knows way more about you," she points out. "He even knows about your last lover."
"That's true." She's right. He does know much more about my life than I know about his. I wish he would share more but I know that the skeletons in his closet haunt him in a much deeper and profound way.
"What are you two anyway?"
"As in?" I lead her into a more detailed response.
"As in do you just fuck or is there something more?"
"There's something more." I relax my back. "We’re getting closer. There's a lot I don’t understand though."
"Don't tell him about Beck." She shifts her body so she's facing me directly. "I'll go with you tomorrow. I'll keep Beck occupied and we'll be out of there before eight."
She makes it sound so easy. In the back of my mind, I know there's no way in hell I'll be escaping an evening with Brighton Beck unscathed.
***
"What are your plans after graduation, Alexa?" Brighton stands next to me. I'd dodged him to this point while he was preoccupied with the couple who purchased his painting from the auction. It was five minutes to eight and Kayla's prediction had just fallen to the wayside.
I throw Kayla a hurried glance across the room but her feet don't move from where she's standing. She's been pulled into a discussion with one of the donors about a potential job after she graduates with her business degree. I now wish I would have continued standing next to her, listening to them banter about projections and forecasts. "To teach." The words slide across my lips as much to appease Brighton as to stop the gossipmongers that seemed to live in the hallways of the school. I can't let my co-workers see me break apart at the seams because I'm standing less than a foot away from the man who betrayed me.
"Here?" It's a follow up response that I should have anticipated. Part of me hoped that I'd find some opening in the circle of teachers and I'd be able to duck into the background and slither out to Kayla's car without another word. Brighton's not about to let that happen.
"As much as I love everyone here…"I manage a smile over my clenched teeth." I love it here but there won't be any open positions in the fall. I'll just apply to be a substitute."
"I heard that there's a waiting list for that," Natalie interjects. "You may need to move to another state to find something."
"Great." I sigh deeply. Now everyone in the vicinity knows that I've wasted the past four years of my life on a career that has absolutely no good prospects.
"I'm on the board of a grade school in Paris." Brighton's hand jumps to my forearm. "It's a bilingual school, Alexa. I can guarantee you a job there."
"Oh wow." The thrill in Natalie's voice is evident. "What I wouldn’t give to get a job in Paris. Alexa, you're going, right?"
I slowly pull my arm away from Brighton's grip. "That’s something I'll definitely need to think about." I offer to those gathered around us. Going to Paris to work might have been a dream come true when I was in the middle of my affair with Brighton. Now it's the last place in the world I want to be.
"Alexa, a moment?" Brighton's arm jumps to my hip and before I have a chance to recoil, he's pulling me away from the group.
"Not now, Beck," I beg in a muted tone. "Don't make a scene. I need this to work for me so I can get my degree."
"I was serious about the job, Alexa." He pulls me into a quiet corner away from the continual buzz of the room. "It would be perfect for you."
"Will you be in Paris?" It's a question I'm not actually searching for an answer to. I just want him to admit that he's manipulating my career so he can get me back into his life.
"I'll move there for you." The words hold an empty promise.
"You moved there for Liz," I push back, blatantly aware of how juvenile I sound. Why do I keep bringing up his girlfriend? Each and every time I do that I punctuate the fact that it stung like hell when I found out they were still together.
"Liz and I aren't seeing each other anymore." The words slide from his tongue with an effortless ease that does little to reassure me.
"I've heard that before." I gaze past him to where Kayla is still engrossed in discussion. "I don't care if you're dating here or not. Hell, I don't give a shit if you marry her, Brighton. Please, just leave me alone."
"Is it because of Noah?" The question is so unexpected that it takes me a moment to absorb each of the words.
"Noah?" I spit his name out. "You think I don't want to go to Paris because of Noah?" He can't really be that dense, can he? Does he not understand that my life and my career aren't dependent on where any man lives?
"You're falling for him. I saw it on your face at the gallery."
The words bite even though there's no logical reason for the pain. I don't care what Brighton thinks. My heart held on so desperately to the promise of what I thought we could have been that I couldn't see him for who he truly was. Once I saw his face again that night, I realized that everything I wanted my life with him to be, I left back in that tiny rented flat above the café in Paris.
"You don't know what you saw." I work to even my tone. I don't want to draw any attention to the two of us. "What I feel, or don't feel, for Noah is none of your business."
"You are my business, Alexa." He steps forward as both his hands jump to my forearms. "I love you. Why the hell can't you understand that?"
"You love me now because she dumped you," I say bravely. "If she still wanted you, you would be back there, taking care of her."
"That's not true." His denial is vehement, strong and abrasive. "I came here for you."
"You came here because I was your second choice." I pull back and his hands drop. "I will always be your second choice."
"You're his second choice too." He leans in as the words flow quickly from his lips. "When she takes him back, he'll drop
you in a second."
I know I shouldn't give him the satisfaction of my curiosity. I know that I should pivot on my heel and march out of the gallery, but I can't. I need to hear her name. I need to know who Noah would choose over me. "Who?"
"Noah." He cocks a brow. "I was talking about Noah."
"No," I spit out harshly. "Who? Who would Noah choose over me?"
The look he shoots me is a thinly masked combination of satisfaction and triumph. "Camilla."
I take a step back, her name hitting me as hard as a slap across the face. "Camilla," I repeat her name.
"He killed for her, Alexa." His eyes lock with mine. "He'd do it again."
Chapter 21
"You know that I donated that painting to my school's fundraiser, right?"
"Sure. Did it sell? Are they adding a new wing named after you?" The brilliant smile that washes over his face is breathtaking.
"No." I grin back, resting my back against the leather chair he carried into this office for me from the living room. "It did sell though."
"That's great." He stares at one of the large monitors on his desk. "I'm trying to get back into shooting."
I nod at the confession. We hadn't talked about his inability to work since that night when we stood here together before we had dinner at Axel. I was waiting for the other foot to drop. I knew that eventually he'd start calling women up again, asking them to come to his apartment so he could photograph them.
"Is it still a picture or play thing when you call a woman?" That's meant to sound casual. Unfortunately, for me, there's too much spite woven into the words.
"A what?" He turns his face to the side to stare at me. "What does that mean?"
Just spit it out, Alexa. "Are you going to start fucking call girls again?" I stop myself for a moment. "I mean, unless you've never stopped."
"You're not serious?" He scans my face quickly before he pulls his eyes back to the monitor and the emails that he's been shifting through while we talk.
"I'm serious, Noah."
His bare shoulders tense before he swivels his office chair to the side so he's facing me directly. "Why would I fuck a call girl?"
"It's part of the process." I pull air quotes around the words. "That and being naked all the time." I dip my chin towards his glorious cock that is resting between his thighs.
"I'm not fucking anyone but you." His gaze stays focused on my eyes. "I will not be fucking anyone but you."
"Oh." That single word can't convey everything I'm feeling.
"Now that we've settled that." He turns back so he's facing his monitor. "What about that painting you donated to the school?"
The timing couldn’t be much worse but I'd promised myself I would bring up seeing Brighton when I got here. The fact that Noah has been working has kept me out of his bed for the night. Surprisingly, that's a plus considering I'd never find the courage to ask about Brighton's comment about Camilla if Noah's head was buried between my thighs.
"When I'm done with this, I'm going to lick your beautiful pussy."
No. Please no. Do not say that.
"I can't stay long." It's a weak excuse. I need to bring Brighton up now before my window of opportunity disappears, or before Noah drops to his knees and uses his skillful tongue to make me forget my own name. "I saw Brighton," I blurt the words out in such a heated rush that I'm not sure they are even distinguishable from one another.
"When?" If he's surprised, he's a master at hiding it.
"Last night." I know I should say more than that. I need to move this conversation along so we're at a point where Noah is telling me that Camilla means nothing to him.
"At your place?" Again, the calm and cool nature of the question is disquieting. Part of me wants him to feel as torn up inside about Brighton as I do about Camilla, who at this point is a vague name that has floated out into the ether. Noah knows Brighton, he knows my history with the man and the fact that I just confessed that I saw him, doesn't even faze him.
I sit for a moment, staring at the way his long, elegant fingers strum against the barren steel of his desk. "The school had a reception for all the people who donated money. One of the teachers invited Brighton."
"Did you speak to him?" He starts typing on his keyboard. It's a motion that is both effortless and thoughtless. The gesture is speaking to how insignificant he feels it was that I have seen Brighton.
"We talked." I watch his hands, noticing how they don’t break pace. "We spoke about you and Camilla." I throw any caution that I might have been holding within straight into the firestorm of wind that surrounds this topic. Way to fucking pace yourself, Alexa.
His hands stop in mid-air and the right one quickly bunches into a tight fist. He holds it that way for what feels like endless moments. In real time it can't be more than thirty seconds. Finally, he turns to me with a narrow gaze. "You have questions then." He's not asking if I do, he's assuming.
"I do."
He twists his chair around in one quick movement until he's facing me directly. His hands bolt to the arms of my chair trapping me in place. I see the thick vein in his neck pulse with each beat of his heart. The sheer magnetism that is rolling from his frame is overwhelming. He's right there, close, commanding and tense. "Well then, Alexa." He leans closer until his breath skirts over my forehead. "Why don't you tell me exactly what Brighton said about her?"
"Not much." I push my back into the soft leather of the chair seeking a sense of asylum. I need to create space between the two of us. "He said that's the name of the woman that you…"
"Camilla is the woman I loved." There's not an ounce of hesitation within the words. They are direct, genuine and meant to be taken very literally. "What brought on that conversation?"
I scan the room behind his face. My need to break the intensity between us my sole motivating factor. "He offered me a job."
I feel his hand graze my chin before his fingers bite into it, pulling my gaze quickly back to his. "Brighton offered you a job? Doing what, Alexa?"
My name slips from between his lips and it adds an extra layer of intimacy to the conversation. He said it to quiet my racing heart. He's trying to establish a connection between us in the midst of this discussion about the two people who once mattered the most in our respective lives. "He's on the board of a grade school in Paris and they need a teacher."
"You're moving to Paris?" His brow shoots us as the edge of his mouth tenses. "When were you going to share that with me?"
"I'm not moving." I break his gaze and my eyes fall to his chest. I focus on one line of his tattoos. It's so straight and unwavering. There's complete definition in it. All of the art that covers his body is like that. It flows flawlessly together, each design complimenting the next. It surrounds his body like a painting that has been stripped of its canvas and painted onto his flesh.
The way his shoulders surge forward at the words is unmistakable. His fingers relax on my chin but he maintains constant contact. "Tell me about Camilla. What did he say about her?"
I expect more of a reaction and I'm relieved that he says her name so naturally. His expression doesn't change as he asks the question. "He just said that she was the woman you were with when you were stabbed."
He loved her. It's a fact that we both know yet my mind won't allow the words to flow off my tongue. "He just announced that to you?"
"It came up in conversation." It's a small offering. Delving into the details of how Brighton and I got to the point where we were discussing Camilla seems unimportant right now. I just want to watch Noah's face, read between the handsome lines that are there to see which parts of him she still owns now, today, when he's just announced that I'm his only lover.
"You have questions about her." He's not asking if I do, he's opening the door for me to ask them.
"Just one." I jerk my chin away. I can't feel his touch when I ask this. I don't want the sensation of our bodies being connected in any way to mar his response. I want him open, direct and unyielding
in his honesty when I ask about the text message I saw.
"I don't love her anymore, Alexa." His biceps flex as he pulls the heavy leather chair closer to him. "I don't want to love her. I want to be with you."
I set my hands over his, marvelling in how much larger his are. I lean forward and rest my forehead against his. "No more questions, Noah."
A ghost of a very thin smile skirts across his mouth. "I'm taking you to my bed. You're never leaving."
Chapter 22
"Kayla told me that Brighton offered you a job in Paris." Her tone is even and unemotional. Seeing how she can't disguise how excited she is when there's a sale on apples at the market, I'm assuming she's not thrilled with the idea.
"I'm not going." I take a small sip of the iced tea she got for me when I arrived at Axel.
"Why would he offer you a job?"
It's a very logical question. A world famous watercolor artist breezes into town, creates a stunning masterpiece to sell her to gift to me for my birthday and then offers me a job at a school that he's on the board of. "Why does Brighton Beck do anything? He's an artist, Sadie. They're eccentric."
"Is Noah like that?" She sips from her own glass.
"Noah isn't like Brighton at all." The only thing the two men have in common is that they're gifted at creating art that many people find a need to pay exorbitant amounts of money for.
She looks down at a stack of papers she's pulled from her bag. "How are things with you two?"
I hesitate briefly while I stop to distinguish whether she's asking about how things are between Brighton and I or Noah and I. She's still blissfully unaware that I had an affair with Brighton in Paris. I need to confess that sin to her one day. I have to. We've always shared everything and so far since I've returned from my semester abroad, I've been juggling more secrets than I can manage. Telling her about Brighton and about how Noah got his scar is inevitable. I just need to find the right moment to broach it all so that she has time to absorb it. "Noah and I are good. I haven't seen him a lot this week because I've been busy with work."
Vain - Part Two (The Vain Series Book 2) Page 7