Page 97 of Make Me Scream

“Please, Lane. Come with me. We’ll go outside and talk.”

“Sorry, no.”

“How is this going to help?” I ask, whispering in his ear. “How does it get you closer to what you want? All you’re doing is making a complete ass of yourself. You’re just being petty!”

Lane takes my upper arms in his hands; I fight off the impulse to shake him off.

“This is all out war,” he says. “And Rush lives for events like this. Do you think he really cares about your friend?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Trust me, he doesn’t. He only cares about himself and his prestige. He’s not here to celebrate Joel’s talent, he’s celebrating himself for finding and elevating Joel’s talent.”

“Maybe so,” I say. “But you’re just going to piss him off. It’s not actually going to hurt his reputation or anything. It’s just going to makeyoulook bad. You know how you can win but the price of winning is too high so it’s not worth it? That’s what this is.”

“You’re wrong. Rush already fired me, so what else do I have to lose?”

“Me!”

The word comes out louder than I intend, and as soon as it does I can feel eyes turning toward us.

“Gwen-”

“Please, Lane. Not tonight. Do whatever you need to do, but not tonight.”

He stops and thinks. The wheels are turning in his head, and I’m almost sure he’s going to relent when Mundell approaches.

“Excuse me,” he says, stepping up to us. “Lane, would you come with me, please?”

I look around; more guests have filled up the gallery, and while most are still focused on Joel and his art, several have noticed the developing confrontation. It’s not going to take long for us to become the center of attention.

“Hello, Rush,” Lane says, his voice louder than it needs to be. “How’s the nose feeling? It looks completely better.

I hadn’t thought about it, but he’s right: Professor Mundell’s nose looks perfectly fine.

“Let’s go talk in private, okay?”

“Actually, I just got here,” Lane says, waving the champagne glass around the gallery. “How about you show me this breathtaking collection and give me your insights? They haven’t all sold yet, have they?”

Mundell grits his teeth, face turning red.

“Not right now, Lane. Go home, before you do something regrettable.”

I step back and look away, done with both of them. Murmurs that once hung in the air like an enveloping fog now intensify, focused on the building tension.

Lane raises his glass.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on discovering the next generational talent. The beauty he creates will transcend time and persist long after we’re both forgotten.”

Mundell pauses, as if sensing a trap. “Thank you,” he says. “I agree. Mr. Franklin will capture imaginations for decades, and we’re lucky to have him in our family.”

“I’m really proud of you, Rush. For once you’ve used your position to elevate a worthy artist, instead of the one willing to sleep with you.”

For fuck’s sake.

A stir rises from those in earshot, their gasps and whispers congealing into a proper commotion. I’ve heard enough of it. I start to walk away, but stop when Joel slips through the crowd.

This is not happening. He worked too hard.

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