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"A beer would be wonderful," I hear Mr. Flynn say in a deep, rumbly tone that makes my knees feel legitimately weak. Ugh, for the second time today I have secondhand embarrassment for myself.
"Oh, Bessie!" Cherith calls out shrilly, as if summoning an actual farm animal.
I whip around, my eyes wide with disbelief, trying to temper the anger and embarrassment rising in me.The fucking nerve.She has gone too fucking far. To act like that in front of a client is unprofessional, but to try and cut me down in front of someone she knows I admire is purposeful cruelty.
Steeling myself with a deep breath, I walk calmly over to them.
"Bessie," Cherith says with a cruel grin. "This is Mr. Flynn, our special guest this evening. And you know Mr. Beckett already. Haven't you taken, like, all of his classes this year? Ezra, you might need a restraining order for this one. I swear, I think she might have sold everything she owns to take your classes," she laughs coquettishly, laying her hand on Ezra's shoulder.
My stomach drops, embarrassment rolling through me in harsh waves that threaten to pull me under. I've never once wanted to run away, to hide myself or quit on the spot because of her bullying bullshit. But right now, I'd welcome the earth itself opening up and swallowing me whole just to get away from the scrutiny of the five people staring back at me. I can't look up at them, my eyes searching out the shiny bits of stone in the granite flooring.
Mr. Vandreth clears his throat next to me. "Would you be a doll and fetch Mr. Flynn a beer?"He nudges me softly, probably trying to break the tension, but I can’t help but recoil from the contact. I can’t breathe through the rage, disbelief, and absolute mortification that is flowing rampantly through my veins right now.
Nodding quietly and turning away, because I'm not about to make a scene in front of any client, much lesstheseclients, I head toward the small bar near the back of the gallery.My eyes are burning as much as my face is, and I’m not sure how much longer I can handle this kind of scrutiny. It’s probably only been seconds, but I feel like I’ve been drowning in my own humiliation for far longer.
Just get their drinks, and go lock yourself in your office until the exhibition is over. Better yet, maybe you can slip out and get one ofthe bartenders to text you when everyone is gone.
"Beth!" I hear Ezra say, all but commanding my body to stop moving. Like he's some kind of alpha from a book I've read, and my omega genes can't resist following his commands. Maybe later, when I’m trying to forget today, that'll be a fun fantasy to explore. For now, I just focus on holding back my tears as I turn slowly, plastering a professional smile on my face.
But Ezra isn't looking at me. He's staring at Cherith. The fire that burns in his eyes would put the fear of damnation into most people. But he’s met his match with the likes of Cherith, because she truly doesn’t see anything wrong with her behavior. She really thinks that treating people like they are beneath you is how you boost your status to the people around you.
Ezra’s eyes flit towards Mr. Vandreth. If he’s waiting for him to reprimand his employee, he’s barking up the wrong tree. Cherith has him by the balls. There never has been, and never will be, retribution for her behavior, because he’s too afraid she’ll throw a shit fit and threaten to deny his access to her diamond encrusted ass.
Mr. Vandreth chuckles awkwardly. "Oh, these girls, always joking around. It's all in good fun, right Cherith? Bes-I mean- Beth?" He cringes as he accidentally calls me the wrong name. Cherith stifles a laugh beside him.
I have to dig my fingers into my palms to keep from flinching. Instead of looking at or responding to my boss and coworkers, I turn my attention to the two gentlemen that we are supposed to be catering to tonight. Their eyes burn into me with fury and pity, the latter of which hurts the most.
"I’m so sorry, Mr. Beckett—” I mutter.
“Ezra,” he corrects. I do call him by his first name in class, which is what he prefers, but it felt impolite in this situation. I’m already so ashamed of how The Gregg is being represented tonight. “Youhave nothing to be sorry for, Beth.”
“Okay, Ezra,” I concede, trying to move past this entire situation. “Would you like a glass of red wine?" I ask, turning my attention back to him, remembering his preference from previous parties.“And I’ll get that beer for you, Mr. Flynn.”
"No, thank you," Flynn says gruffly, and my spirits drop even more. To have made such a poor impression on any client, much less one whose work I respect so much, is heartbreaking.
Flynn surprises me when he continues. "Actually, we were just headed over to speak toBethwhen you rudely interrupted us. If it's okay with you, I'd like to accompany you to the bar." With that, Callaghan Flynn smoothly extracts himself from the brown nosers and offers me his arm.
It takes me far too long to overcome my surprise, and I stand there gawking at him. Ezra gently touches my elbow, jarring me from my thoughts. I accept the proffered arm and walk away between them. I can feel the muscles of his strong arms that I saw earlier today through his tailored suit jacket, the warmth seeping into me as he pulls my arm tighter around his. He's close enough that his woodsy scent makes me almost dizzy.
When we arrive at the bar, I shakily order for both Flynn and Ezra, trying to pull myself together with them at my back. Ezra leans on the counter next to me.
"And whatever she’d like as well,” Ezra tells the bartender, gesturing to me as he pulls out his wallet. The bar is paid for,but most of our attendees always make sure to tip well during events. “Beth, what do you like to drink?"
"Oh, thank you, but I shouldn't. I'm working."
"Thatbitch is drinking," the gruff voice behind me deadpans. I stifle my laugh.
"She's the event coordinator," I say plainly, cringing as I notice Cherith wobbling a little on her stiletto heels. At least that explains why she's gotten so out of hand. "She doesn't normally act like this. She must have forgotten to eat." That's a lie. Cherith regularly gets tipsy on the job, and I know she regularly skips meals on purpose. Talking about how little she eats is a matter of pride for her and one of her favorite topics.
Mr. Flynn rolls his eyes. "So, being theevent coordinatormeans she can drink on the clock?"
I shrug.
"I'm Cal, by the way," the big man says, holding out his hand to shake mine. When I accept his hand, he wraps his much larger one around mine and gives it a firm shake, a real honest to goodness handshake that makes me feel like a respected professional. Don't ask me why that makes my stomach do a little flip, but it does.
"Beth Heaton, and it's truly a pleasure to meet you. I'm a fan of your work, and I was really excited that you chose our gallery to exhibit your photography." I do my best not to look at him in any way that suggests I’ve stared at his junk. My attempt at acting like I’ve never seen him before seems to amuse him, but he lets me off the hook.
"Ezra wouldn't let me show anywhere else," he laughs.
