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The gallery is a hive of activity when I arrive. With the door propped open, I can hear delicate classical music floating through the air beneath the sound of lively conversation. I pay my cab fare and get out, feeling oddly nervous. It’s been a long time since I had friends who invited me to events that required dressing in cocktail attire—and by a long time, I mean never.
“Mia!” Fiona’s voice sounds behind me, and I turn to see her wearing a gorgeous high-necked black dress. Her dark hair is straight and blunt, just brushing her shoulders. Walking arm-in-arm with Grant, who’s wearing a smart black suit, she looks refined and stylish. “I’m so glad you decided to come.” She drops Grant’s arm and hugs me.
It’s true; I’d been a bit noncommittal about attending the opening. With everything going on with the rent increase and my money stress, it just seemed irresponsible to pay a babysitter so I could have a night out. But then I thought about how nice Georgia has been, and all the help I’ve gotten with Bailey’s pickups and babysitting over the summer, and I knew it would be pure cowardice to say no.
“I love your dress,” I tell Fiona.
“Oh, this old thing? Trina persuaded me to buy it, and I always trust her judgment when it comes to clothes.” She laughs. “I can’t pass up a good excuse to get dressed up. Come on. Let’s see what’s happening inside.”
“Mia! Fiona! Grant!” Simone comes bustling toward us as soon as we enter, enveloping us in hugs and kisses. I laugh, accepting her gushing compliments about my outfit and returning them. My nervousness evaporates; I belong here. We join the other ladies inside. Everyone’s here. Nora is back in town, her arm wrapped around Fallon’s. Lily and Rudy are in the far corner talking to Margaret, her twin sister Dorothy, and their partners Hamish and Eli. Trina and Candice join Simone to greet us by the front door.
“How amazing isthis?” Candice says, wearing an absolutelyincredibledress that has to be haute couture. More hugs. More compliments. More laughter.
Soon, I’m swept up in the community and friendship of all these women that I’d only been acquainted with by sight. We walk around admiring the art, sipping champagne, and eating little nibbles that vest-wearing waiters pass around the room.
Georgia, glowing in a deep blue gown, flits from one group of guests to another like a perfect hostess. When she gets to us, she kisses my cheek and thanks me for coming. “What do you think?” she murmurs. “How does it look?”
“It looks incredible,” I answer honestly. “These paintings are unreal.”
Her smile is bright, like there’s actual light emanating from her. “Oh! Des!” she says, turning slightly to look behind my shoulder.
I stiffen.
“Georgia,” he replies in a deep voice. “Congratulations on the opening. My grandparents send their apologies. They say it’s past their bedtime.”
Georgia laughs and waves a hand. “Thank you for coming on their behalf.”
I spin slowly, and I see my evil landlord looming just behind my left shoulder. I meet his dark, dark gaze, feeling like a deer that’s just realized she’s being stalked by a cougar.
His face remains impassive as he takes in my hair, my earrings, my dress. “Hello, Mia.”
“There’s Dorothy and Margaret,” Georgia exclaims. “I have to go thank Margaret for all her help. Excuse me.”
She floats away to greet her new guests, and I find myself face-to-face with the man who’s going to make me lose my business.
I wish he didn’t look so good in a suit. His crisp, white shirt hugs his broad shoulders perfectly, his navy pants equally expertly tailored. They’re probably bespoke.Ugh.
His jaw, I notice, is shaved; he didn’t come back after the first time. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
I scowl at him. “I’m surprised you had the nerve to show your face here. Are you extorting Georgia the same way you are me?”
The barest twitch of his eyebrow is the only evidence he heard my hissed question. “Extortion is a strong word, Ms. Abbott.”
“What would you call it?” My hip punches out, and I find myself squaring my shoulders like I’m preparing for a fight.
Argh! How does he do this? He takes me from happy, classy, and carefree to red-faced and furious.
“I would call it business,” he replies. “And Georgia wasn’t living in an apartment for free for the past nine years.” His eyes drop to my lips, then back down to my dress, lingering on the fabric clinging to my hips.
It must be my anger that makes heat rush to the surface of my skin. My dress feels too tight because I want to hulk out of it and attack him for being such a massive, arrogant jerk.
Yeah, that’s it. I just want to rip his head off his shoulders, and that’s why his slow perusal of my body makes me lose feeling in my fingertips.
Finally, after an eternity and a half, his gaze climbs back up to meet mine. “You should be nicer to the person who owns your lease.”
I splutter. “I should—you—I don’t—no.” I clamp my lips, lest the dragon’s fiery breath spew out and burn the whole building down. Instead, I lift my chin and stare down my nose at him. “Excuse me, Mr. Thomas.”
Then I turn my back on him and rejoin my friends, pretending I don’t feel his eyes on me the whole way. Later, when I can breathe again, I glance over my shoulder and notice he’s gone.
