Page 29 of Doomed
“No joke,” I assure her. “I mean it. You’ve got a special talent.” I glance around at the buzzing crowd. “And seems like everyone else thinks so too. Though I bet none of them have had the pleasure of being slapped by the artist.”
There it is—that reluctant smile I’ve come to crave.
I watch Bianca’s face carefully, enjoying the way her expression shifts. “You know, most people say they like the colors or ask about my technique. They don’t actually... see the meaning.”
“I’m not most people.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “Though I’m starting to think you already knew that.”
She takes a sip of champagne. “Your ego is showing again, Blackwood.”
“It’s not ego if it’s true.” I grin, enjoying our back-and-forth. “So, the piece in the corner—the one with the hands almost touching—is that about desire or restraint?”
“Why can’t it be both?” Her eyes meet mine. “Sometimes the line between wanting something and holding back is paper-thin.”
“And which side are you on right now?” I ask, moving closer until there’s barely space between us.
Before she can answer, a flash of movement catches my eye as Michelle, Bianca’s roommate from the club, materializes beside us, practically wedging herself between us.
“B, there you are!” Michelle’s voice is overly bright. “Sorry to interrupt, but that gallery owner from Chicago is looking for you.”
Bianca looks confused. “Mark? He’s here already?”
“Yep, super important, right now.” Michelle’s grip on Bianca’s arm tightens. “Sorry, Knox, art business calls.”
I raise my glass in acknowledgment. “By all means. The artist is in demand.”
I watch as Michelle drags Bianca across the room, their heads bent together in urgent conversation. Even from here, I can read Michelle’s body language—the rapid gestures, the concerned glances back in my direction. She’s warning Bianca about me.
I scan the room, nodding to a few familiar faces as I pretend not to notice the whispered conversation happening in the corner. Michelle’s pointing now, probably sharing every rumor she’s heard about Knox Blackwood and his legendary way with women.
Interesting. I grab another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and mingle, keeping Bianca in my peripheral vision the entire time.
I make my way over to Elliot, who’s standing near the bar, looking pleased with the turnout. The gallery owner’s face brightens when he spots me.
“Knox,” he says, clinking his glass against mine. “Come to appreciate the finer things in life?”
“Just one fine thing in particular,” I reply with a smirk. “Quite a crowd you’ve pulled for Bianca.”
Elliot leans closer. “Between us, her work is selling faster than anything I’ve shown in years. Three red dots already, and we’re barely an hour in.” He glances around before adding, “Will we be seeing you at Purgatory this weekend? Xavier mentioned a special event for the inner circle.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Though you might want to wear something more... resilient this time.” I grin, enjoying the flush that creeps up his neck. “Last month’s activities left quite the mark on that expensive suit of yours.”
“Worth every penny,” Elliot chuckles. “Your brother certainly knows how to curate an experience.”
My attention shifts as I catch movement across the room. A gray-haired man in an expensive suit has cornered Bianca. I can read her discomfort—her shoulders tense, her smile fixed, as she tries to maintain professionalism while subtly attempting to create distance. The man places his hand on Bianca’s lower back, then slides it down.
“Excuse me,” I mutter to Elliot, already moving.
I cross the room in seconds, my body on autopilot. As I approach, I hear the man’s slurred voice.
“Such passion in your work. I wonder if that extends to other areas...”
His hand is still on her ass when I reach them. Bianca’s eyes meet mine, relief flashing across her face.
“There you are,” I say smoothly, sliding my arm around her shoulders and positioning myself between her and the handsy guy. “Sorry to interrupt, but the curator’s looking for you.”
The older man blinks, recognizing me. “Knox Blackwood? I didn’t realize you were... acquainted with Ms. Hayes.”
“Very well acquainted,” I say, my tone friendly but my eyes cold as ice. “And I’ve always been particular about who touches my things.”
