“Because that’ll help,” Asher mutters behind me, taking one for himself.
It doesn’t take long, not long at all, as I spot Professor Miles Holland standing on the opposite side of the gallery. I stop abruptly, causing Asher to run into me and spill his champagne on himself. “Dammit, Sloane.”
I spare only a second to glance back at him, but that is enough to lose sight of Miles. When I turn back around, he’s gone.
“Sloane?” I look to my left to see Ty and Austin.
“Ty?” She looks like she belongs in an art gallery in her chic black plunging blazer and slacks with a small YSL bag slung over her shoulder. I hug her, and then Austin, who is also dressed the part of a patron of the arts. “What are you guys doing here?”
“We’re here with this guy that Austin is seeing—oh, youhaveto meet him, he’s dreamy.” Ty clings on to my arm as she says it, nearly pressing her face to mine, never one for personal boundaries. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I’m here for, um...” Trying to come up with something that doesn’t involve Graham or Holland.
“She’s here indulging me and my love for art,” Asher interrupts. Ty and Austin both look at him and Ty’s smile widens.
“The situationship, I take it.” She holds out a hand and he takes it. That’s what I had told her he was that night we went out for drunk bingo. My situationship.
“The one and only,” he says with a smirk.
But I’m standing there trying to comprehend the fact that here we all are, at the same gallery opening in Boston, with a murderer.
“Excuse me, I have to use the bathroom.” I leave Asher there to answer the million questions that Ty and Austin will probably be asking right about now, the perfect distraction to get away from Asher and do what I came here to do.
I push through the crowd looking for Miles and grab another champagne flute from a tray, not bothering to even glance at the artwork on the walls. Graham is a realism painter, down to the very last detail. It’s impressive, as long as you’re not the subject. I make my way around one of the freestanding walls in the middle of the floor and nearly run into a man in forest-green corduroys and a navy coat. He looks at me with wide eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses.
“Holland,” I say. And I’m not scared anymore. Not now, when we’re in a crowded room and I’ve had three glasses of champagne in thirty minutes.
He takes his hands from his navy coat pockets like he wants to hug me, but pauses, knowing better. “Sloane, what are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Miles looks around, like he’s looking for someone else. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for months, and you choose now? This... isn’t a good time.”
I ignore him, continuing like I rehearsed in my head. “I know what you’re doing, and it needs to stop.”
His eyebrows rise. “You know?”
I can’t hide the shock on my face at his admittance. I mean, that’s what that was, right? Am I recording on my phone? Shit,I’m not recording on my phone! I dig through my purse for it as I continue. “Why are you doing it? Revenge? Are you really that pissed at me that you want to ruin my life?”
“Well, I wanted to ask your permission first. I’m not trying to ruin your life.”
“Mypermission? You wanted to ask me first if you couldmurderall of my exes?”
His brows knit together at my accusation. “What?”
“I’ve already told the police about you, so you might as well turn yourself in, Miles. I won’t let you get to Graham.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sloane. Have you been drinking?”
“I know you have pictures of my journal in your closet. Who else would be doing all of this?” I throw my hands up in aggravation.
He shakes his head, provoked. “That wasyouwho broke into my house?”
“I mean, how didn’t you realize? You emailed me that you can recognize my perfume anywhere, didn’t you?”
I feel someone come up behind me. “Ah, the Professor,” Asher says.
Miles looks between us before saying to me, “How about we discuss this in private when you’re thinking straight.”
