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Marti stepped closer and shushed him, glancing around her to ensure no one heard. This was an exclusive show, invitation only and a lot of important collectors were present. If it appeared they were snubbing the artist who was deemed “New York’s up-and-coming Picasso,” it wouldn’t bode well for her image or for PopNewz.
“Have you no couth?” she asked. Then she shook her head. “What am I saying? Look who I’m talking to.”
“You’re telling me you know what that blob is?” He motioned to the canvas.
Marti stared at the painting a little longer, then huffed out a breath. “Okay, fine. I have no idea.”
Logan chuckled, then squinted. “It’s a Ferris wheel. It has to be.”
“I don’t see it.”
“Yeah, it’s circular,” Logan said. “And see those little blue blobs? Those are the seats and—”
“So what are the little yellow things that look like worms?”
“Hmmm.” Logan squinted.
Marti peered at the plaque below the canvas, reading, “It’s a visual exploration of audial output.”
Logan raised a brow but said nothing, looking thoroughly perplexed. Though she hated herself for it, she smiled.
If Marti were being honest, she had dreaded this date. She wasn’t particularly a huge fan of these kinds of events. They were often dry, and she found herself putting on a show, feigning interest. Normally, it left her with a headache. Blue only requested she attend because it was good for her image to rub elbows with some of the guests here. Throw Logan into the mix, and she had wanted to attend about as much as she wanted an enema.
As she and Logan worked the room, moving from one painting to the next, trying to figure out what on earth each one was supposed to be, she found herself surprised with how much she was enjoying herself. Suddenly, she was grateful she hadn’t come alone.
“Okay, what about this one?” Logan asked. “This has to be a dude surfing. Right?”
Marti’s lips twitched, and her side hurt from holding in her laughter. Her eyes scanned the painting. It was a cloud of blue with a black blob in the middle.
She tapped a finger over her lips, then said, “I’m going with the aftermath of an explosion. It looks like a dust cloud.”
“No way. Unless there were people in the explosion. You’ve got this thing here.” Logan pointed to a flesh-colored blob and his eyes crinkled.
“Maybe it’s a visual reflection of war,” Marti said in a solemn tone, mimicking the explanations of the plaques they’d been reading. “Let’s see . . .” She trailed off as she stepped forward, eyeing the inscription below the painting. “It’s a reflection on the human condition.”
They both stared straight ahead, blinking before they burst into laughter. Marti’s body shook, and Logan fisted a hand in front of his mouth, turning his amusement into a cough when the man next to them glared in disapproval.
“What does it even mean?” He wiped the tears from his eyes.
“I have no idea,” Marti choked out, stifling a laugh.
“See, you act all high and mighty, Little Miss Sophisticated, but you’re just as clueless as I am.”
“I never claimed to be an art buff.” She took a sip of her champagne, eyeing him.
When he wasn’t purposely trying to goad her, he was actually kind of fun. Imagine that.
He scoffed. “When I first got here, you were so tense, staring at the paintings like an art critic.”
“That was just me fighting off my aversion to you.”
“Your attraction, you mean.” Logan winked. “It’s cool. I can see how you might confuse the two.”
Marti snorted and placed a hand on his chest, giving him a playful shove. His hand closed over hers before she could pull away, and they locked eyes. Energy zipped. Her smile faded, and her stomach flipped.
Instinctively, she pulled her hand out from under his, but he gripped her firmly. “A couple, remember?” he whispered into her ear, his hot breath tickling her skin.
Her breath snagged. Right.
