The Gallery is exactlywhat it sounds like, a too-cool-for-school art space in an old bank vault where beautiful people come to pretend they’re not desperate for attention. Tonight, it’s been decorated for Jaxon’s birthday, which means the pretense of sophistication has been replaced by straight-up debauchery. Inside the vault’s massive circular door, which is very JamesBond, if Bond shopped at Supreme, neon art installations throb in time with a string quartet that’s doing weird things to Taylor Swift songs.
Dante and I step out of the private elevator, and the air seems to hold its breath as we emerge into the champagne-soaked atmosphere. We navigate through a sea of perfect cheekbones and Academy Award winners.
Dante offers me a glass of champagne with a hibiscus flower floating in it, and I take it. The event photographer swarms, and I freeze instinctively, but his hand rests on my lower back, steadying me. I flash my brightest smile for the camera.
“What’s next on your rebellious agenda?”
“Causing trouble, obviously,” I whisper.
“You’re getting dangerously good at this,” Dante hums, his fingers ghosting across my back like he’s teaching me proper form again.
I spot Jaxon weaving through the crowd. His shirt’s already half undone, drinks sloshing in both hands as he staggers toward us. Even drunk, he carries himself with that particular brand of invincibility, the kind that makes me want to roll my eyes and hide in the bathroom simultaneously.
Can’t exactly ghost the birthday boy whose party we’re crashing for our own agenda.
“Sinclaaaair!” The nickname feels like nails on a chalkboard.
“Happy birthday, Jaxon.” I dodge his attempt at a hug with the grace of someone who’s had plenty of practice. Before he can respond, Dante steps forward, his presence commanding immediate attention.
“Dante Hastings,” he introduces himself, his handshake firm and purposeful. "Olympic fencer and combat coordinator for the film.” His voice carries a quiet authority that makes Jaxon’s previous posturing seem almost childish.
“A new…friend?” Jaxon’s gaze slides over him like he’s sizing up competition, though Dante’s presence fills the room in a way Jaxon’s never could. He turns back to me. “Quite the crew change-up. First a genre jump, now this.”
“I’m taking my new role very seriously,” I counter. A small part of me cringes at how eager I sound, but I can’t help showing off a little. “You should see what an accomplished gold medalist can put you through. Proper swordplay is quite the workout.”
Jaxon’s smile tightens at the corners. “I didn’t realize you were so serious about your new role.”
“She’s mastering it beautifully,” Dante interjects. “Natural talent combined with dedication. It’s rare to find both. Surely you understand.”
Jaxon’s jealousy practically radiates off him. “Rough break about Felix jumping ship. Word is he walked because of you.”
Dante tenses beside me, but I brush my shoulder against his—our own private Morse code. “That’s not why Felix left the project,” I say, using my PR voice. “Creative differences, you know how it goes. As executive producer, I had to do what was best for the story. Bless your heart for keeping up with all the industry gossip, though.”
Jaxon’s chest puffs like a peacock’s. “EP? Since when?”
“Since last week. It’s a little overdue if you ask me.” I straighten my spine. “Thanks for having us, darling. Save the date forRobyn Hood’spremiere in July?”
He grunts. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Dante’s wink is pure mischief. “Nice meeting you, Jason.”
“Jaxon.”
We slip away, and I’m buzzing with the kind of giddy rebellion I haven’t felt since sneaking out of my first Hollywood party at sixteen. Maybe it’s rude to snub him at his own birthday, but after all the PR stunts he dragged me into duringLove and Loathing, turnabout feels like fair play.
“How’s that for sending Felix a message?” I grin up at Dante, feeling light as champagne bubbles. “Jaxon’s the biggest gossip in town; this’ll be everywhere by morning.”
“He’s quite…what’s the word I’m looking for? A dick.”
“That’s a diplomatic way of putting it,” I laugh. “I’ve never been so bold with him before.”
“And?”
“It feels like…” I pause, savoring the moment. “Like I’m finally writing my own lines. Oh look, liquid courage!” I snag two shots from a passing tray, the amber liquid glinting in the low light. “Care to join me?”
Dante shakes his head. “Sorry, fighter. New training program means I’m sticking to water tonight.”
“Such discipline,” I tease, but secretly, his restraint makes my pulse quicken. “Well then, more trouble for me.” I raise both shots in a mock toast. “To making headlines!” The liquor burns sweet and dangerous down my throat.
