But the way things were going, a part of me was just ever so slightly concerned that might not be where we wound up.
The first camera flash came when the valet driver opened our car door.
The second, third, fourth, and God knows how many other camera flashes followed instantly. Sarah threw up an arm toprotect her from the blinding light. Fool! You never threw your arm up at a camera.
Smiling—for the cameras, of course—I gently walked over to her, put my arm around her, and leaned into her ear.
“Put your fucking arm down and smile for the cameras,” I said, maintaining my media grin the whole time. “You want your career to take off? You want to be beloved by your fans and patrons?”You want to be set up for an even bigger fall when it’s all said and done?“Put a smile on. Now.”
Sarah did as I commanded. People usually did, especially when they realized it was for their own good.
“Now,” I said, “put your arm in mine and let me walk you down.”
I offered her my arm. This should have just been a standard part of the evening. I couldn’t even begin to say how many women had had their hands in the nook of my elbow, the first touch in many for the evening.
But, fuck me, when Sarah put her hand on my arm, I about shot up from the spark I felt. Heat filled my groin. I had to actively think about boring shit, like boardroom meetings and discussions with my brothers, just to keep my mind from racing through all the fucking we could do. God, had sex with her been fucking amazing. To relive it…
I kept my smile on, hoping it didn’t grow too big and reveal my desires. It was of no help, I realized, that Sarah had been much more seamless about putting her hand on my arm than she had been in lowering it for the cameras. She was more naturally inclined to touch me than she was to show off herself.
Whatever the fuck that meant… it meant that breaking her would be so much more delicious. So much more delightful. She thought she could have me? She could. It would just come with a price of vengeance after.
I walked her down the red carpet, waving to the cameras, before taking her to a side entrance to theRed Court.The main doors were for the general public, which we most certainly were not. As soon as I got to the side doors, seeing we were alone, I pulled my arm away. I did not yank my arm away—that would be unbecoming of me, and besides, it would give Sarah the wrong idea—but I needed to regain my composure, even if only internally. It was entirely unexpected what she had done, but it was not insurmountable.
“So now what?” Sarah said. If she were aware of what I had just thought and done, her tone did not give it away.
“In a minute, we are going to step foot inside theRed Court,” I said. “I warn you, Sarah. You must keep your composure better than you did out there. Throwing your arm up in front of the cameras? You act as if you’ve never been in front of the media before.”
“I haven’t.”
Right. I had just taken it for granted in the circles I ran in that we all knew how to deal with paparazzi and the media. That was not an automatic for ninety-nine percent of people.
“Then let me give you the basics,” I said. I came very close to placing my hand on her shoulder, the way I would a direct report to make clear my instructions. I didn’t, but only because if I did, I knew I’d start thinking about fucking her again.
I might still by the end of the night, or before her fall, but I needed to keep my composure for now.
“When in doubt, smile and speak with exuberance. Don’t let yourself get too giddy. You are always in control, no matter how overwhelmed you feel or what you may think. If someone asks you what your art really means, what you really want to convey, anything that might suggest something more than a superficial answer, simply say that you pull deep from within you and that inspiration strikes from out of nowhere. You want to leavethem with a sense of mystery and curiosity, yet warmth. Do you understand?”
Sarah nodded. There was a surprising lack of concern on her face now; I wondered if she’d gotten the same instructions from somewhere else before.Or if it’s how she’s treating me right now.
Curious. I might not be the only one playing a game here. Or perhaps I’m so enamored with it, I assume everyone is.
“Good,” I said. “Step forward and let’s begin.”
I opened the door for her. Sarah stepped inside. And though she did not gasp, though she listened well to me—she damn well had better—I could sense the immediate shock at the opulence of theRed Court.
Everywhere you looked, there was art worth millions of dollars hanging on the walls. A giant crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room, large enough to span probably five or six rows of people. Roses in half-dome glass cases, like one might have seen inBeauty and the Beast, were scattered across the room. Red, gold, and purple—the colors of theCosmopolitan—defined the room, from its carpets to its tapestries to even the napkins on tables.
Even for someone like me, it was pretty impressive. I had to imagine for Sarah, it was the most affluent room she’d ever stepped into.
And she hadn’t even noticed the best part yet. Actually, I knew what the best part was, but I didn’t even know what it looked like.
“My art!”
Now she had noticed the best part.
Her artwork. It wasn’t just here. I wasn’t just along the lines of all the other art—fuck that. If I requested something, it got center stage, center attention, the strongest spotlight.
And that’s exactly what Sarah Carpenter’s artwork was—in the middle of the room, in the center stage of the exhibit, visible from all angles of theRed Court.
