Logan’s hand slid over my lower back, and I forced myself not to arch or flinch.Flash. Another angle.Flash.
“Perfect,” the photographer said. “Can we get one with the students?”
Norman snapped his fingers, summoning a handful of art kids who’d been orbiting the coffee table all morning. Tash slipped in late, and I waved her over.
When she shook her head, I mouthed. “Get over here!”
She balked, but eventually wandered our direction. As soon as she stopped next to me, I turned to Norman and caught his attention. “Norman, this is my friend, Tash. She does printmaking. A bunch of stuff, really.”
He shook her hand, then passed her a card. “We’re taking submissions for the opening show. Make sure you get a description of your work to me through email.”
Tash’s eyebrows ticked up. “Will do.” She obediently got into the group for a photo.
“One with the whole group,” the photographer announced. “Blizzard, student artists, Mr. Marcus, perfect.”
We arranged ourselves: Logan behind me, Tash at my other side, a row of students up front. I pasted on another smile. The flash went off again, bright enough to make a black spot in my vision.
Norman clapped his hands once. “Excellent,” he said. “We’ve done good work this morning. Crystal, excellent work. Logan, thank you. Gentlemen,” he nodded at Rourke and Haines, “a pleasure.”
Tash squeezed my arm. “You good?”
“Ask me in a week.”
Tash laughed. “Well, at least you look hot.”
I gave her a hug, and when I saw Logan approaching, I turned and made a beeline for the front doors. I couldn’t talk to him right now, I was too mad. Making a public scene at the donors breakfast was the last thing I needed to do to expand my career options.
Outside, the air was crisp and bright. The Douglas quad stretched out, patchy grass rimmed with frost, the flags at half-mast for Remembrance Day week. Students shuffled between buildings, breath fogging, backpacks bouncing.
I stomped down onto the concrete.
“Crystal,” Logan called. “Hey.”
I didn’t turn right away. I let him catch up, because at least then we’d be far enough from the Rozsa that the cameras wouldn’t be watching.
When he reached my side, I pivoted to face him. “What.”
He blinked. “You’re mad.”
“Excellent observation.”
“Can I ask why?”
Seriously? There was no way he was that clueless. I took a breath that stung my lungs. “You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?” he asked, a look of genuine confusion on his face.
“Declare I’m your girlfriend. In front of my friends without asking me first.”
Relief washed over him. “I was trying to help.”
“By commandeering my personal life?” My voice pitched up. “You don’t think maybe that’s something we should have, I don’t know, discussed? In private?”
He exhaled, watching his breath plume and disappear. “Jake was hitting on you, and there were people there who would notice.”
“Jake hits on everyone, and nobody from the press cares about me. Norman was too busy peacocking. You’re the only one who saw a thing, so don’t pretend it was about that.”
He scoffed. “You don’t know that, and it shouldn’t have been me putting him in his place. Rory or Axel or Rob should’ve done it. That kid isn’t worth your time.”
