Chapter 15
chapter fifteen
never confuse networking with flirting. your heart my break
If Dante had lived long enough to invent celebrity culture, the ninth circle of hell would’ve been a red carpet.
It was all blinding lights, blaring voices, and camera flashes that could probably fry a small village. And the paps? As infuriating as ever. It was like they were competing to see who could shout the dumbest thing at me.
Winner of the night so far: the guy who asked if the waves in my hair were proof I’d just rolled out of bed. Charming. I walked over, gave him my sweetest smile, and suggested he find a real job.
He didn’t miss a beat—shouted back that he’d get one the second I did.
Low blow, but clever enough that I had to clench my jaw to keep from laughing.
I didn’t give him the win. I picked up the pace, stormed down the carpet like my heels were weapons, and ducked into the theatre before the next genius could take a swing.
But look at me. I was doing this on my own!
I texted Flo to tell her that I’d made it, and she replied, saying she and Jacob would keep an eye out for me.
Although if I was being honest, I didn’t want to bother them.
Jacob had been gunning for this role for a while, and tonight was the night he finally got to reap the benefits.
If I bumped into them, I’d chat, but the last thing I wanted to do was become their third wheel for the night.
And in case the world hadn’t clocked on yet, I was on my own! And I was fine!
Marcus - 0
Cora - 1
I’d turned my phone off after texting Flo, so if I got a message from my secret admirer, then I’d be none the wiser until I was back in the safety of the townhouse with my friends.
With a sense of power fuelling my walk, I made my way over to the snack bar, and for the sliver of nerves that was trying to penetrate the walls I’d put up, I was positive that a large tub of popcorn would combat that.
I wandered over to the stand, my mouth opening and the words on the tips of my tongue as I—
“Popcorn and a large soda if it’s not too much trouble.”
My mouth gaped at the audacity of the man who had stepped in front of me, ignoring my existence and turning his walking cane into a wall between me and my snacks.
I stepped to the side and tapped my foot in a way that Elle Woods would be proud of, right as I cleared my throat. “I know the concept of queues is lost on you Americans, but anyone could clearly see that I was—
The man turned around, and instantly, I was silenced with recognition.
I swallowed as his eyes tilted down to find me. “Patrick St. James.”
His piercing blue eyes brightened as his name flew between us, before creasing, deepening the wrinkles that made up his ageing face.
“I think if you’re confident enough to critique my etiquette, then just Patrick is fine.
” His smile was knowing, free of condesention. “I’m sorry for barging in, Miss….”
I inwardly cringed at the Miss.
“Holland. But seeing as we’re on a first-name basis, just ‘Cora’ is fine.”
His smile turned from knowing to sweet, the kind a grandpa would shine down at his granddaughter, I imagined. “And how does a young thing like you know a fossil like me?”
I shook my head, my hands flailing by my side, then in my hair, then back by my sides. “Your piece, Reversing Patriarchy, is one of my all-time favourite paintings.”
And he was one of my favourite artists.
Patrick St. James was an art legend in this city, who used to converse with Warhol and O’Keeffe. The guy had paint stardust dripping off of every part of him. I'd discovered him in my last year of high school, and by the end of the day I could recite his entire catalogue.
He hummed, like he was genuinely impressed, as he turned to face me. “What are your other favourite pieces?”
I didn’t miss a beat. “The Burial of Atala, Girodet, and In the Loge, Mary Cassatt.”
The fine grey hairs at the crown of his head bounced as he nodded, that impressed look not budging. “That's quite the palate for someone your age.” His brows lifted. “I think you can tell a lot from someone based on their favourite works.”
“What do mine say about me?” I asked, my nerves fading as the chatter around us faded into nothing. Popcorn officially forgotten.
Patrick weighed up the words before he spoke, a certain stoic shadow settling over him, one that gleamed like wisdom.
“That you understand how pain can be poetic and have more purpose than just to ruin those it inflicts.” I swallowed.
“And if I were to dive deeper, because I think we’re all friends here, I’d say that you feel for those caged by expectation.
” He narrowed his wrinkled eyes. “Or perhaps you’re the one caged by expectation. ”
It was as though this man had a magnifying glass to my soul.
Like he knew what my gaping mouth really meant, he dipped his head so we were eye-level. “Close?”
I shuddered before sneaking a breath, shoulders edging up. “A little.”
He seemed chuffed, leaning back a little, thinning out the air. “And I also think it’s clear you’re passionate about our world.”
I practically turned into a bobblehead. “Art is my life.”
“Is that why you’re here?” He asked, looking around the foyer.
I shook my head, letting the barriers fall. “Yes and no. I’m an… and now don’t judge me for this,” — he chuckled — “I’m an influencer, but I’m also an art student at Liberty Grove, and I was invited for both reasons."
“A few of my pals went to Liberty. It’s a great school. Fine art department, too.”
“Yes, sir, it’s incredible.” I wondered if he could sense the hesitation in my voice.
Before he could speak, a woman dressed in a red velvet dress approached his side and whispered something.
He nodded before patting her hand and turning back to me.
“I’ve got to dash, Miss… sorry, Cora,” I nodded at him.
“I helped produce this movie, so they need me for some interviews, but it was a pleasure meeting you.”
I nodded, my smile beaming. “It was for me too…”
He eyed me.
“Patrick.”
Before taking his popcorn and drink, he reached into his blazer pocket and handed me something. “In case you need anything or want to check up on my etiquette.” He sent a wink my way and another sweet smile. “Have a good night, Cora.”
“Thank you!” I called after him as he fled into the shadows of the theatre. My eyes dipped to the card in my hands, finding the address to his studio and a number printed along the navy slip.
And that right there was why I was supposed to listen to my gut.
If I’d had Marcus breathing down my neck this entire time, he would have screened and interrogated every person I spoke to, potentially scaring away an artist I admired and had now unintentionally networked with.
The sigh I let out felt otherworldly. Like that weight I’d had forced on my shoulders, limiting me, had now melted into nothing. I couldn’t contain my smile, or the stupid, giddy squeal I let out.
Marcus - 0
Cora - 800,001
Eventually, I pinned down my smile enough that it didn’t scare any children who were present, and made my way inside the screening room, finding my red velvet theatre seat decked out in merch and other goodies.
Soon enough, the room was packed, famous faces I’d only ever seen through a screen were suddenly in my peripheral, and I couldn’t help but let the impostor syndrome take over.
Still, I smiled the entire time Jacob was on stage with the rest of the cast, and just as they exited and the round of applause fell quiet, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
I turned to find a familiar set of ivy eyes and dark auburn curls that were a little looser than the first time I saw them.
“Either this is fate, or there’s someone playing matchmaker with the seating arrangements for these things.” Rainie beamed as she stole the seat next to me. “This is my seat, right?”
That charm made me smile. “Rainie, hi!” I swivelled to fully face her, checking out her silk skirt that matched her eyes and white blouse that, when she leaned a certain way, showed off the bra she was wearing.
“And you do know that these seats are free game? Well, apart from the ones down the front by Nate Patricks and Asher Hartford. Obviously.”
Rainie pulled her face. “Eh, not my type anyway. But this seat, however…”
And just like that, butterflies roared in my stomach.
“I never did see you again at Prada.” She murmured as she sat, waves of vanilla and bergamot crashing down onto me. And all those butterflies fell to the pit of my stomach.
My eyes found hers as she slipped the straw from her mouth. “It wasn’t my fault, was it?”
I shook my head, almost too vigorously. “No, I promise. It was just…” That moment replayed in my head, and I tried with everything I could to not let the fear consume me and have me bolting back out of this event too.
So instead, I opted for the other truth.
“Something happened a few months ago that completely knocked my confidence, and I guess I just got a little freaked out. Not by you.” My hands flailed at her. “Just by the attention, the room, a little bit of everything, I guess.”
Her head nodded in a sympathetic way. “I think I know what you’re talking about.”
On cue, my eyes rolled, as I slipped deeper into the seat cushions. “Fabulous.”
Before I could register what happened, her hand was atop mine. “Hey, I think the fact that you were back dealing with all this so soon after is brave. If I were you, I wouldn’t have made it through the carpet, never mind actually found my seat.”
I tilted my head. “You’re just saying that because you fancy me.”
Her voice dropped, and her hand warming my icy fingers. “Fancying you has nothing to do with it. It’s just the truth.” She squeezed my hand again, and my eyes were back on hers. “Although I would like to touch back on the whole fancying you thing.”