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Be cool, Mackenzie.
“According to Alex, the studio has gotten a lot of donations,” he continued. “Donations and offers to buy up pieces. A lot of them from the richer folks, but so far, no one is selling. There’s a lot to be said about how much demand there is for the things the rich can’t take for themselves.” His grin widened. “But several have been approached about commissions. Including several inquires about a few of your pieces, and you, yourself. I wanted to talk to you before giving your information out, though.”
My head swam. So much was happening all at once. I had dreamed of this moment, and for so long, it’d seemed like just that. A dream. A fantasy that a starry-eyed little girl would entertain, but not a full-grown woman.
“I… I want to consider it,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry. “Show me who these mystery inquirers are.”
The mystery inquirers ranged from middle class New Yorkers looking for some custom art, to people in the upper echelons of Walker’s world. People with so much wealth and power, I could barely comprehend them speaking to me, let alone wanting to work with me. I kept my cool though, giving out my Instagram account info—it was all I had, but it was a solid representation of my work, as I was getting more and more comfortable posting my pieces and even my in-progress paintings.
One of Walker’s buddies gave me the name of a top-notch web designer who could put together a proper website for me. I didn’t ask about the cost, figuring I’d deal with that later. If I sold just one or two paintings, I could afford to re-invest in my business.
I got the details of a few people who wanted custom pieces for their homes and arranged to meet with them in the coming weeks and months to secure a proper freelance contract.
And this was all happening because Walker had seen something in me, in the other artists at my studio, and had wanted to help.
When it became a little too overwhelming, I excused myself and asked Walker to come outside with me. Instead of walking out the front, however, I took him upstairs and led him to the rooftop. The air was cool and crisp. You couldn’t quite call it clear, not here in New York, but it was… familiar. It was the city air I had grown up with and the skyline I had looked out over as a child, dreaming her little dreams.
Ironic, given the situation, how close those dreams were to coming true for the night.
The bubble will burst soon. The carriage will turn back into a pumpkin.
That day loomed ahead of me, and even though I’d known it was coming all along, it twisted like a knife in my gut. Every minute I spent with Walker made it feel like I had more to lose.
I leaned over the railing that lined the roof and breathed in deep.
“You alright?” His deep baritone rumbled in his chest as he came up beside me.
“Better than alright,” I asserted, pushing away my melancholy and allowing myself to live in the dream for a few more moments. “I don’t think—Walker, you can’t understand, how much this means to me tonight. Everything. The event planning, the catering, the people. Holy shit, the people. I—I don’t want to seem like this is the only important thing to me with everything going on between us but—”
He held up his hand.
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” he said. “I offered this. To you, to your friends, because you deserve it. I don’t expect a thanks. I don’t want a thanks. I just want you to be happy.” He lowered his head, his cobalt blue eyes burning as he gazed at me with an expression so intense it made my stomach flip-flop. “Which I think, right now, you are?”
I nodded, the truth falling from my lips. “Very much.”
“Then your happiness is all the thanks I need from you.”
He wrapped his arms around me, and we leaned against the railing like that together. My back against his front, his body pressed to mine. The feel of him behind me, so warm and solid, hard in all the right places, made heat flare up inside me. Turning in the small space between his body and the railing, I wrapped my arms around him. The desire burning through me was wildly inappropriate for the setting, but there was no one around right now, and there was nothing that stopped me from molding my body to his, feeling him respond to my touch immediately.
He smelled like some elegant brand of foreign cologne that I probably wouldn’t be able to pronounce the name of, a touch of whiskey, a hint of aftershave. I buried my face against his chest and just… breathed him in. I felt his breath puff against the top of my head, taking in my own scent. He’d told me the other day, in a post-sex haze, how much he had missed the way I smelled. I loved fruity, girly things, and apparently, he’d come to associate that sweet aroma with me.
I liked that way more than I should. To know that his brain had tortured him with memories of me just like mine had done about him.
But we weren’t reliving old memories now. We were making new ones.
And come what may, I was going to make them good.
Still wrapped around him, I leaned up onto my tiptoes and buried my face in the crook of his neck. I nipped him there, impulsively. He shuddered, letting out a low growl.
“You’re starting something you can’t finish, Macks. Not here, at least.”
I smiled.
“Well, I guess that just means we have something to look forward to after this amazing evening ends, huh?”
His hands slid down my back, pressing me even closer, and he kissed me so thoroughly I started to seriously consider ditching out on the rest of the show so we could get to the end of the evening quicker.
When he pulled away, a wicked light gleamed in his eye, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. He adjusted himself discretely, fixed my lipstick with his thumb, and then slid his hand into mine. “Come on, lady of the hour. Much as I might want to, I can’t keep you from your adoring fans for too long.”
