Page 60 of Scoring Grey

“Sure thing,” he says as I slide off his lap to let him up before reclaiming my chair.

“The piece I’m submitting for the auction is different from the one in Callum’s condo. There is no need to worry about this one getting released early. The only way that could happen is if someone from this room leaks it prior to the charity event.”

Callum pulls his hand out of Blair’s and sits straight in his chair, intrigue written across his face when he asks, “Why aren’t you using that one?”

“This one tells a better story.”

We all turn toward the easel, where Dash takes the covered painting down and pulls the new one out of the box, careful to keep it facing him.

His eyes connect with mine. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, please,” I confirm, and he places the painting on the stand.

There are a few gasps around the table. I can’t tell if they are good or bad. They could be gasps of horror, or they could be in awe, but I don’t care. The one reaction I care about is the man sitting directly before me. His amber stare is thoroughly captivated by the scene on the canvas. I watch every subtle move, from how he sets his jaw to the steady uptick in the rise and fall of his chest as he digests the colors and paint strokes before him.

“It’s beautiful,” Wells says beside me. “You truly have a talent.”

“It’s more than beautiful. It’s bewitching,” Mrs. Bronson utters, her tone engrossed. “You said this one had a story. Will you tell us?”

Callum still hasn’t taken his eyes off the painting, and if I’m going to tell this story, perhaps that’s a good thing.

I finish the contents in my glass and say, “We find ourselves in art as much as we lose ourselves. On this day, I lost myself for hours as my brush seemed to float across the canvas, and I recreated an everlasting moment, one where I found myself?—”

“That doesn’t even make sense. What are you, Shakespeare, now?” Blair drones with an exasperated glance. “It’s a picture on the ocean’s shore at dusk.”

Dash stands at my back and squeezes my shoulders. I know he wants to jump in and snap back, but I place my hand over his, silently signaling I got this.

“That’s interesting,” I say as I glance at the picture again. “Is that all you see?”

Cal’s eyes finally pull away from the picture, and whatever anxiety I felt about unveiling a piece I had only ever intended to keep for myself melts away when I see the recognition reflected in his expression. He sees my heart. He sees that it was always him.

“The ripples in the water reflecting the setting sun are a silhouette of two people standing on shore.” When I started painting the picture back at his condo, he teased me that the scene I was creating was from our first kiss. Little did he know I already painted that memory. I painted it over ten years ago, the day after it happened.

Her head whips back to the painting, and Mrs. Bronson clasps her hands together. “Oh, who is the couple? I must know.” She nods to Dash at my back. “Is it the two of you?”

Cal knows exactly who it’s not, but the way he rocks back in his chair says he wants to hear what I’ll say. He wants to hear if I’ll say it’s him.

“I wish I could say it was me,” Dash says as he reaches for his drink on the table in front of me. “Well, maybe it is me. I don’t know. Is this a dream you had about us?”

I bite back my smile, grateful for his lightheartedness when all I feel is stress. “No, it’s not Dash. It was the first day someone saw me for me, not my status. The person in that painting didn’t see an heiress. He simply saw a girl with her paintbrushes.”

“And you fell in love?” one of Mrs. Bronson’s friends asks hopefully.

I don’t have to look at Cal to know his gaze is keenly fixed on me. I can feel it burning into the side of my head, waiting with bated breath for a response. It’s then I realize I’m holding my own. I’ve never said “I love you” to Cal, and I’m not sure I want the first time I say those words to be when he’s pretending to date someone else while sitting in a room full of strangers.

“I painted this when I was fifteen. I’m not sure at that age a heart fully understands the true meaning of love and all it entails, but?—”

“Oh my God,” Blair exclaims as athunkhits the table, and I look down to see her spilled wine quickly traveling across the surface toward me. To everyone else, it’s an honest mistake. They don’t hear the hitch of excitement that bleeds through her tone or how, rather than hop into action and toss her napkin onto the mess to stop its path, she simply sits in wait for it to hit its mark: me. Wells and I both back away from the table. The wine misses him but manages to spill onto my dress as per her plan.

Cal immediately stands and throws his napkin over the spilled wine before stealing one from one of the guys and rounding the table to offer it to me, but Wells is quicker. “I’ll show you to the powder room so you can freshen up.”

Before I can say a word, Cal reaches for my elbow, and my body hums to life. One touch is all it takes to heal the divide of the past two days and make all this nonsense seem inconsequential, and the second my eyes meet his amber pools, I see my sentiments reflected. He’s done. He’s ready to abandon this plan. I only need to say the word. “I’m fine. I’ll be right back.”

My eyes flick from Cal to Dash before I follow Wells out of the room. I know it’s petty, and I could shut this down, but Blair just spilled wine on me. She threw the first punch, but I’ll be damned if I don’t deliver the last.

Blair approaches me from behind as I step into the sitting room off the bathroom to do a quick check before returning to lunch. “It’s pathetic, really, one of America’s richest heiresses stuck on the one guy that will never be hers. You thought you won back there, but you stepped right into my trap just as I knew you would.”

I know she’s trying to goad me, so I don’t acknowledge her. Instead, I pull my red lipstick out of my purse and reapply it while she continues to spew her crap. Were it not for me desperately wanting to uncover the connection I’m sure exists between her and Lucas Balfour, I’d bury her now, but I stand to gain more by listening to her rant. Everyone knows there’s a little bit of truth in every lie.

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