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Gavin had his eyeson Bill and followed him as he slowly advanced toward Brooke. Blake touched his shoulder, and Gavin looked at him. Blake motioned that he was going to go around the crowd toward the front. There hadn’t been time to explain much, but Blake had caught on quickly that there was a problem and Brooke could be in danger. That had been all he’d needed to know.
Nodding, Gavin turned back and tried to find Bill. He wasn’t where he’d spotted him previously. Where the hell had he gone?
Dread settling on his stomach, he frantically searched the crowd. There he was. Bill wasn’t hurrying, but he was steadily moving closer and closer toward Brooke.
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Brooke’s hands feltclammy, her heart was racing, and for a minute, the whole room tilted precariously. Oh, my goodness, she couldn’t be sick now; it would be a disaster.
With an eye on Bill and focusing on her breathing, she began to thank everyone. She had to get this over with as soon as possible. “Thank you for being here tonight, it means the world to me.”
Bill had stopped moving for the moment; there was a solid line of people in front of him.
“Please have a drink and something to eat and enjoy the evening with us.”
She was really not feeling well. If she didn’t sit down soon, she was going to keel over.
“Ms. Davidson, a question?” someone asked. Brooke recognized him. A journalist.
Swallowing, Brooke tried what she hoped was a smile. “Of course.”
“Like all your work, these are beautiful but they’re so different from what you’ve done before. We’re used to your landscape paintings, your commentary on the environment, but all of your paintings here feature the same couple over and over?” The journalist grinned. “Anything you want to share with us?”
Keeping her smile in place, she gave him a vague answer. “It’s always a good idea to break the experience of observing a work of art into two different categories: formal and content. All art, whether it’s visual art, music, film, literature or poetry can be appreciated in terms of its form and its content. The formal observation is about the artwork’s physical features and characteristics whereas the content observations...”
Her eye caught Bill’s again. He’d managed to move closer to her and was now about four rows from the front. “Anyway, we ask questions about the meaning of the work, the artist’s intentions, and how the art makes us feel when we look at it.”
Bill was still approaching, his gaze never leaving her.
“ So there is no right or wrong way to appreciate a work of art—everyone would have a different interpretation.”
“Any more questions?” She really hoped not, but the next minute, Bill’s hand shot up.
“So, Brooke...” It was immediately clear he’d had too much to drink. With his gaze on her, he swayed forward until people in the second row from her stopped his progress. Irritated, he tried to move past them, but nobody paid him any heed.
Time for her to escape. “Thanks again to Michelle for making this possible. Enjoy yourselves!”
Michelle was right behind her and took Brooke’s place when she stepped away. With a last glance over her shoulder in Bill’s direction, Brooke hastened to the bathroom. Hopefully, she’d make it before she was sick—and before Bill could reach her.
––––––––
The moment Brooke leftthe podium, Gavin hurried forward in her direction, but the crowd was dispersing, and everywhere he turned were people. Where the hell had she gone to now? He’d just looked away for a moment, and now he couldn’t see her.
And then he saw Bill staggering in the direction of the bathrooms. He had to be going after Brooke.
Frantically, he looked around for Blake, but he couldn’t see him either. Muttering an excuse, he elbowed his way through the people standing in his way, and as soon as he could, he began to jog in the direction where he’d last seen Bill.
––––––––
Just as Brooke openedthe restroom door, a clammy hand on her shoulder stopped her. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. His breath gave him away. Bill freaking Norton.
Fed up with him, with feeling sick, she turned to glare at him. “What do you want, Bill?”
He got hold of her elbow, and swearing, he forcefully pulled her toward him. “You got me fired,” he snarled.
His mouth was moving, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. She was going to be sick. Frantically, she tried to pull away, but Bill had a surprisingly tight grip on her arm.
“You got yourself fired, you idiot. Let me go!”
