Page 146 of Bitter Rival

He doesn’t deserve to see how much he still affects me and I’m scared my face will give me away.

I’ve never been very good at hiding my feelings.

“There she is. Stunning as always.” James pulls me into his arms and gives me a kiss on each cheek then holds me at arm’s length. “How’s my favorite protégée?”

“Excuse me,” Carson says. “But you told me I was your favorite.”

I laugh. “You’re his one and only so of course, you’re his favorite.”

Carson leans in close and lowers his voice for my ears only. “He’s so proud of you.” He jerks his chin toward James who is admiring a portrait of Anna.

James gave me my very first commission for Avant-Garde when I arrived in New York, broke and homeless.

I was just a kid and when I’d show up for a photo shoot, everyone would ask if I was tagging along with one of my parents. Older, more established photographers didn’t appreciate being usurped by a teenager.

But James took a chance on me and since that first shoot, I’ve done a lot of work for Avant-Garde.

“Gorgeous,” James gushes. “You captured her spirit. Her very essence. It’s the eyes?—”

“I do have gorgeous eyes, don’t I?” Anna chimes in.

I turn to her with a smile. She looks stunning tonight in an emerald green silk kimono over loose flowy pants, her silver hair flowing down her back and her lips painted red. “You have gorgeous everything.”

She hooks her arm in mine. “Is that him?” She tips her chin toward Beckett, who is studying each photo so closely that I wonder what he’s looking for.

A glimpse of my soul, maybe.

Funny. I already bared it to him but he never noticed.

I sigh. “Yes, that’s him.”

“Tonight is your night. You’re the star. Don’t let him steal the show.”

“You’re the star.” I give her arm a gentle squeeze. “And don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson.” But I can’t help but watch Beckett from the corner of my eye as he makes his way around the gallery, laser-focused on the art, his hands clasped behind his back.

To have him this close, in my space, but not approach him takes every ounce of self-restraint I possess.

I’m proud of myself for not caving though and make a studious effort to ignore him and pretend he doesn’t exist.

Easier said than done.

I’m so hyper-aware of him that my body tingles with awareness even when he’s all the way across the room.

It’s not until the evening ends and I’ve said my goodbyes to all the friends and acquaintances who showed up, that he finally approaches.

I steel my heart against further damage as he takes my coat out of my hands and helps me into it.

I can feel the heat of his body, his large hands on my shoulders as he adjusts the collar and then he draws me closer until my back is against his chest, and my eyes drift shut.

I inhale a deep breath and my head is filled with the scent of him.

Leather. Spice. Pheromones.

I pull away and turn to face him.

“Daisy.” He smiles, the dimpled, boyish smile that always disarms me.

Despite myself, my body betrays me. I have butterflies in my stomach. “Beckett.”

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