“Probably,” Benji said, giddy. “Orwe could ditch it and stay home and fuck all evening.”
Noah shot him another grin, eyes so heated Benji knew he was considering it. Then he pressed his phone to his ear.
“Mrs. Presley? How are you?”
Benji turned toward the mirror, straightening his curls and tucking his shirt in, trying to look less like he’d just been given the handjob of a lifetime and just confessed his love to his sugar daddy. He patted his warm cheeks, hoping they would cool down before they pulled up to the exhibition. He didn’t have high hopes. Noah had taken a deeply embarrassing moment and turned it into something to treasure, yet again. He was going to be smiling all night.
“Oh, good,” Noah said. “Glad you can make it. See you in twenty.”
Benji’s hands faltered in his hair. He waited until Noah hung up, then turned.
“I’m sorry. Did you just tell Mrs. Presley you’d see her in twenty?”
Noah nodded, adjusting his tie in the mirror. “I invited her to the exhibition.”
“Why?”
Noah shrugged, fixing his sleeves. “It seemed like her kind of thing.”
“A community college art exhibition that’s being held in a converted horror maze sounds like herkind of thing,” Benji said suspiciously. “Didn’t she investbillionsof dollars in your company? Hence, she’s abillionaire?”
“She did.” Noah rested his chin on Benji’s shoulder, hand coming up to press into the bruise he’d left on his covered collarbone. “She likes close-up stuff. Warm colors. Intimate.”
Benji closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus through the delicious twinge. “Did you tell her to come because of me?”
Noah paused. “Is that bad?”
Benji laughed, unable to keep the jumpiness out of it. All that work to get him out of his head, and here he was, diving right back into the chaos.
“You didn’t tell her to buy it,” he asked. “Right? That sounds like something you’d do. Something stupid and sweet and way too much, holy shit.”
Noah’s arms tensed around him. He pulled back, turning Benji around to face him.
“I invited her to an art exhibition,” Noah said, and Benji winced at the strange blankness in his tone. “I said my partner would have something on display. That’s all. Why are you mad?”
“I’m not!” Benji cleared his throat, trying to get the high pitch to go away. “I’m not. Just… tell me first. I don’t want charity.”
Noah frowned. “It’s notcharity. If she buys something, it’s not because I told her to.”
“I’m not!” Benji insisted, running his hands through the curls he’d just been patting down. “Just tell me first. I don’t want— Shit, is she, like, a connoisseur or some shit? Does she have a Picasso hanging in the piano room?”
“No Picasso,” Noah promised. “I don’t know what she has on her walls, except for a beautiful painting she bought at a thrift store for fifty dollars on her first date with her second husband.”
He rubbed Benji’s arms, stopping him from the pacing he had definitely been about to throw himself into.
“Look at me,” he said.
Teeth clenched, Benji did.
Noah rubbed his cheek, right under the bruise. “Everything is going to be fine.”
Benji blew out a shaky breath.
“I know,” he said. “Let’s… go get this over with.”
The warehouse had been lined with a maze of zig-zagging walls filled with artwork. There were sculptures mounted on folding tables, paintings hanging on the twisting walls, and a broken toilet fixed in the corner that was apparently a commentary on climate change. Or something. Benji had barely skimmed the explanation hanging over it.
Noah tucked his arm around Benji’s waist. “Where’s yours?”
