Shame choked me. Maybe I’d gotten this chance because of my talent in bed, not my talent with a brush. Hooker, pity project, fraud—I could be any of them now.
Inside a stall, I locked the door and pressed my back against it, my whole body shaking. I had never felt so angry, so humiliated, so disappointed. For one glittering moment tonight,I had believed I was worthy of being called an artist. Now that belief had shattered.
It wasn’t my art that people had come to see. It was the endorsement from a famous gallery, for an exhibit that I hadn’t earned. Sebastian had made this happen, not me. None of this had been due to my own merit.
Hot tears streaked down my cheeks, but I bit my lip to hold in the scream clawing up my throat. How could I face Sebastian again? How could I look at him without punching that stupidly handsome face women adored?
The snake! He’d lied so smoothly I hadn’t even noticed. What else had he lied about?
And then the cruelest truth slammed into me. I was so damn head-over-heels in love with him that he could have lied about anything, and I would never have known. Love had made me dumb. Blind. I’d stopped being smart the first time he’d kissed me in the laundry room.
Not anymore.
Voices echoed closer, heels clicking against the marble floor. Two women swept into the bathroom, their laughter ricocheting off the tiles.
I held my breath, every muscle locked. No way was I letting anyone see me fall apart in here. If I wanted to scream, cry, or tear Sebastian limb from limb, I’d do it later, alone. Right now, I had to pull it together.
Just one more hour, Jesse. One more hour, and then you can dump the son of a bitch in private.
“…and that painting with the mermaid?” one of them gushed. “I almost cried when I saw it was sold. It would’ve looked incredible in my living room.”
“It was gorgeous,” the other agreed. “But I’m obsessed with the Poseidon piece. The trident, the waves—it’s so powerful. Iswear I could feel the storm rolling in. I’ll never get tired of staring at it.”
A pause, followed by the muffled sound of a lipstick cap clicking shut. “Can you believe we’d never even heard of this artist before tonight?”
“Right? I’m going to ask if she does commissions. I’ve always wanted a nude portrait of myself. Preston would die if I gave him that as a gift.”
They both giggled, stall doors creaking open, fabric rustling as they straightened their clothes.
I stayed frozen until their laughter faded out the door. Only then did I unlock my stall and step out, moving like a ghost.
The mirror above the porcelain sinks threw my pale reflection back at me. I dabbed away a streak of mascara, forced my hands to stop shaking. My hair still held. My lipstick hadn’t smudged. No one would know my insides were twisted and raw.
I pressed my palms against the cool marble countertop, inhaling slowly. For the next hour, I just had to wear the mask. After that, Sebastian and I were going to have it out—and he’d wish I’d never picked up a damn paintbrush.
As I stepped out of the bathroom, I forced myself to breathe evenly, each inhale a battle, each exhale a rehearsal for composure. I still had to mingle, smile, shake hands. Tonight wasn’t over, and no one could suspect I was a bomb, only seconds away from detonating.
Across the gallery, I spotted Sebastian and Janine. Their faces were somber, Janine’s gaze flicking toward me with something like pity. Of course she’d told him.
My eyes locked on Sebastian’s, sharp as blades. “Don’t come near me,” I murmured under my breath. “Not one step closer, or I swear I’ll lose it.”
But the second he saw me, he started toward me. Worry darkened his features, not guilt. Not shame. Just that steadyconcern I’d once adored. I lifted my chin, summoning every ounce of self-control to keep from clawing him apart in front of half of Manhattan.
And then a smooth, cultured voice brushed my ear like velvet.
“Jesse. I am in awe.”
I turned, startled. Ben McFarlane the Third stood before me—perfectly pressed white shirt, gray slacks tailored within an inch of their lives, shoes so polished I could see my reflection.
“Ben, hi. I’m so glad you could make it.” My voice came out lighter than I felt.
“My apologies for arriving late.” He took my hand and brushed it with his lips. “But one look at you, and I know it was worth the wait. You’re as flawless as your art.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Thank you.”
He looked and smelled like money, and for once I didn’t resent it. He radiated admiration that felt genuine—though a sharp doubt cut through me. Had Sebastian pulled strings here too? Was even Ben part of his grand manipulation? Paranoia tasted bitter in the back of my throat.
Sebastian had slowed when Ben appeared, but now he advanced again, determination in his stride. My pulse jumped. I glanced at him, scanning his face for recognition of Ben, for collusion. Nothing. Just tension.
