Page 3 of Be Mine Forever

Cam didn’t catch the dark laugh before it crawled up his throat and spilled into the gallery, echoing off the nearly barren walls. The gallery owner emerged from his office, crossing the bland space to hover, impatience settling onto the man’s narrow face the longer Cam remained on the phone.

“Walsh, hold that thought.” Cam pressed the phone to his chest so he could get this good and settled. This gallery felt like the graveyard where good paintings went to die. Eh, no.

“No,” Cam said to the gallery owner, adding a quick shake of his head to underscore.

“No? But…but…” the little man with the sad comb-over stuttered, his words tripping and falling over his lips. “This is one of the most prestigious galleries in New York City. In the world! Surely—”

“It feels like a mausoleum. I’m sure that’s perfect for somebody’s art, but not mine.”

“Mr. Kelvin said—”

“Sebastian is my agent, not my boss. It’s what I say, and I say thanks but no thanks.”

“But, Mr. Mitchell, we were hoping—”

“I’m on the phone here.” He raised his brows and cocked his head for the send-off.

“Uh, well, I would think—”

“Uh-huh. Good-bye.”

Cam watched the man’s stick-up-his-ass gait as he headed back to the office, not resuming the conversation until he closed the door.

“Geesh, some people.”

“Whereareyou going to hold your first exhibit?” Walsh asked. “It’s a big deal.”

“Yeah.” Cam glanced around the tasteful starkness of the gallery Bash suggested he consider. “Not here. I want it to have more…I don’t know. More meaning than these art cemeteries Sebastian keeps sending me to.”

“You’ll find the right spot.” Walsh cleared his throat, and it sounded like gears shifting to Cam. “We were talking about Jo’s ass.”

“Werewe?”

“Yeah, the fact that you couldn’t take your eyes off of it at Christmas.”

Only took Walsh fifteen years to notice. Cam had been looking at Jo’s ass for years. Or maybe he’d just been better at hiding it before. He was slipping.

“I know you’re her cousin and may not see it, but take my word for it. Jo’s got a great ass.”

The quiet between them absorbed the words Cam immediately regretted saying before Walsh spoke again.

“Yeah, but you…Well, I didn’t think you thought of her like that.”

“Dude, so I’m an ass man. Don’t make it a thing.”

“We’ve just both always protected Jo,” Walsh said, pausing before punctuating the thought. “Kept the pervs away.”

Walsh was always the proverbial dog with a bone when something didn’t add up, and whatever he had sensed at Christmas was the bone he wasn’t ready to relinquish.

“Look, I’m not perving on Jo. I’m a red-blooded male. A great ass walks past, I’m gonna look. I don’t care if it’s Mother Teresa. Rest in peace, but if Mother Teresa had a great ass—”

“Dude, ew. Mother Teresa? That’s practically sacrilegious.”

“Never claimed to be religious.”

“Okay, well just checking. On Jo, I mean. Not Mother Teresa.”

“Hey, I’ve always known the deal with Jo. I’m not forgetting now.”

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