by Robin Huber
“Oh, yeah. I’m much better now. I mean, it’s still pretty sore, I won’t lie. But I was going stir-crazy inside my apartment. Your show was just the reason I needed to get up and put on some real clothes.” She laughs softly and admits, “Sam thought it might be a good idea.” She smiles and shakes her head. “He really loves you, you know.”
My smile wanes and my heart races.
“Like the way girls dream about being loved.”
Part of me is irritated that she knows anything about the way Sam loves me, but the other part is delighted to hear her say it.
“It’s not a wonder why. Besides the fact that you’re beautiful and have really cool hair, you are talented, girl!” She laughs and shows me a beautiful white smile.
I laugh uncomfortably and smile back.
“Seriously. I had a chance to look around, and I’m really impressed with your work.”
“Thank you.”
“I was wondering if you might be interested in doing some work for me.”
“For what?”
“I own a graphic design company. I’m guessing Sam didn’t tell you that either.”
“No.” But I did read about it.
“Well, I’ve been looking for an artist who can breathe some new life into our designs, and what I’ve seen tonight is exactly the kind of thing I’ve been looking for.”
“I don’t know anything about graphic design,” I say, shaking my head.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to. You just have to create the artwork. Draw, sketch, paint. Whatever you like. My developers will do the rest.”
“Oh. Well, um…I don’t know.”
“Look, you don’t have to decide tonight.” She reaches into her clutch and pulls out a business card. “Just think about it, okay? Then call me,” she says with wide eyes.
I take the card from her. “Okay.”
“All right, that was longer than a minute. I don’t want to keep you. But I’m really glad that I got to meet you, Lucy. Good luck tonight.”
“Thank you.”
She smiles and I watch her weave in between tuxedos and cocktail dresses all the way to the door. I head to my office to put her card away, and when I walk back out into the studio, I hear a commotion and see everyone gathering around the entrance.
Sebastian appears beside me. “Sam’s here.”
My heart speeds up on cue as Ben Howard’s “Only Love” plays through the speakers. The crowd thins as he makes his way inside and walks over to me.
“Wow,” I breathe.
“Yeah.” Sebastian sighs.
Sam’s eyes meet mine and he smiles, charming me and the rest of the room with his dimples. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored black tuxedo that looks like a million bucks, he’s freshly shaven, and his hair looks as if it was professionally styled.
“Does he have a stylist?” Sebastian whispers to me.
“No. I don’t know. Maybe.”
The closer he gets, the less oxygen seems to go to my brain. I giggle just before he reaches me, and Sebastian nudges my arm. “Don’t forget that everyone’s watching,” he says quietly.
I nod and try to compose myself.
“Sam, it’s great to see you,” Sebastian says, reaching out to shake his hand. “So glad you could come.”
Sam raises his eyebrows and smiles. “You too, Sebastian.” He leans in to him and says quietly, “Just be yourself. They’ll lose interest in a few minutes.”
Sebastian smiles and nods.
“Lucy, you remember Tristan,” Sam says, gesturing to the man standing beside him. He’s tall and well built, almost as well as Sam, and is wearing an equally impressive suit. His dark, almost black hair is styled perfectly over his handsome face, and his blue eyes shine when he smiles at me. I remember him as if I saw him at Joe’s yesterday.
“Lucy Bennett, I can’t believe it,” he says in a deep, almost unrecognizable voice.
“Tristan,” I say, smiling at him. “I can’t believe it either.” I reach up to hug him, and he wraps his arms around my waist, squeezing me tight. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You too, beautiful. Congratulations on all this.”
“Thank you.”
Sebastian clears his throat, and I promptly introduce him. “Tristan, this is my good friend and amazing assistant, Sebastian Ford.”
Tristan gives Sebastian a firm handshake. “Tristan Kelley. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” Sebastian says, unable to hide the enthusiasm in his voice. “Sebastian Ford.”
I lean in to him and whisper, “I already said that.”
“Right.” He smiles and bobs his head.
Somebody has a crush on Tris.
“And this is my manager, Miles Angelo,” Sam says, introducing us to a thick man with olive skin and jet-black hair that’s slicked back.
Sebastian shakes his hand and so do I. “It’s nice to meet you, Miles,” I say. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you too, sweetheart.” He looks at Sam and says to him, “If you would have told me she was this pretty, I wouldn’t have given you such a hard time about her.”
I push my lips together over a polite smile. A hard time about me?
Sam drops his chin. “That’s not true. Don’t listen to him.”
Miles slaps Tris’s shoulder. “Come on, I’m gonna go get a drink.”
“I’ll come with you,” Sebastian says.
“Do you want to get something to drink?” I ask Sam.
“No, I don’t drink before a fight.”
“Oh. Right.” I smile and glance around the room at all of the faces that are watching us. “Come with me,” I say to him, and lead him to the back of the studio.
As soon as we’re away from everyone, he reaches for my hand. “Wait. Stop.”
I turn around. “What? What’s the matter?”
He lowers his eyes to my dress and slowly brings them back to my face. “God, you’re beautiful.”
My shoulders relax and I smile.
“I mean it.” He steps toward me, closing the space between us. “You are the greatest work of art in here tonight.” His warm breath falls on my parted lips, and I quickly inhale to taste it on my tongue. He reaches for my ponytail and brings it over my shoulder. “I love this.” He shakes his head and smiles. “You have no idea how much I love this.”
I smile at the seductive tone of his voice, and my anxiety disappears, replaced by the longing and desire I’ve been suppressing since the moment he pressed his lips to mine in this very spot. I swallow hard and try to ignore it. “So, um, what have you been doing all week?”
“Thinking of you.”
I fight a smile and say casually, “I thought you were training for your fight against Beau Ackerman tomorrow night.”
“Yeah, well”—he laughs and scrapes his teeth across his bottom lip—“I’m ready for that now too.”
“What else are you ready for?”
He gazes at me and says, “You.” He crinkles his eyes, and I see the excitement and anticipation in them. “Us.”
“Me too.”
“Lucy, Drew’s back,” Sebastian says, popping his head around the corner, and my face falls.
Sam raises his eyebrows and gestures for me to go before him.
I follow Sebastian through the studio and immediately see Drew behind the bar, setting up the champagne glasses.
“You might as well get it over with,” Sebastian says.
I nod and continue toward Drew with Sam on my heels. “Behave,” I say to him, and he grins.
“You made it.” I smile at Drew, but he only glances up from his task for a moment.
“Lucky for you, I decided to come back.”
Humor. Good.
“Well, I’m glad that you did.”
He glances up again and sees Sam standing beside me, and all humor subsides. He stands up straight and asks rather rudely, “What is he doing here?”
Some part of
me hoped that Drew might act differently around Sam tonight, that he might suck up his insecurities for my big night. It was a senseless notion—one I had no right to hope for.
“It’s good to see you too, Drew. Everything looks really great tonight.”
“Lucy, can I talk to you for a minute, please?” Drew asks me, ignoring Sam, who tenses beside me.
“Yeah, sure.” I glance up at Sam and follow Drew. “Drew, please, this night is important and I know you wouldn’t do anything to ruin it. Sam is my friend and I invited him here.”
“And I thought I told you, I don’t want him to be your friend.”
“Yes you did. But that’s like telling the sky not to be blue. He is my friend. He’s more than that, he’s family,” I say, trying to make him understand, as if it will somehow soften the imminent blow. I clear my throat and say softly, “I invited him here, Drew. I want him here. So please respect that.”
“Is this your way of getting back at me for dinner the other night?”
“What? No.”
“Then what, Lucy?” He drops his head to the side and gives me a devastated look. “Do you really not want to get married anymore?”
My throat begins to close. Not here.
He puts his hands on his hips, and I see the panic spread across his face. “Is there…is there something going on between you two?”
I stare him like a deer in headlights, frozen by the words I need to say but can’t. Not yet. Not now. “Drew—”
“Miss Bennett?”
I look over my shoulder and see a portly-looking man holding a camera. “Yes?” I manage, trying to keep my voice even.
“I’m Whalen Michaelson, from the Atlanta Journal. I was wondering if I might take some pictures of you.”
“Of me?”
He nods and says brightly, “Yes.”
“I’d love to get a few shots myself,” another man says, holding up his laminated Atlanta Daily badge.
“Oh, um.” I turn around and bob my head. “Okay.”
“Perhaps Mr. Cole wouldn’t mind getting in a few with you?”
“Oh,” I choke out, “I don’t know.”
“Surely he’d be willing to pose for a few shots in front of his own painting,” Whalen Michaelson suggests.
I pull my eyebrows together and look for Drew, but he’s gone.
“It is him, isn’t it?”
“Um, yes, but—” Maybe it’s my imagination, but it feels as if everyone in the studio has formed a concentrated circle around me. I glance around at the unfamiliar smiling faces.
“I’d be happy to,” Sam says over my shoulder, smiling at the reporters.
I look up at his handsome face, and I’m disconcerted by how calm he is, a stark contrast to how I feel.
“Great. Shall we?” Whalen Michaelson gestures toward Sam’s painting.
I feel Sam’s hand gently brush the small of my back, urging me to go before him, and I force my stiletto-clad feet to carry me over to the painting.
“Okay, Mr. Cole, Miss Bennett, if you could stand together here…” He positions us beside the painting and looks through his lens. “A little closer.”
Sam reaches around my waist and pulls me closer to him, making every muscle in my body clench tight.
“Perfect.”
Sam slowly pulls his hand back, trailing it along the waist of my dress, and gently caresses the small of my back with his thumb. I let out a slow breath and try to calm my pounding heart.
“What is it called?” one of the guests asks.
“Is it for sale?” someone else asks.
I shake my head and smile. “No, it’s not for sale.”
“Pity. I would pay top dollar for it,” another man says, raising his rainbow martini, and everyone laughs.
“And the name?” Whalen Michaelson prompts.
“Oh.” I look at Sam and then look at the painting. “Lionheart.”
Sam looks at me as if no one else is in the room, and for just a moment, I forget that there is.
“It’s called Lionheart,” I say softly to him.
“Sam, how do you know Lucy?” someone asks.
“We grew up together,” he says, crinkling his eyes at me. “We go way back.”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand,” Drew says, stealing my attention away from Sam.
“What?” I look at him like he’s lost his mind.
“For the painting. It’s two hundred and fifty thousand,” he says again, raising his amber-colored drink to the man who asked if it was for sale.
“No.” I shake my head and look at Sebastian with wide eyes.
“Like Lucy already said, it’s not for sale,” he says, helping me.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand,” the man agrees.
“Two seventy-five,” another man counters.
“No!” I shout, then quickly cover my shock with a smile.
“Anyone for three hundred?” Drew asks, ignoring me.
“She said it’s not for sale,” Sam says calmly, leaving my side to stand in front of Drew, which I know is a bad idea. A very bad idea.
I quickly follow behind him. “Sam.”
Drew swallows down the last ounce of bourbon in his glass. “What are you, her bodyguard now?”
“If I need to be.”
I roll my eyes at Sam and his unnecessary security detail. “Drew, I know you’re upset right now, and I’m sorry.” I groan, feeling my emotions slosh around inside me. “But you can’t sell my painting.”
“Upset? Why would I be upset?”
I swallow hard and whisper, “I don’t know.”
“Oh, honey, I think you do know. I think you both know,” Drew says, loud enough for the people around us to hear, and my cheeks flame when their eyes light up with curiosity.
Not here. I give Sebastian a panicked look, and he successfully diverts everyone’s attention by introducing one of the artists whose work is on display.
“Follow me,” he says to the crowd, leading them to the far corner of the studio to see her painting.
Sam raises his hand to Drew’s chest. “Maybe we should take this to the back, so we don’t disturb Lucy’s guests.”
Drew looks at Sam with disdain. “I don’t care who you are or how well you think you know Lucy. You need to stay the hell away from her.”
“Drew, that’s enough!”
Sam takes a step toward him and stands two inches from his face. “When she tells me to stay away from her, I will. But I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”
“Sam, stop it!”
Drew shoves his glass into my hand, and I take it mechanically, paralyzed by what I’m watching unfold before me.
This is it. It’s over. The show. My career. It’s all coming to a head right here, right now, in the middle of my studio. And I can’t do anything to stop it. I close my eyes. I probably deserve it.
Sam hovers in front of Drew. “What? You want to hit me?”
“Sam,” I scold, but he ignores me. He doesn’t even hear me. There’s too much testosterone pumping through his veins.
He opens his arms wide and holds his hands out, inviting Drew to hit him. “Come on, hit me.”
“Drew, don’t!” I’m no longer concerned about the show or the guests who have started to migrate toward us again. Sam could kill him.
Drew pulls his fist back and throws an impressive right hook at Sam’s face, and everyone around us gasps, including me.
“Sam!” I reach for him, but I’m quickly blocked by Miles and Tris, who are both shouting at him and pushing him back.
Sam smiles at Drew. “Is that all you got?”
“That’s enough,” Miles says, pushing Sam back.
Drew lunges at Sam again, and I reach for his arm. “Drew, stop it!” He yanks his arm away, but it comes back at me, knocking me to the ground.
Sam breaks through Tris and Miles, and grabs Drew’s collar.
“Sam, don’t!” I scream when he pulls his fist back, and he freezes. “P
lease,” I beg. “Don’t hit him.”
His chest rises and falls, but he lets go of Drew’s collar. He holds his arms out, like before. “Hit me again,” he growls at Drew.
Drew shakes his head and steps back.
“You wanna fucking hit me. Hit me!”
Miles steps in front of Sam and shouts in his face, “Are you kidding me right now? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Tris takes the opportunity to grab Sam’s arms and pull him back again.
“Get him in the car!” Miles shouts, pushing them toward the door. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. Get in the goddamn car!” he shouts at Sam as Tris pushes him through the door.
I watch Sam climb into the back of a black SUV and disappear behind the dark tinted windows. It pulls away from the curb, leaving me standing in the middle of my studio, surrounded by a sea of alarmed faces.
Drew steps toward me.
“No.” I shake my head and walk calmly to my office, but he follows me.
“Lucy, talk to me,” he pleads, once we’re alone.
“What do you want me to say?” I spin around and glare at him. “I’m so angry at you right now.”
“Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual.”
“You tried to sell my painting, Drew! What is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me? How about the fact that you don’t want to get married, for starters?”
“I tried to tell you a week ago and you wouldn’t listen to me,” I say.
“Because I thought you’d come to your senses!”
I shake my head and bite my trembling lip. “I have. Which is why I can’t marry you.” I shrug and say tearfully, “It’s over, Drew.”
“Over? How can you say that?”
I swallow the painful lump in my throat and cry, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” He shakes his head and stares at me. “How could you do this? After everything I’ve done for you. After everything we’ve—You’re just going to throw it all away?”
“You have done so much for me. But that was never why I was with you.”
“Then why?”
I blink at him and shake my head. “Because I loved you,” I say wholeheartedly. “I love you.”
“You love me?” He huffs a short laugh and closes his eyes. “Damn, Lucy, you sure have a fucked-up way of showing it.” He turns around and opens the door.