Martina waved him away. “Of course you can go. The least you can do for Miss Blakely now that she has spent a fortune on your… art.”
Spencer shot her a dark look, but he turned back to the woman at her voice.
“It’s not like I bought the artist too, although…” She gave him a smile, and left, her hips swaying in that tight dress.
Martina slapped Spencer’s hand. “You will go and make sure she’s happy with that painting’s placement.”
Spencer snatched his hand away. “Fuck you. I won’t whore myself out to your rich friends!”
“You already whore yourself out, dear, and for free. She’s rich and would spoil you, I’m sure. A widow, too.”
Spencer swayed, almost telling them. Almost. That he was fucking Duncan, a low-life nobody, his bodyguard. Almost, when he glanced at Duncan and their eyes met. Duncan couldn’t have heard the conversation, but had seen enough maybe to guess, and there was nothing else in his eyes but his worry and caring, that simmering anger.
Spencer stood, flinging the card on the table. “Fuck her if you want her money that much.”
“Spencer! Just where do you think you’re going?”
“My talentless shit got sold? I’m done here.”
Henry looked up at him, puzzled. “You’ll miss the dinner and the dancing.”
Spencer sometimes wondered if his father did it on purpose to seem clueless. “Doesn’t matter.” He gestured at Duncan but he was already there by his side, waiting. He looked up at him, trying not to collapse in his arms. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“As you wish.” Giving him a puzzled look, but he trailed him outside, and called a driving service for a decent car.
They waited; the press thankfully gone somewhere on that night street. That cool air made Spencer shiver, his teeth chattering softly, when he felt a warm jacket on his shoulders and back.
He looked up at Duncan standing in his shirt as he pulled the front of the jacket closed. “You’ll catch a cold.”
He smiled, his eyes scanning the street. “No. I can bear the cold, no worries.”
Not wanting to probe, watching the car turn the corner. Stop. This was a reliable service, one of Sinclair’s companies, so they sat in. The driver already had the address and took off straight away. Duncan kept glancing back at Spencer but he was lost in his phone.
Scrolling the posts on his painting. Several viral ones.Shit.Posts digging up stuff on him, somehow, he had become more visible.
He tapped Duncan on the shoulder, showing him the phone when he turned. “Is this real shit?”
Duncan frowned, reading that post. “It could be… more press means more light on you. And your parents’ money. It’s never good.” His heart tight, thinking of how this would affect Spencer’s life, his already fragile thread to it.
Spencer leant back. “Shit…” Replying to his friends’ blowing up his notifications, the tags buzzing in his hand.Too much. Too fucking much.He could hardly wait to be home.
Fucking finally.He dashed out of the car. “Come up to my room.”
Duncan followed him, puzzled a bit. Closing the door. Eyes wide when Spencer just threw his arms around him. He pulled him close, holding him tight as Spencer heaved in his arms, his mouth open, panting against Duncan’s chest.
“Stay with me tonight.”
“Here?” Dead anguished.
“Yes, here… you stayed before… nobody gives a shit. I’ll put the ‘Do not disturb on the door’ and that’s it.”
Duncan was a bit thrilled he wanted him to stay, but fuck if it wasn’t insanely dangerous. Stiffening a bit at that small plea, like a breath against his muscles.
“Please…”
He pushed his hand in that lush hair, cradling him. “Alright.”
Spencer just sighed and pushed himself out of his arms, walking to the door. He opened it and flipped a sign on it, closing it with the latch then.
