Ila hurried into the gallery again, and she made a beeline for us.
“Hey Logan, where’s the fire?” Max teased, drawing her to him, kissing her head. Her gimlet glare nailed me. “I need to talk to War for a sec.”
Max lifted an eyebrow as she stalked away from him and Jack.
I followed.
She spun to me. “Are you simply gonna let Charli go?” she demanded in a hiss. “Yes, she spoke to us, and she’s hurting. Her mother…” Her shoulder lifted in a helpless shrug. “She might mean well, but she doesn’t know Charli or her hurts and self-doubts. Just so you know, she plans on leaving. If this was just a fling with you both, then fine, it’s probably for the best. If not, you better fix this.” Her gaze shifted to the patrons. “Dammit! I gotta go mingle now.” She cut me another dark look and stomped off, stopping near Max for a moment. She spoke to him briefly before hurrying away.
My chest squeezing like a damn noose strangling me, I strode out, heading down the corridor to the restroom.
The door opened, and Charli stepped out, only to stumble to a halt at seeing me.
Ray crashed into her back. “Oh.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Good, it’s about time.” Then she patted Charli’s arm. “If you need me, I’m around.” She glided away, leaving a deafening silence between us.
CHARLI
At War’s dark stare and granite jaw, my breath cemented in my throat, and I swallowed hard for courage. I knew Ila must have gone after him. It didn’t matter. I’d had to speak to him anyway.
I rubbed my icy fingers down my dress as he approached.
He grasped my wrist and strode farther into the dim corridor.
“What are you doing?” I croaked, half running to keep up with his long-legged stride. He didn’t respond, just opened one of the doors at the end and walked into the dark room, pulling me inside with him. The familiar smells of turpentine, drying paint, and timber crowded my nose.
The door clicked shut behind us. The lights came on, revealing the massive room with shelves and carefully stored canvases, a few sculptures, and a desk and chair nearby.
Trying for a deep, calming breath and failing miserably, I turned to a grim-faced War where he stood with his back to the door, making escape impossible. Not that I was leaving.
My grip tightened on my purse.
He slid his hands into his pants pockets, his expression brooding.
At the thought of ending this, leaving him, my eyes burned, pain lodging in my heart. Even if I stayed, it wouldn’t last because he’d always wonder if I was with him because of who he was, his fame, his wealth. God, I didn’t want anyone to think I was like my mother. Ever.
Everything I had now, I worked hard for.
Not knowing where to start, I blurted, “I am sorry about this morning.”
“I know. Now what?”
Unable to hold his intense stare, I lowered mine to the unfastened top button of his shirt, revealing his tan throat—a throat I’d kissed not twenty-four hours ago. “I…I…”can’t do this anymore, stuck in my throat.
“So, you’re letting your mother win?”
His words were like a whiplash, and I shuddered, my gaze rushing back to his. He knew.
“No-no! This isn’t about her. It’s me—”
“It damn well is about her!” he snapped. “You’re playing into her hands. This is exactly what she wants, for us to break up. It’s why she made sure I heard what she said because if I didn’t leave, then you sure as hell would run. She doesn’t think I’m good enough for you!”
“No! You’re perfect—”
“Then why are you leaving me, breaking my heart?”
I froze. “What? I’m not breaking your heart. For that to happen, you have to…you have to…”
“Be in love with you?” he finished, prowling closer.
