Page 119 of Rush

I roll my eyes.

“Is this another name I need to add to the list instead of just using your actual name,Eleanor?” Mortimer says, but his tone is light almost playful.

Eleanor, my eye twitches. What the hell is going on?…Did he just make a joke?

Soft laughter reverberates through the group, and the blood rushes to my face.

“Dinner will be served shortly,” someone announces, saving me from further weirdness.

Everyone drifts toward their seats. I brush past Jack, who’s next to Riley.

“Reckon that fella likes you, kiddo,” he says, nudging me.

“Oh my God, Dad, stop,” I hiss, cheeks scorching even more.

Taking my seat between Riley and Broderick, I’m painfully aware of the deliberate space between us. Every time his arm brushes mine, it sparks like a livewire.

Riley leans in as everyone settles, voice low enough only I can hear.

“So…I spoke with Andrew’s aunt.”

I arch a brow, sipping my drink. “The one with the diamonds the size of grapes?”

She nods, eyes gleaming. “Yeah. Turns out she owns a vast collection of Pollocks.”

“Naturally.”

“I convinced her to let us display a few at the gallery,” she says, practically vibrating. “My boss is going to lose it.”

“Riley!” I grab her arm, grinning so hard it hurts. “That’s incredible. Boss babe energy. I’m so freaking proud of you.”

I pull her into a hug, squeezing tight.

She shrugs, cheeks flushed. “Yeah, I needed a distraction. And, well…I happened to get acquainted with her during a game of croquet.”

“Croquet?”

“Mmhmm.” Her eyes flick—not subtly—across the room. Toward Luca, stoic at his post in a tailored black suit.

Something happened. But I know Riley. Timing is everything.

“You seduced your way into the Pollock deal playing croquet?” I whisper.

“Technically, I won.” She smirks. “She was impressed with my wrist action.”

I snort champagne up my nose. “Years of practice.”

She chuckles, sipping her drink. “She also mentioned needing commissioned work for her Aspen place—she wants ‘bold, feminine energy.’ I showed her a few of my pieces, and she wants something—from me!”

My jaw drops. “Riley…this is huge.”

“I know,” she says, eyes gleaming between disbelief and pride. “Feels like New York’s finally giving me a seat at the table.”

“You’re not just at the table, babe. You’re carving it yourself.”

Her eyes shimmer. She bumps my shoulder. “You’re gonna make me cry and ruin my mascara.”

“You can cry,” I murmur, raising my glass. “You’re living your dream.”