Page 57 of Scoring Grey

“No, the opposite. I don’t care to be the center of attention.”

His lips pull to one side. “Then you probably should have chosen another dress.” He nods toward a few tables to my right. “You already have a few admirers.” I glance over and make eye contact with a few guys I recognize from the Kings, including Roe. I flash them a smile, and Wells pulls at my arm. “May I escort you to the bar?”

I let my eyes briefly scan the conservatory and that’s when I see him. Cal is standing at the bar, and he’s not alone. Even with her back to me, I’d know that dark brown hair and triangle-shaped figure anywhere… Blair. It’s been years since I’ve seen her in the flesh, and I would have enjoyed never seeing her again, but here we are in the mess I willingly agreed to. Idiot. I could kick myself for ever agreeing to this. “Yes, a drink sounds good.”

“Wells, will you ever arrive on time?” Mr. Bronson says as we step up to the bar. While I’ve never met Mr. Bronson, I’ve seen his picture enough times in the news to know who he is without a formal introduction.

“Tipper,” a woman with jet-black hair beside him playfully swats his arm. “He brought a date. Give him a break.”

“Oh, no?—”

His hand covers mine, and he squeezes it. “Mother, this is Eloise.” Wait, did he just say mother? Damn, I should have been noisier and asked him for a last name, but since I don’t ever give my own, choosing to keep as much anonymity as possible, I didn’t want to give him an opening to ask the same. Now his audacity to simply let himself in makes more sense.

“Are you okay?” a female voice asks as we all follow the sound of someone choking and gasping for air.

When I turn, I see it’s Cal smacking his chest. “Yeah, I’m good…” he answers as he struggles to gain composure. “It just went down the wrong pipe,” he adds as his amber eyes collide with mine for the first time in days, and suddenly, I’m the one needing air.

We all stare at him for a few short seconds before Wells continues where he left off. “She’s not my date.” He glances at me, adding, “Though I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.”

“Aren’t you already seeing someone?” Cal clears his throat as he chimes in.

“You two know each other?” Mrs. Bronson asks.

“Yes, she’s the artist donating a special piece to the charity gala. This is Eloise Grey.”

Her eyebrows tug together, and Mr. Bronson says, “I’m so sorry, Miss Grey.” He reaches across his son, extending his hand in salutation. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen a picture of you with your family in the media. You’ll have to excuse our manners.”

As he withdraws his hand, his wife says, “But if you’re not seeing anyone, Wells is single.”

“And he can land his own dates, Mother,” Wells says before gesturing to the bartender and asking me, “What would you like to drink?”

“I’ll take a glass of Pinot.”

“Scotch on the rocks. Make it a double,” Wells tacks onto my order.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” I say to Mr. Bronson. “My friend and I got stuck in that mess on the highway last night. I didn’t get home until a few hours ago.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem. We would have understood if you couldn’t make it, dear,” Mrs. Bronson sympathizes.

“Yes, I considered that, but I didn’t want to let Cal down. I told him I’d come, and besides, I thought you’d like to take a look at the piece I’ll be donating to the charity for auction.” I lace my fingers and rest them on the bar. “After all, my work has not been seen. This painting is from my private collection.”

“Well, that’s not true. I’ve seen your paintings,” Blair says, entering the conversation, likely jealous that the discussion has been centered around me since I showed up at the bar. “She paints flowers for fun. That hardly makes her an artist.”

I let my eyes meet hers for the first time in six years, and the second I look into them, I see the same ho-in-a-half I’ve always seen. Her comment was a dig, small but a hit all the same, and while I should take the high road and keep my face impassive. I don’t. Instead, I level her with a glare that says game on, bitch.

“Maybe you’re not remembering correctly,” I say sweetly. “The last time you saw my work, I believe you referred to it as delightful.”

Her eyebrows pinch together as she sets down her wine glass on the bar. “So then you admit people have seen your work before?”

I smile and roll my lips. She walked right into my trap. “Oh, no, not at all. You may have seen me painting back in high school, but I never painted anything to completion when people were around. It gave me anxiety.” I spin the stem on a glass of Pinot. “I was referring to the comment you made the other day when you stopped by Callum’s place to do his one-on-one interview.”

Gotcha. I may not be one hundred percent sure about what circumstance brought her here, but I know one thing she can be sure of now is it was me who knocked something over in Cal’s bedroom, not a cat, which also means I’m the reason he was walking around shirtless with swollen lips. Cal picks up his glass and brings it to his mouth to hide his snicker.

“I was under the impression Cal painted that picture.” She looks down at her matte black nails before saying, “It’s a shame. The painting won’t be revealed at the charity auction. The pictures I included with the article I submitted last night had your piece in the background.”

Wells squeezes my shoulder, stealing my attention. When I turn to him, he nods to the butler. “Sorry to interrupt, Miss Eloise, but I wanted to let you know the easel and painting have been placed at the head of the table. I can move it?—”

“No need. That’s perfect. Thank you.” I pull my phone out of my clutch and check to see if I have any missed messages from Dash.Where are you, Dash?

---