Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
He turns mid-conversation with someone, gesturing to a painting on the far side of the room, and I feel my breath catch in my throat. He’s gorgeous – like a movie star. A chiseled jaw and rugged features, dark hair still full and swept back from his eyes despite the fact that I can see he’s much older than I am. It hangs down to the length of his chin, tucked behind his ears in a cut that makes him look even less like a real person – more like a model or a character from some epic film.
If I was braver – probably, if I was Alex – I would go over there and introduce myself. But, what’s the point? Look at all of these women around here… and then look at me. There’s no way a man like him, who could have anyone he wants, would ever go for someone like me.
Besides, he’s so good looking, he might be gay. Or a player. And I don’t want anything like that – a quick fling that ends with me being dumped for the next woman. I want a real relationship. That’s all I’ve always wanted. The boys who have tried to ask me out from time to time have all been looking to use me, and I’ve never fallen for it – I hope I never will. I don’t see the point in that kind of brief relationship, or even just sex when you know you don’t want to spend the rest of your life with that person.
When I fall, I’m going to fall hard. With a man like that, I could see it happening so easily.
Which is why it’s a shame someone like that would never look at me.
I sigh and reach for a tiny beef slider, and watch him discreetly from across the room, hoping I won’t get caught staring.
Chapter Two
Finn
I laugh and step away from the client who has been demanding my attention for the last ten minutes, taking the first possible excuse to get out of there. While I love my job, networking quickly gets old and stale when you have to talk to the same few people at every event – and especially when some of those aren’t even really in a position to make the kind of big deals you need to close.
I grab a glass of champagne from a passing tray and take a sip, trying to relax. I haven’t even had a moment to really enjoy the art yet, and I should – it’s a great exhibition. I take a moment to breathe in the atmosphere, to see how many people have turned out to fill the space, and the paintings and sculptures littered in-between them.
My gaze moves over to the refreshments table, piled high with delicacies put on by a very expensive caterer, where a few guests are nibbling away. I latch onto her immediately, a young woman all in white, a dress that covers her form modestly, unlike the rest of the skin-flashers around here. Her body is voluptuous, heavenly in its curves, like an angel from an old painting.
I can’t help but stare at her, my champagne flute hovering just below my mouth where I was just about to take a sip. I can’t remember ever being so utterly distracted by a woman before. She’s beautiful, from head to toe, and so completely different from the other women here. I need to go over and talk to her. I need to know her name.
“Oh, Finn,” someone says at my elbow, making me curse and force myself to turn and face them with a smile.
“Having a good evening, Margot?” I ask. Just as I suspected from the voice it’s one of the models who hangs around these events, trying to get themselves an artistic husband who will help to further their career. Unfortunately, a lot of them seem to think that I might be the right candidate for that position. Still, I have to be polite.
“It’s wonderful, darling,” she says, sashaying closer to me and laying her hand on my forearm. She’s also clutching a champagne flute, and by the slight flush in her cheeks, I think she might have had a few too many already. “So wonderful. You’re so very clever, finding all of these artists.”
I shake my head impatiently. “Really, it’s nothing. It’s my job, after all.”
“Nonsense, don’t sell yourself short,” Margot croons, pushing herself closer to me. Her breasts, almost completely visible with the sharp plunge of her green, glittery dress, seem to be almost thrust in my direction. I look away with distaste. “I think you’re extremely talented.”
“Thanks,” I say, shortly, looking back across to the table. That girl – she’s still there. I still have time to make my way over to her. I start to turn, but Margot’s hand tightens on my arm like a vice and pulls me back.