Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 92835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
"I have to buy you a drink then." He stares at Adam with disdain.
"No," Adam says. "Not until I buy a round for you and your wife. To celebrate your love."
"No, baby, don't do that rich guy thing," I say.
"Rich guy thing?"
I nod. "Insisting you pay. We're engaged. He's your friend. Let him celebrate with us."
Adam turns to me with a smile. "You're right, angel." His fingertips brush my cheek. "You look beautiful today."
"You too."
"Beautiful, really?"
"Really." I lean into his touch.
He pulls me into a soft, slow kiss.
The rest of the world disappears.
It's only Adam's sweet, soft lips.
Then Mr. Fitzgerald breaks the spell. "Grapefruit martini, again?"
"Yes. Thank you." I squeeze Adam's hand. "You too, baby?"
He nods and names the same top-shelf gin.
Mr. Fitzgerald forces a smile. "I'll tell you what, Adam. Next time, we'll meet for dinner. The four of us."
"Your wife?" I ask.
"Yes. You can buy, Adam. Unless you're going to treat, Danielle," he says.
"No. I'll leave the wallet measuring contests to the men," I say. "Why is it men never want to let anyone buy them something?"
"You'll understand when you have money," Mr. Fitzgerald says. "I imagine it will happen soon. Unless you're signing a strict… prenup." His eyes go to Adam.
They trade a stare.
They're both trying and failing to hide their hostility.
Is it business? Personal? Love?
I'm missing something, but I don't need the full information now. Only enough to do my job.
"I'm new to the world of the wealthy, but I'm pretty sure it's rude discussing these things in public," I say.
"Of course. I shouldn't bring up ugly things," Mr. Fitzgerald says. "No one wants to hear about divorce on the day of their engagement. Or god, forbid, infidelity."
"Good thing we have you," I say. "Still married after all these years."
"Yes." Mr. Fitzgerald forces a smile. "I only wish Celine was here to celebrate with us. She adores you, Danielle."
"She talks about me?" I ask.
"The gallery isn't the same without you," he says.
"I might be showing there." My lips curl into a smile. "But it's a secret. So…" I mime zipping my lips.
"Really? You're a photographer?" His gaze drifts back to my chest.
Is that it?
Does he follow me online?
I'm not doing a great job hiding my identity these days. I'm not trying.
And once I do show, once I go public as Danielle Bellamy—
My stomach flutters.
People seeing my art is one thing.
People seeing my body even.
But knowing it's me?
There's a power in anonymity. However thin its veneer.
I just—
"Angel, are you all right?" Adam pulls me closer. "You look faint."
"Nervous. About the show. Even though… I don't have one yet." I turn to him. Lose myself in his blue eyes. "Did you get more handsome?"
"Since when?"
"The last time I looked at you?"
"I'm not sure. I haven't checked."
"I think you did." I kiss him hard.
He kisses back with intent. It's not the chaste kiss expected of a man of his station.
It's full-on I need to be inside you.
I curl my hand around his neck.
Bring the other to his cheek. My fingers brush his scars.
He doesn't flinch or still or stop.
He leans into the gesture. Kisses me harder. Pulls me closer.
When our kiss breaks, I'm dizzy.
I'm not sure where we are or what we're doing.
Only that I need him.
That I want to protect him, hold him, love him.
Maybe not love, but something close. Something way too fucking close.
"It is beautiful to see passion," Mr. Fitzgerald says. "It's powerful. Dangerous even."
"The best things are." Adam shoots him a fuck you smile.
I'm not imagining it. There is something between them, something I don't know.
I can almost put my finger on it.
Whatever it is, it's in their past. But how far back?
"How do the two of you know each other?" I place my left hand on Adam's chest. "You never told me."
"I'm afraid it's not a happy story," Mr. Fitzgerald says. "I knew Adam's late brother."
"Sebastian?" I ask.
"Bash, yes." Adam holds strong. "He worked closely with Celine."
"Very closely," Mr. Fitzgerald says.
Is that code for something?
Or is my mind in the gutter?
Celine is a beautiful woman. But much older than Adam's late brother. She must be in her early forties.
Bash was half her age.
It happens, but not that often.
"What did they do together?" I ask.
"He was on the board of one of her charities," he says. "You might know it." He names an organization that supports art in public schools.
"I only know of it," I say. "And, really, them supporting the gallery. I didn't realize that was Celine. Send her my regards, please."
"Mine as well," Adam says.
"Of course." Mr. Fitzgerald smiles. "She'd love to hear you're showing. Let me know when you have details."
"I will," I say.
He pulls a card from his pocket.
Adam takes it for me.
Mr. Fitzgerald tries to hide his annoyance, but he doesn't quite get there. He turns to our drinks as the bartender drops them off.