Instead, he releases my wrist and steps back, his expression cooling oncemore.
"I'll coordinate with Mateo and Declan," he says, voice clipped. "We'll be ready by eight."
"Fine."
His only response is a curt nod before he disappears down the hallway, leaving me standing alone in the living room, my wrist still warm from his touch, our argument hanging unresolved in the air between us.
The Archer Gallery buzzes with the particular energy unique to Los Angeles art openings, equal parts genuine appreciation, social climbing, and industry networking. Crystal champagne flutes clink delicately, conversation flows in carefully modulated tones designed to be heard without appearing to raise one's voice, and everyone pretends not to be constantly scanning the room for more important people to speak with.
I've been to hundreds of these events over the years, but tonight feels different. Tonight, I'm here as both observer and observed. The secretly featured artist and the publicly scrutinized celebrity. And always, always, the potential target.
My heart races as I move through the space, noting the precise arrangement of my photographs, still draped in black cloth, waiting for the big reveal at nine o'clock. Only Richard, the gallery owner, knows the truth about Sin Jay's identity, the artist whose work has generated such buzz in the industry. To everyone else, the mystery creator is this season's most tantalizing secret.
Ethan stands a few feet away, looking impossibly handsome in a charcoal suit that emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders. To anyone else, he appears to be just another wealthy patron of the arts, perhaps a tech entrepreneur or finance executive with cultural aspirations. Only I know he's registering every entry point, every stranger who lingers too long nearby, every potential threat.
Outside, Mateo and Declan maintain positions covering the front and rear exits, equally transformed by their formal attire. I caught a glimpse of them earlier. Mateo's usual playful energy channeled into sharp vigilance, Declan's imposing presence somehow more intimidating in a tailored suit, and I had to remind myself to breathe normally.
The tension from our earlier argument lingers. Ethan has been professional but distant since we arrived, keeping me in his sightline but avoiding direct interaction. It's maddening and a stark reminder of how much I'd come to value our easy rapport before the camera discovery changed everything.
"Jade Sinclair!" A woman's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "What a lovely surprise. I didn't expect to see you here tonight."
I turn to find Vanessa Harrington, fashion editor and perpetual social butterfly, air-kissing bothmy cheeks. "The exhibition is extraordinary," I reply smoothly. "I wouldn't miss it."
"So you've seen it already?" She raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "The work is still under wraps. Everyone's waiting for the big reveal."
I curse my slip. "No, but I've heard whispers. The artist's early pieces showed remarkable promise."
"Well, aren't you the dedicated art enthusiast?" Vanessa's gaze drifts past me to where Ethan stands. "And who is your delicious companion that walked in the door with you? I don't believe we've been introduced."
Something hot and unexpected flares in my chest, not quite anger, but certainly not pleasure. "A friend," I say vaguely, unwilling to elaborate.
"A friend." Vanessa's smile turns predatory. "How delightful. Maybe he wants to be my friend too. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll introduce myself."
Before I can respond, she glides past me toward Ethan, her intentions transparent in the deliberate sway of her hips.
I shouldn't care. It's not like Ethan is actually my date. He's here in a professional capacity, and his job would be easier without being tethered to my side all evening.
Yet I find myself watching their interaction with unwarranted intensity. Vanessa touches Ethan's arm as she speaks, laughing at something he says, twirling a strand of hair around her finger in theuniversal signal of female interest.
And Ethan, professional, distant Ethan who's barely spoken ten words to me outside of security matters all week, is smiling back at her, attentive and charming.
"Didn't realize this was a surveillance operation," a familiar voice murmurs beside me, and I turn to find Mateo suddenly at my side, his expression amused. "If looks could kill, that lady talking to Ethan would be a pile of designer ash right now."
"Shouldn't you be outside?" I ask, ignoring his observation.
"Rotation," he explains. "Declan's covering both exits for the next fifteen minutes while I check the interior layout again. Also, you looked like you could use rescuing from your own thoughts."
"I'm fine," I insist, taking a sip of champagne to avoid meeting his knowing gaze.
"Sure you are," Mateo agrees easily. "That's why you're breaking the stem of your glass."
I glance down to find my knuckles white around the delicate crystal. Forcing my grip to relax, I set the glass on a passing server's tray.
"He's working," I say, not bothering to pretend I don't know who Mateo's referring to. "Blending in. It's what I asked for."
"Mmhmm." Mateo's eyes dance with barely suppressed laughter. "And you're not jealous at all that Ethan's giving that lady his undivided attention."
"Of course not," I scoff. "That would be ridiculous."
