Page 28 of The CEO's Obsession

"Get used to it," I growl. "This is just the beginning of what I have planned for you."

Harper shivers, and I'm about to suggest we slip away to celebrate privately when a man approaches, eyeing Harper's latest piece with interest. He introduces himself as a localcollector, and I feel my fists clench as he begins chatting with Harper.

But I force myself to relax. This is what she’s here for. To sell her art to collectors. Get her name out.

This is why I made this happen. To see her shine.

I'm about to interject when a familiar figure catches my eye. Tyler. Damn it. How did he get in here?

He saunters through the gallery like he owns the place, his paint-splattered jeans and ratty t-shirt a stark contrast to the refined Parisian crowd. A few guests wrinkle their noses as he passes, but Tyler pays them no mind. His gaze is fixed on Harper.

My jaw clenches as he approaches. The collector excuses himself, sensing the tension crackling in the air.

"Harper!" Tyler calls out, his voice carrying across the hushed gallery. "This is incredible!"

Harper's face lights up, and something twists in my gut. "Tyler! I can't believe you're here!"

I know they’ve talked since the mishap where he completely misrepresented me to my girl, but I’m not fool enough to believe Tyler has let it go. Maybe the guy made a legitimate mistake. I’ve yet to get an apology from him and don’t expect one.

A man knows when another man wants his girl, and this Tyler? He wants Harper.

Over my dead body.

They embrace, and I have to restrain myself from yanking them apart. When they separate, Tyler's eyes narrow as they land on me.

"I see your sugar daddy made it happen," he says, his tone dripping with disdain.

Harper frowns. "Tyler, don't start?—"

"No, I'm serious," he presses on, gesturing around the ornate gallery. "All this fancy bullshit? It's not you, Harper. He's trying to mold you into something you're not."

"That's enough," I growl, stepping forward. "I think it's time for you to leave."

Tyler ignores me, focusing on Harper. "Can't you see what he's doing? He's controlling you, manipulating your art?—"

"Stop it!" Harper's voice rings out, silencing us both. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes flashing with anger. "Tyler, I appreciate you coming, but you don't get to decide what's best for me or my art."

I blink, surprised by her vehemence.

She turns to me, her gaze softening. "And Mason, I know you arranged all this because you believe in me. Thank you."

Tyler opens his mouth to argue, but Harper cuts him off.

"This is my night," she says firmly. "My art. My choice. And I choose to celebrate it, here and now, with both of you—if you can behave like adults."

I'm stunned into silence, arousal and pride warring within me.

Tyler looks like he's swallowed something sour, but he nods grudgingly.

As Harper leads us both towards her next piece, explaining her inspiration, I can't take my eyes off her. She's radiant, confident, commanding the room.

And I can’t fucking wait to get her alone.

I keep looking at the way her hips swap in that dress I had made specially for her. The exposed expanse of her back. The delicate curve of her neck.

My cock is going to be making an obscene tent in my trousers if I don’t do something soon.

I can't take it anymore. The sight of Harper glowing with confidence, commanding the room, is too much to resist. As shefinishes explaining her latest piece, I grasp her hand and tug her away from the crowd.

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