Page 43 of Fresh Canvas
“I—I meant, I didn’t—” she stammered.
“I didn’t know you thought I was handsome, Adams. I’m touched.” I grinned wolfishly. Heaven knew how many times her beauty had stolen my focus.
“No, it’s?—”
“It’s fine, Adams. Admire away.”
The rest of the blood in Amantha’s body seemed to have found its way to her cheeks.
“Could youbemore full of yourself? Anyway”—her head cocked to the side—“if you’resucha nice guy, why weren’t you being like that all along? To me, at least?”
I shrugged. “Personal reasons.”
“Enlighten me.”
Still unaware of the answer myself, I decided to mess with her. “Well, Adams, we wouldn’t want you falling for me and my stupidly handsome face, now would we?”
Amantha’s look of pure shock was worth it.
I tried to hold in the robust laughter that exploded out of me. I hadn’t enjoyed a conversation this much in a long time, all thanks to the scarlet woman now glaring at me.
“Oh, jeez.” Amantha mustered a breathy laugh, shaking her head as she reached for another paper. “Trust me. Never going to happen.”
Suddenly the overhead lights timed out, and we were blanketed with darkness. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the dim lights emanating from the copy machine and the hallway light spilling in through the window. I hoped the shadows had concealed my unexpected flash of disappointment I felt at those four words.
“Never going to happen.”
Finally, we were on the same page.
“Don’t bother turning the lights back on,” I mumbled to her silhouette. “It’s pointless.”
Allof this was pointless. After that, we kept the conversation light in the darkness as we folded pamphlets for hours.
I told myself it was fine.
Nothing was going to happen. Nothingshouldhappen.
But why—in the depths of my soul—was I wishing for the opposite?
twelve
VAL
Iswept my gaze over the crowded Vanderbilt Hall. Museum guests mingled under soft, candescent blue lights as though underwater.
I tipped my head back, watching the projected mirage of waves rippling against the ceiling. Blythe’s idea of chilled champagne glasses was a nice touch, so I begrudgingly gave her mental credit.
Wrapping my fingers around one’s stem, I sipped once as I meandered the Vanderbilt hall. Kendra had already instructed me to direct potential donors to the forms at the hall entrance.
So, I smoothed my tuxedo and exchanged polite, albeit forced, conversations with the guests. A beefy older woman with silver curls had barely begun speaking to me when my knees unexpectedly buckled.
An angel from heaven, or a temptress from hell, I wasn’t sure.
Across the hall, Amantha skimmed over the floor in a fiery red silk gown, her distracting curves on display for anyone to see. Her bare shoulders edged the flaming straps of her dress. Scorching folds of silk wrapped taut around her waist beforefalling to the floor. I wondered what the silky waistline would feel like if I wrapped my hands around it.
The neck of my tuxedo refused to budge.
Completely unaware of my presence—which didn’t seem fair—Amantha turned around to chat with a guest.
