Chapter Three
Annoyed Antony is one of my favorites. He ’ s merciless in taking his frustration out on my body. His version of listening involves a lot of hands everywhere. He did, however, agree to go to one of Boston ’ s annual charity events, somewhere between removing my underwear and getting me flat on my back…for four hours straight.
My subordination was paid in multiple orgasms. I ’ m pretty sure I came out on top—no pun intended—but I guess it was a win/win. He was in a much better mood the following day.
Come evening, my ass is still feeling the warming sting of Antony ’ s palm as his town car comes to a stop outside the Langham Hotel. I may have rushed to let myself out, to his displeasure and my amusement.
“ Must you always be so impatient?” he asks, coming to stand beside me, then waving off the driver.
“ Yes,” I reply. “ Besides, I ’ m quite capable of opening my own doors.”
Antony shakes his head as he leads us toward the entryway, a sigh escaping me as we walk through, taking in all the grandeur.
“ Why don ’ t you stay here anymore?”
“ Because, dear Vivienne, everyone else does.”
I snigger at that. Of course it ’ s his response.
Once we ’ re through to the function rooms, Antony gives his name to the man at the door. Not for the first time, and surely not the last, I notice with amusement how the greeter ’ s eyes widen with recognition and maybe even curiosity. Or is it shock? Who knows? It ’ s the same wherever we go—his name alone has a bizarre effect on those around him. I ’ ve never been able to get a real response from him when I ’ ve questioned it. The one and only time I caved and searched his name online, all I found were a few articles in Italian, and various pictures of him at events with a woman on his arm. Surprisingly, most of the images were of me with him. I gave up and closed out of that window fast. No one really wants to see their face splashed all over the Internet, regardless of how flattering the photos are. It ’ s…strange. I may have paid a tech friend to make me disappear after that.
The doorman recovers quickly with a polite smile before gesturing for us to enter through the wide double doors.
“ Your name precedes you yet again,” I quip.
A twitching of his lip is all the response I am to expect as we enter the room.
“ Wow,” I whisper, my eyes going wide.
All thoughts of Antony and his reputation evaporate at the exquisite and opulent ballroom.
Stunning marble pillars surround the door we walked through, making it seem seven feet tall once you enter the room. Two others just like it are on the opposite wall. I could almost imagine myself as Cleopatra with Marc Antony on my arm with all the detailing and extravagance the room holds. I snigger to myself at the thought, but it dies when my poor eyes fall on the extremely large, rather hideous paintings hanging on the wall between the doors of past Presidents. That, and the geometric carpet. They ’ re not my favorite features, but the big cherrywood bar toward the far-right corner might be. Well, at least until I glance up at the impossibly high ceiling and the intricate pattern dancing in the lights. It comes alive before my eyes. Flowers, vines, and leaves in dark gold ornate detail cover every edge and rim of the black square-patterned surface. The inner rows of squares have a similar finish, making for a magnificent 3D effect. I ’ m hypnotized until Antony purrs in my ear, drawing my attention back to the present and steering me further into the room, thankfully to the bar.
“ What are we doing here, bella ? ”
“ For cancer, obviously. Besides, you wanted to see more of what Boston has to offer. What better way to do that than at one of the most regarded charity functions of the year, and—”
I lie through my teeth, but I ’ m not going to tell Antony my true motivation. To be honest, I don ’ t even know what they are exactly. I know they have a name—I ’ ve just yet to determine the why behind it.
“ Yes, yes. I am aware of the objective of attending such an event but merely interested as to your spontaneous motivations. Plus, I ’ m only now noticing you in this dress.” His hand moves from the small of my back to palm the curve of my ass before gripping my hip and pulling me flush against him. “ Here is the only place I wish to be tonight.” His true meaning is painfully obvious, but I can ’ t help but wonder why he ’ s being more affectionate than usual. Well, in public at least.
“ Always at the ready, Antony.” I smirk up at him.
“ Only for you, amore mio . Only for you.” He ducks his head to kiss the nape of my neck and nip it playfully, making me laugh as he pulls back with a devilish grin. We both know that ’ s a lie. Antony has a different escort in every city. Though I have always had my suspicions that I am his favorite.
“ Vivienne? ”
A smile teases the edges of my mouth as Antony releases the grip on my hip, only to move it to my waist as I shift, coming face to face with a bewildered Jeremy.
“ Hello, Jeremy.” I ’ m not nearly as surprised to see him as he is me.
“ You look…incredible.”
His smooth jaw is a little slack, his eyes a little hungry. They trail the length of my midnight blue gown in a slow caress, giving me the impression he ’ s committing every detail to memory, until he comes to his senses and snaps them up to my face. A subtle pink stains his cheeks at getting caught perusing my body so blatantly for possibly the first time. Granted, the times we ’ ve met have been limited.
“ You ’ re not looking too shabby yourself. The full tux is quite impressive. Dashing and…manly.” My hand twitches, then before I can think better of it, rises, brushing fingers across his freshly shaved jaw. I relish the way his eyes darken. What the hell am I doing? “ Well, almost.” I titter, pulling my hand back smartly, and catch both men staring at me with narrowing eyes.
“ Vivienne? ” Antony chastises.
“ Where are my manners? Antony, this is Jeremy, a—an acquaintance of mine.” I arch an eyebrow at him. I ’ m not really sure what he is, but no stranger has ever caught my attention quite like this before. It ’ s a little disconcerting.
With all the social graces I lack, Jeremy says nothing but offers his hand.Antony, however, looks at the offered appendage a beat too long before taking it with more zeal than the situation demands.
“ Jeremy, this is Antony an—.”
“ Her date.”
Jeremy ’ s eyes widen, and I groan internally as he fixes me with a barely concealed accusatory glare, but only for a nanosecond before he reins it in.
“ Excuse us, would you?” Antony doesn ’ t wait for a reply but steers me off in the opposite direction. “ Vivienne, ” he chides.
I grab two flutes of bubbly stuff off a tray as a server passes us and hand one to Antony, downing half of mine in a quick mouthful. “ Lighten up, would you? It ’ s a party, remember? Don ’ t be a killjoy.”
God, I ’ m a fucking idiot. How did I possibly see this going down any other way. It ’ s not like Jeremy wouldn ’ t have eventually seen me at some point. My honey colored hair with its red tones and creamy complexion are rather distinguishable. Even amongst a crowd.
“ Killjoy? Does that boy give you joy?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, his lip twitching. I ’ d roll my eyes and laugh in his face, but my ass is still paying for the last time, and as Antony helpfully pointed out, it doesn ’ t bruise.
“ Do I currently seem like the joyous, juvenile type?”
He chortles deeply and shakes his head. “ No, the royally put-out type seems more befitting. Relax, Vivienne, it is a party, after all,” he mocks, and I scoff. “ Now, let me show you off to the other wealthy bastardos in this place. The reason we ’ re here, yes?”
“ Yes. Your favorite.”
“ Not quite.”
For forty minutes, I ’ m waved in front of every Tom, Dick, and Harry worth waving in front of. I smile seductively, playing my part as always, but the whole time I ’ m hyper-aware of Jeremy ’ s eyes following me around the room. Being watched—the feeling isn ’ t new to me, but this? It ’ s a burning presence I can ’ t shake, and it takes more effort than I ’ m used to not to seek him out in the crowd. What ’ s more unnerving is I don ’ t know why it feels different. Why he ’ s different.
He does look edible in that penguin suit, and I wonder if that ’ s why I ’ m struggling to think clearly right now. All I can focus on is how good that suit would look crumpled up on the floor. My eyes keep gravitating toward him, despite my best efforts, each time finding his gaze already directed at me. It ’ s unsettling how much that pleases me.
After a while, I leave Antony to his political nonsense and find myself staring at one of the most fascinating pieces of art I ’ ve ever seen. All the various objects up for auction are dispersed around three sections of the room, mostly on easels or raised platforms, but this one piece stands out among the masses. From a distance, the embracing couple appears almost unremarkable, sickly even, intertwined in their love. Yet once you step in either direction, the painting seems to shift, the couple moving closer or further apart. Up close, it ’ s even more captivating. Each brush stroke is visible to the naked eye, catching the light to distort your view. The longer I stare, the more I see, the more I love, and the more my thoughts start to waver; and piercing blue eyes a deep shade of sapphire stir around the edges of my mind.
Even the beautiful painting is struggling to hold my attention when all-too-familiar hands slip around my waist, yanking me from my errant thoughts and settling on my hips. Antony ’ s solid body presses up against my backside, once again uncharacteristically staking a claim. The disappointment I feel at his presence is unwelcome and unwarranted. What is wrong with me tonight? I must be coming down with something. Lustitis is surely a thing?
“ You like this one?” Antony whispers in my ear.
“ What?” My heart rate skyrockets with apprehension, and I resist my body ’ s stiffening response.
“ I can see why,” he adds.
I angle my head around to better see him, utterly confounded.
“ It ’ s very pleasing.”
The painting. Obviously, he can ’ t read my thoughts, which thankfully aren ’ t written all over my face. I almost want to sigh in relief, but it ’ s short-lived as I catch sight of Jeremy looking at me intently. At us. Ugh .
I twist in Antony ’ s arms, putting my back to Jeremy and dispelling the hands from my burning flesh. For a split second, I ’ m tempted to leave. All it would take is one look, one request, and Antony would rush us out of the building, his eager hands ravishing my body before we even made it to his penthouse suite. But I don ’ t.
“ It ’ s fascinating, isn ’ t it? Apparently, a local up-and-coming artist. His brush strokes are rather unique in the way he captures—”
“ Yes, I see.” Antony smiles, but it ’ s placating. “ I ’ m going to acquire something stronger from the bar. What would you like?”
“ Scotch. On the rocks.”
He nods before sauntering off, leaving me irked.
“ Where did you find that one?” Jeremy ’ s smooth voice greets me from behind a few moments later.
“ Not at an art exhibit,” I retort over my shoulder, not taking my eyes off the canvas.
“ I thought you didn ’ t date.” His tone is almost accusing.
It brings a smile to my lips. “ What do you think of this painting? I think the artist has real talent.”
“ Luke? Yeah, he does.”
“ You know the painter?”
“ He has a small gallery in Portsmouth. I asked if he ’ d be interested in contributing.”
I swing around and gawk at him wide-eyed. “ You did?”
“ He ’ s an old high school friend of mine.” He shrugs. “ I thought you said you didn ’ t date.” He raises an eyebrow, still expecting a response.
“ I don ’ t.”
“ Then what do you call this?” His head jerks toward Antony by the bar.
“ Business,” I state, one corner of my mouth flicking up as I shift my gaze to Antony shamelessly flirting with a barmaid.
“ You were correct about the painting, by the way.”
I glance back and find Jeremy studying my face. “ You were eavesdropping?”
“ I overheard in passing.”
Sure he did.
Antony draws my attention to him, his tall frame effortlessly parting the crowd as he makes his way back to where Jeremy and I are standing. Damn it .
“ Well, he ’ s one bright cookie,” Jeremy says nonchalantly, taking a swig of his drink.
“ It ’ s not his brain that stimulates me.” I wink and wander off, leaving Jeremy to choke on his drink, a strangled laugh following soon after.
Oh, what a charming picture I ’ m painting of myself. Whatever assumptions he ’ s coming to can ’ t be too far from the truth. “ Gold-digging whore” comes to mind. I pause in front of Antony, and he gives me my drink, his lips tilting up at the corners, an amused expression on his face. It ’ s not unpleasant, but it ’ s not exactly delighted either.
“ You ’ re on the clock, Vivienne.”
“ You never let me forget it, Antony.”
“ That boy is attracted to you.” I arch my brows at the statement, and he sniggers. “ Yes, well, that isn ’ t hard, or unusual. You are, and constantly will be, the most attractive and captivating woman in a room. He can ’ t help but be mesmerized by you.”
“ Then I don ’ t understand, what is your issue?”
“ He does not observe your body like other men.”
I frown, confused.
“ His eyes never leave your face. Unless someone touches you.” At this he smirks, wrapping a hand around my waist. His gaze flickers over my shoulder and lights with satisfaction. My skin heats, but not from Antony. Damn him. “ He ’ s infatuated with you, very much so for an acquaintance. Is he the one I found you with yesterday, from the bar?”
He already knows the answer. I can see it in his eyes. “ You know very well he is, but it ’ s not what you ’ re thinking. I was in fact in a meeting ten minutes prior. An innocent one,” I add for clarification.
Antony raises an eyebrow, and I sigh. “ I had a run-in with the revolving door.” I leave out that Jeremy was the cause of that, not to mention the almost-kiss that I wasn ’ t still thinking about. “ He was kind enough to buy me a drink.” I shrug, and his eyes narrow.
“ You still detest those doors?”
“ Yes. Can we drop it now? The auction is about to begin, and I want that painting.”
“ Very well. Shall we?” He offers his arm and drops the conversation, but somehow, I get the feeling that wasn ’ t the end of it.
We line up to register for the auction in the far corner of the room opposite the bar and are greeted by a mousy brunette, all rosy cheeks and batting eyelashes. Of course, Antony is all charm and seduction, milking his Italian accent for all it ’ s worth. Not that he has anything to gain from it. He just can ’ t help himself. The young girl doesn ’ t know what hit her. I titter to myself, and he catches my eye roll. The impish grin morphs into a frown when I grab the sign-up sheet for my own paddle.
“ What are you doing?”
“ Flying a kite. What does it look like?”
“ I can see what you are doing, Vivienne. Do not get smart with me. What I do not understand is the why?”
“ Because I want a paddle to hit you with?”
Antony pauses for a beat. His eyes twinkle as he stares at me a minute longer, and I can almost read the thoughts playing across his slightly glazed eyes.
“ Hm. I might like that.” He wiggles his eyebrows, picking up our paddles.
The poor girl in front of us goes bright red, and laugh escapes me. “ You ’ re incorrigible. ”
“ Come, let ’ s get this over with. I want to get you naked,” he whispers in my ear.
“ Always so impatient, Antony.” I tease, making my way to the center of the room. Antony is hot on my heels, patting my ass with the paddle. Ouch! But damn it if that doesn ’ t turn me on some. “ You break it, you bought it . You know the rules.”
”I already did,” he purrs in my ear, coming to stand beside me.
“ Only for three more days.”
“ Then I better make them count.” He pinches one of my ass cheeks, and a yelp escapes me.
“ Hey!” I admonish, hitting him on the forearm with my paddle. “ No marking. You ass.”
“ I do believe it was yours, not mine.” He chuckles under his breath as the room is called to order by none other than Maxwell, my fresh meat.
I ’ d forgotten that he mentioned the event as well. I had no idea however that he was involved with it, but Jeremy had said more than half of the building was. Recognition flares in his eyes when they land on me as he sweeps the crowd. The makeshift stage giving him a perfect view of all assembled. His brows lift ever so slightly and the corner of his mouth twitches as he acknowledges my presence, taking in my attire with one quick glance down the length of me. I give a sharp nod in response when his eyes reach mine once more before his attention returns to the rest of the crowd.
“ Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure and honor to welcome you all here tonight to our ninth annual auction for pancreatic cancer.” The room fills with applause, and my attention wavers, zoning out whatever Maxwell says next. For once, I find Jeremy looking elsewhere, his attention focused forward, presumably unaware of me watching him. My forehead puckers as I continue to stare, wishing I knew what it was about him that seems to…grab me? It would be easier to turn it off, or ignore it.
“…we begin the auction with this lovely sculpture…” I tune back in to the auctioneer now on stage, only to tune him out again.
“ I ’ m going to the bar for another drink.”
I don ’ t wait for a reply. Instead, I make my way through the crowd to the back, finishing off the one in my hand and giving a wide berth to Jeremy ’ s location.
“ Scotch, please,” I request as soon as I reach the bar, debating making it a double.
“ Ice? ”
Screw it . “ No ice, and double, thanks.”
The bartender gives me a knowing grin and walks off. I frown at his back, confused.
“ Not your thing?”
I startle at Jeremy catching me off guard and shrug, noncommittal.
“ Why come, then?” A very good question, one I still don ’ t have the answer to. His probing eyes search me as if he knows and is looking for confirmation.
I sigh, for the first time wishing he ’ d stop looking. “ Business. I told you. And for cancer. Plus, this hotel is exquisite—any excuse to come again.” I should be concerned with how easy bending the truth comes to me, but I guess it comes with the job.
The bartender returns with my drink, and I thank him, tapping my phone to his card machine before taking a big swig, cooling my jets. “ This room might have just become my favorite. I ’ m surprised I ’ ve not been in here before—I could stare at the ceiling all night long.” I turn around, leaning against the edge of the bar and look up to do just that.
“ Do you stay here often?”
I smile at his question and wonder what he ’ s thinking. I could tell him—the opening is right there. It would be so easy to just come out and say it…
“ Not nearly as often as since I moved back.” I bring my gaze back down and toward Jeremy, giving him a small smile, seeing the incoherent questions and thoughts racing across his eyes. He must suspect—he looks clever and sweet. Too sweet.
Run along …
“ What kind of business do you do? You mentioned consulting.”
I groan under my breath, wishing I ’ d never mentioned that. What an idiot. I catch Luke ’ s name being called out by the auctioneer and my face splits with a grin at my perfect out. “ The expensive kind. With millionaires and politicians and businessmen with too much time on their hands, but that ’ s my cue.” Once again, I walk off on him, feeling his growing frown following me as I lose myself in the crowd.
Why didn ’ t I just tell him? Surely, he ’ d lose interest then.
Maybe that ’ s what I ’ m afraid of.
Maybe I need to get my head examined, because I ’ ve clearly lost my friggen mind.
I reach Antony ’ s side, my nerves a little frazzled, when the first bid is called on my soon-to-be painting.
“ Two hundred to the woman on my left.”
I begin to lift my paddle when Antony ’ s firm hand pushes it down. “ Five hundred, ” he bellows out, raising his own and sending me a sideways glance with a wink.
I grin, but it ’ s short-lived when Jeremy ’ s unmistakable baritone yells out behind me in the crowd. “ Eight hundred.”
What the? Oh no …
“ One thousand,” Antony ’ s quick response comes, and if I didn ’ t know better, I ’ d say he sounded almost entertained, his voice more derisive than normal.
“ Twelve hundred.” What is Jeremy doing?
“ Two thousand, five hundred.”
Antony is amused. His countenance reeks of it. I cut him a look, and he has the audacity to appear confused and affronted. He raises his shoulders and mouths, “ What?”
“ Twenty-five hundred to the man on my right,” the auctioneer says, getting in quick.
“ Three thousand!”
“ Four!”
“ Oh, for fuck ’ s sake.” I ’ ve had enough of this pissing contest. “ Seven thousand,” I scream out, raising my paddle and shooting Antony a don ’ t-you-even-think-about-it glare, hopefully putting an end to this ridiculous game.
“ A wonderful seven thousand to the woman on my right in blue. Going once. Going twice?” The auctioneer looks around, his eager eyes searching the crowd like a shopaholic at her next sale, but the luminosity in his gaze diminishes when he ’ s met with no resistance. “ Sold.” He slams his gavel down, and I squeal with glee.
“ Well done.” Antony ’ s condescending tone ruins my moment.
“ Yes, well, if you want something done, you do it yourself,” I say. Antony scoffs in response. “ I ’ m going to finalize my purchase. When you ’ re done, meet me by the door? I ’ m bored.”
He nods, smiling, and shaking with a quiet chuckle as I walk off, and I wonder why he ’ s so amused and letting me get away with the attitude.
I ’ ve just finished paying when Jeremy comes up behind me. “ Congratulations.”
I shoot him a dubious smile over my shoulder.
“ No, really. I ’ m glad you won.”
“ Is that so? Could have fooled me.” I turn around, heading for the door when he pulls on my arm.
“ Wait. I ’ m sorry.”
“ For what? For trying to buy my painting, or for trying to outbid my…”
“ Date? ”
“ What are you playing at?” I all but whisper-shout at him.
“ Business?” he ribs.
This has all gone to shit. Why I thought mixing business with…god, I don ’ t even know what this is, but it was not a good idea. And damn it, why are my feathers so ruffled? I feel like a cat that ’ s been rubbed the wrong way.
I sigh and shake my head. “ What were you trying to achieve?”
“ Come to Luke ’ s gallery with me.”
“ What? Why?”
“ Because you need to see the rest of his work.”
I narrow my eyes in a vain attempt at pulling the truth from his rather plump, hypnotic mouth— shit . His lips curl into an amused smirk, and my gaze darts upward to his sparkling eyes. Damn it .
“ Because I like you.”
“ You shouldn ’ t.”
“ Why?”
Because I ’ ll eat you alive and spit you out , is what I should say. “ When?”
“ Whenever, but he has a special viewing next week.”
I ’ ll be Antony-free…
“ Friday night?”
Prime date night? Ha . I mentally scoff. “ No can do.” I ’ ll surely have a client, and regardless, I ’ m not doing the date thing. “ How long do you get for lunch?” Yeah, because that ’ s much better.
“ Okay. Meet me at work, then?”
“ Wednesday? Twelve thirty?”
“ It ’ s a date.” His lips thin as he fights a laugh.
“ It ’ s a long lunch.” I begin to walk off when he wraps his hand around my wrist.
“ How do I contact you?”
“ You don ’ t.”
I retract my hand and quicken my pace before Antony sees the exchange. I have a feeling I wouldn ’ t be able to walk for a week if he did, and I highly doubt I ’ d like that, much. I ’ m racking up the stupid tally this week, and I have no friggen idea why.