Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
EMMA
“ N ame?” the girl at the entrance desk asked snootily.
“Emma Belmont.”
She scanned her iPad for my name, and then, without looking up, she snapped, “You’re not on the list.”
“Oh. Well, I’m here from the Merivale Echo,” I added, trying to inject confidence into my voice.
She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes at me. “Why didn’t you say that then?” she hissed, and then tapped away at her iPad before thrusting a lanyard at me labelled ‘Press’.
I gave her a wry smile as I took the lanyard and put it on, wishing I could tell her she was fucking rude, but I kept that in my head, and instead, I thanked her for her help.
It was bad enough that I didn’t want to be here, working on a Friday night, when there was a gin and tonic with my name on it in a bar in this city. But to have to deal with rude assholes too was trying my already super-thin patience. But then, I did want a promotion at work. I wanted it so badly I was prepared to enter the room behind me with its electric buzz of music and animated chatter that made my stomach roll with nerves.
I could do this.
I could show Stephan Gold that I was worth more than the menial tasks he’d always given me.
I straightened my back, stood tall and proud, then strode forward, walking down the short corridor into the main area of the gallery.
Once inside, I stopped for a moment to take it all in. There were people everywhere, dressed smartly, standing in groups, talking and laughing. Waiting staff were walking around with trays of champagne and canopies, and rap music was playing in the background. It wasn’t the kind of music I’d have expected to hear in a room full of well-dressed, mostly middle-aged men and women. But the people here were the wealthier classes, the ones who could afford to buy the artwork on display. And that artwork matched the vibe of the music to a tee. Young, urban, edgy, my eyes didn’t know where to look first.
To my left, was a huge canvas with a painted image of the Grim Reaper, his finger pointing into the room, looking so creepy it sent a shiver down my spine. The words, ‘Don’t get crazy with me. I’m better at it than you’ were written underneath, and then the artist’s name, Finn Knowles, was signed at the bottom. I had no idea who he was, but I took a picture on my phone and added the name to my notes app.
To the right was an image of the evolution of man, from apes to humans, walking in a line until, eventually, at the end, the human images turned into a barcode. And on the other side of the barcode was a man with an axe, cutting through it. ‘Consume Life’, was the title, and the artist was listed as Shelley Masters. I did the same again, snapping a few photos on my phone and adding her name to my list.
I wandered further into the gallery, where sculptures and artwork were placed in glass boxes. One particular sculpture caught my eye: a man’s hand holding a child’s, both hands emerging from soil, sprouting like flowers from the ground. The man’s hand had blemished skin, mottled almost, like old burns had marked it. But the child’s was flawless. The exact opposite. ‘The Beauty of Rebirth’ was the sculpture’s title, and below, the artist’s name was listed as Zak Atwood.
I started to type out a few ideas and thoughts on my phone as I ventured forward, making a left turn as I did, and then I stopped. My head whipping up as I saw the graffiti wall at the end of the gallery. My mouth hung open as I tried to take it all in.
The words ‘Follow your heart’ were spray-painted in the middle of the wall, but the heart around it was shattered into pieces, and inside each piece was something the artist obviously felt torn about. As torn and broken as the heart itself. I took slow steps forward as I studied each section of the shattered heart.
On one piece was money scattered about, but when I looked closer, I saw the image on the notes was of a skull with a raven beside it, pecking over the carcass. Another piece depicted a family; a mother holding a baby, as a man held her. Then there was a book with the pages torn out and falling to the ground. Another had music notes held behind the bars of a prison cell. There was a mouth taped shut, and a face that seemed to scream out, its eyes bulging in fear. There was so much to absorb from this one piece. It had stunned me into an awe-inspired silence.
I took a photo of the artwork as a whole, then moved closer to photograph each part because it was captivating and held so much meaning. Each section deserved to be seen.
“He always nails it,” a deep voice said from behind as I was crouching to snap a section depicting a child on his knees, eyes closed, praying to a sky that had the words, ‘I see humans but no humanity’ written in the grey clouds.
I stood up and turned to find a young man with a lanyard similar to mine standing behind me, smiling. I was a little taller than him, and from the way he tried to hide his frown, I don’t think he liked that.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I replied, still slightly in awe of the complexity of the art, the images, the messages they conveyed, and because I needed something to say. I felt so damn awkward.
“And you never will,” he stated, a haughty proudness in his response as he glanced from me to the wall of art. “S.K.A.M. is a unique talent. There’s no one like him.”
“S.K.A.M.?” I asked, my brow furrowed, and he pointed to the bottom right-hand corner of the wall.
“That’s his tag name. S.K.A.M. No one knows his real name. But his pieces are always the highlight of our shows. We’re lucky he’s doing a live performance in our courtyard tonight at nine o’clock. He doesn’t often appear in person. And I promise you, you really don’t want to miss it, Miss...” he peered down at my lanyard to try and read my name, but when he saw it only said Press, he cleared his throat and thrust his arm out to me. “I’m so sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Lloyd Fairwell. I’m the head curator here at Berkeley.”
I took his outstretched hand to shake it. Lloyd appeared to be one of those men who was agreeable at surface level, but I got the feeling my ears would burn if I walked away now. He seemed to have an edge, like he was someone I wouldn’t want to make an enemy of. I felt it in the way he peered around the room, shaking my hand, but with one eye on what was going on around him. Like he needed to know everything, and didn’t want to miss out. If the opportunity came along to speak to someone more influential or prettier, he’d probably take it.
“Oh, wow,” I replied, slowly removing my hand from his grasp and discreetly wiping the clamminess he’d left on my palm down the front of my dress. “I’m glad I found you then. I would love to get your thoughts on the evening, and maybe a few quotes for our readers.”
He smiled wide, but his eyes were void of emotion as he regarded me and asked, “And you are?”
“Emma. Emma Belmont. I’m from the Merivale Echo.”
He took a cautious step back after I’d announced who I was. A clear indication he wasn’t a fan of our newspaper.
“Ah. You’re the one they sent in his place,” he said with a hint of suspicion.
“I was Mr Gold’s plus one, yes.” I was determined to maintain my confidence despite the look he was giving me. “But he was turned away at the door.” I figured I might as well be truthful. There was no point sugarcoating it.
“Plus one?” Lloyd frowned and shook his head. “He wasn’t given the option to bring a plus one. It was clearly explained to Mr Gold that if he wanted to cover this event, he had to send another representative from his... organisation .” He leaned a little closer to me, and in a hushed tone, he added, “Our director is not Mr Gold’s biggest fan. But I’m sure you know all about that.”
I didn’t. But I nodded like I understood, and he went on, “Gold can’t help himself. He always wants an in whenever the trio are in attendance at an event.” He tilted his head, gesturing towards a group of immaculately dressed and very intimidating men, standing in the far corner of the gallery, deep in conversation with each other as the rest of the gallery gave them furtive looks and glances that showed how revered they were. It was clear to me then that everyone here wished they were standing in that circle.
“I have no idea who they are,” I stated, and Lloyd’s brow hit his hairline.
“You don’t know the trio?” he paused a little too dramatically for my liking, but I went along with his theatrics, hanging on his words as he said, “Alex Kingston, Ethan Moore, and Tobey Falstead are three of the most influential men in this room. Probably in the whole city. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of them, being a reporter.”
I didn’t want to tell him I wasn’t a reporter yet, just the assistant that got roped into being Mr Gold’s lackey when he clearly knew he wasn’t getting in tonight.
God, I hated that man.
Even with the carrot dangling on a stick, promising that I might get a promotion from this, he still managed to make me feel like a prize fool. I wished I could have done some bloody research for this. I dreaded to think what Lloyd thought of me. But if he did think I was a hopeless reporter, he didn’t show it. Instead, he stared at the trio in admiration as he regaled me with the merits of each one.
I stared at the trio, too. There was a shorter man with blond hair who had a smile permanently etched on his face as he laughed along with his friends. Next to him stood a brown-haired man who was nodding and hanging on the groups every word, talking occasionally, but he seemed happier to let the others have the floor. And then, there was the tallest one. A dark-haired man who was the best-looking of the group. In fact, he was hands down the most handsome man in this room. His jet-black hair was styled to perfection, his jaw chiselled, and his cheekbones defined. He looked like he’d stepped right out of the pages of GQ Magazine with his natural tan and muscular build, all perfectly wrapped in a designer suit. And don’t get me started on the hint of a neck tattoo that was just above his shirt collar. He was the kind of man you couldn’t stop staring at from across a crowded room. But I knew, if I was in front of him, I’d probably struggle to look him in the eye. I’d struggle to speak, too, and no doubt say something wildly inappropriate despite myself. Sometimes my brain functioned a second or two behind my mouth.
Mr GQ had an air about him. He didn’t smile like the blond, or nod along like the brunette. He stood tall and seemed to control the conversation, from what I could tell. He was like the master. The conductor of the trio.
“Tobey Falstead is the creator of Linto. He’s the blond one, by the way,” Lloyd stated, cutting through my reverie. “And Linto is the most cutting-edge dating app. One of the top twenty dating apps in the U.K., actually. It’s an amazing creation.”
“Really?” my voice sounded impressed, but I’d never heard of Linto, and I could only name about three dating apps off the top of my head. Maybe four. Definitely not twenty. So, I’d have to take Lloyd’s word for it that it was amazing.
“Are you on there?” Lloyd asked, and instantly, I wrinkled my nose as I said, “No.”
He didn’t look impressed with my response and ignored it completely.
“Tobey is a visionary,” he continued, overselling the man he clearly idolised. “His grandfather founded the Hanby chocolate empire, but Tobey is using the family name to steer it into the digital era.”
My eyes bugged.
I knew what Hanby chocolate was. I ate it most days. It was a household name. Fuck me, there was some money standing in that corner, all right.
“And then there’s Ethan Moore,” he went on. “That’s the brown-haired guy next to Tobey. He’s heavily into tech. I don’t know all the ins and outs, but I know he works at Silicon Valley. He’s only over here in the U.K. for this event, then he flies back tomorrow.”
Silicon Valley sounded impressive to a girl who’d never left the U.K.
“And finally, there’s Alex Kingston, the one with the tattoos. He’s the seventh Duke of Sunford, can you believe, although he refuses to use the title he inherited. He’s loaded, though.” Lloyd said the last past on a whisper as if the walls had ears.
So there was money on top of money here tonight. It didn’t surprise me looking at the price tags on the art.
Lloyd tilted his head, continuing to whisper conspiratorially. “Kingston’s a bit of a renegade.” His head came closer to mine as he said, “I think he loves the cash, but hates the trappings. But he’s one of our biggest investors and the best client on our books. Alex Kingston collects art like most people collect...”
“Stamps?” I ventured when Lloyd stalled.
“I was going to say something more twenty-first century, but yeah, stamps, I guess.”
“My dad used to collect stamps,” I said on a shrug, trying to claw back a little dignity.
“And he stopped when he found out they were lame?” Lloyd laughed at his own weak joke.
“No,” I replied plainly. “He stopped when he died.”
“Fascinating.”
I just stared blankly at him.
Lloyd wasn’t listening. He wasn’t fascinated. He didn’t care. I’d just told him my dad had died, and he hadn’t reacted in the slightest. He was only interested in the trio across the room.
“Would you like to meet them?” he asked, staring at them longingly as he ignored how dumbfounded I was.
I wasn’t sure.
Did I want to meet three wealthy men who might make me feel even more inferior than I did right now?
And one in particular, who I wouldn’t be able to look at directly, because I’d forget what my own name was?
“Erm,” I didn’t get a chance to respond, Lloyd was already walking over to them. “That’ll be a yes, then,” I muttered under my breath sarcastically, and reluctantly, I followed him.
As we got closer, Lloyd announced his arrival by puffing out his chest and saying, “Gentlemen.” In what I’m sure he thought was a manly and commanding way.
It wasn’t lost on me that Alex Kingston, who’d make any girl’s knees go weak with his dark hair and piercing green eyes, rolled those eyes as Lloyd approached, and the trio opened up their small circle to allow him to stand with them. But when his gaze landed on me, his eyes widened. The glass he was holding in his tattooed hand, that was so close to his lips he was about to take a sip, froze, and he stared at me for a second, before lowering the glass, leaving it untouched. I didn’t get an eye roll, but I did see him swallow and take a deep breath.
“I’m so glad you could all make it tonight. It promises to be quite the event,” Lloyd stated, a smarmy smirk on his face as he glanced around the group at each man. But Alex Kingston didn’t take his eyes off me. And I felt heat rising in my cheeks as I blushed and tried not to stare back.
“It’s been quite the event already and it hasn’t even started,” Tobey Falstead replied, and then turned to give me a dazzling smile as he said, “I don’t think we’ve met.” Thrusting his arm out to shake my hand.
“This is Tobey Falstead,” Lloyd butted in. “Creator of Linto, heir to the Hanby fortune and... oh God, forgive my ignorance. I can’t for the life of me remember where you ranked on the Forbes list this year.”
I heard Alex Kingston curse under his breath beside me and I tried to hide my grin. He clearly had the measure of Lloyd and couldn’t take his fake flattery.
“Good God, man,” Tobey scoffed, holding in a laugh. “Is that how you introduce everybody?” Then he turned to address me again, “I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Tobey.” He gave Lloyd a look, and with a raised eyebrow, he added, “Let’s leave the Forbes bullshit to Alex, yeah? I don’t factor on that list quite yet.”
I heard a whispered, ‘Oh fuck off’ from Alex Kingston’s direction and I suppressed a laugh.
“Right.” Lloyd blushed but continued to smile confidently to cover it up. He obviously thought he was tighter with these men than he was.
“What makes you think I’m involved in all that bullshit?” Alex Kingston cut in, and I turned to look at him now as he glared at Lloyd with disdain while Lloyd grinned back, oblivious to his blunder.
His skin was flawless, and he had the most delicious stubble on his jaw that made me want to reach out and touch it. Then there were his full lips that looked so fucking kissable. And not to mention his green eyes, the kind that could penetrate right through your soul. When he spoke to denounce Lloyd, the deep reverberations of his tone made my insides flutter, and my skin prickle with awareness that I was standing so close to a man who was more handsome than anyone I’d ever seen in my life. This man was even more beautiful up close than he had been from across the room, if you could call a man like him beautiful. He was rugged but in a perfectly polished way. But he had a fire in him, that much was clear to see from the way he was currently conducting himself. He took no bullshit.
“Don’t play coy with us, Kingston,” Tobey joked. “We all know how much you love to see your face in the news.”
Alex Kingston took a sip of his whisky, and I stared at the tribal tattoos on the back of his hand as I tried not to moan. Hand tattoos were a weakness of mine.
“The only time I’ll get any joy from seeing my face in the news,” he announced gruffly, “Is if it’s my mugshot after I’ve rid the world of anyone who thinks it’s a good idea to make a fucking rich list.”
Tobey threw his head back and laughed out loud, drawing the attention of everyone around him. “You’re just jealous because you’re not at the top spot.”
“Insanely,” he replied in a bored tone. Then he took another sip from his cut glass crystal tumbler, a glass that no one else in this room seemed to have, before glancing my way again. Instantly, the fury in his eyes disappeared, and the smouldering fire I’d seen before returned as he asked me. “Are you having a good night?”
I faltered, not entirely sure I’d be able to form coherent words when I answered.
“It’s been... interesting so far,” I replied, too conscious of the way my voice sounded as I tried to appear cool, calm, and collected. But I noticed the way his focus shifted from my eyes to my lips when I spoke. It made the flutters in my belly beat faster and more intensely.
Ethan Moore, who was standing next to Lloyd, leaned forward, cutting between us suddenly and interrupting our conversation.
“I’m Ethan,” he announced, reaching to shake my hand and pulling my attention away from Alex Kingston. “I’m sure Google can give you my resume if Lloyd hasn’t already filled you in.”
I gave a polite laugh in response. “It’s nice to meet you, Ethan.”
“And you are?” he asked.
“Emma. Emma Belmont.” I glanced around the circle, my cheeks burning as I met Alex Kingston’s penetrative gaze yet again. I don’t think I’d ever had such an intense first meeting with a man before.
Suddenly, Lloyd decided to retake control of the conversation. “Emma is from the Merivale Echo. She’s a reporter.”
Tobey’s eyes went wide, and he gave a low chuckle.
“You’re one of Gold’s minions? Wow.” He shook his head as if he were amazed. “I bet you have some stories to tell.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Lloyd cut in.
“Can you believe she came as his plus one, but as you know, he isn’t welcome at these events, especially after what happened the last time. So he was refused entry. Security threw him to the floor and Emma had to step up to the plate.”
Lloyd clearly liked to exaggerate. There was no throwing to the floor involved. And what a way to introduce me and make me feel extra small at the same time.
But what did happen at the last event?
I was about to defend myself, but I heard Alex Kingston scoff beside me, then snap, “I’m sure Miss Belmont is grateful you brought that up again. Did you film it for prosperity?” He was mocking Lloyd, and I had to admit, I liked that he spoke up for me.
“I’m merely pointing out that Emma is here doing God’s work, so to speak,” Lloyd continued, digging himself a hole.
“Then show a bit of fucking respect and let her speak for herself,” Alex seethed, pinning Lloyd with what looked like a threatening glare.
Lloyd went to reply, his mouth flapping open and closed as he tried to respond despite being speechless, but I jumped in.
“That was quite an introduction. Thank you, Lloyd. And thank you for having me here tonight. I’m honoured to be here.”
“But he didn’t introduce you, though, did he?” Alex replied. “Not to me.” He turned his whole body to face me, holding his hand out for me to shake. “I’m Alex,” he said, his voice deep like smooth, rich velvet that I would happily drown in.
I peered down at his outstretched hand before taking it in mine and whispering, “I’m Emma.”
His hand felt warm and soft, and I shook it gently, as he stared at me. Then I felt him brush his finger gently over the back of my hand, such a small gesture, and yet, it sparked bolts of electricity between us. Sparks I knew he felt too, as his mouth fell open slightly.
I think I held his hand for a little longer than I should’ve, or maybe he held mine for too long, I don’t know. But neither one of us made the effort to break away, until Tobey whispered jovially, “All right you two, get a room.” And I pulled my hand away. But Alex ignored him, and I could see his chest rise and fall as he breathed deeply, glancing down at where my hand had touched his.
Fireworks.
That’s what it felt like, standing in this room with this magnetic man so close. His eyes on me like he was seeing something he couldn’t quite believe. Being near him made my spine tingle, he gave me butterflies.
“You don’t have a drink,” he suddenly announced. “Let me get you one.”
“I’m okay,” I replied. “I’m not drinking tonight.” But he didn’t listen and reached out to grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
“Here,” he said, handing me the champagne.
“Thank you.” I reached up to take the glass and when my fingers grazed his I felt that spark again, and I swear I heard him gasp.
“Would you like some food?” he asked, but I shook my head.
“I ate before I came here,” I lied, sipping the champagne that I knew would go straight to my head.
“So, you’re a reporter.” He tilted his head, giving me his full attention, and the rest of the room fell away. “That must be fascinating. I admire anyone that can write. It must be so rewarding.”
“It has its moments.”
He narrowed his eyes, and his head shook slightly as he asked, “Have we met before?”
I think I’d remember you, I thought, but replied, “I don’t think so.”
He frowned, rubbing his stubbled jaw as he said, “I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I know you.”
“Maybe I have a memorable face.” I shrugged.
He paused, then uttered, “Very memorable.” And my already hot cheeks burned fiercer as I began to breathe a little deeper.
“Are you an art collector?” he asked, waiting avidly to hear my response. His eye contact was insane, and the way he focused on me, like I was the most important person in this room, made me forget that I was ever awkward or nervous to be around these people.
“I’m an art lover, but not a collector.” I gestured to a set of abstract portraits on the wall behind us. “The pieces here are a little out of my price range. But I hear you’re a collector, Mr Kingston.”
“Alex,” he replied, his expression softening as he spoke. “Please call me Alex. And yes, I am.” He smiled, and it made me insides twirl.
“Are there any pieces here that you’ll be adding to your private collection?” I smiled back, annoyed that my lip was quivering with nerves.
“Which piece is your favourite, Miss Belmont?” he asked, throwing the question right back at me.
“It’s Emma,” I said, my voice coming out all breathy.
“Emma,” he replied like he was testing how my name sounded on his tongue. Then he repeated, “Which piece is your favourite, Emma ,” and the way he said my name made my body turn to molten lava.
I took a deep breath, trying to formulate my thoughts into a response that wouldn’t make me sound as uneducated as I felt, as he regarded me with fascination and curiosity.
“I think all the art here has a lot of merit. Some pieces are truly stunning. I particularly like the modernist approach of some of them. The reflection on today’s society and how we see ourselves, like a window to our souls.”
He smiled and shook his head. “You don’t have to give me the generic newspaper spiel. I want your honest opinion. An answer that comes from the heart. Just tell me, Emma , which one stands out to you? What piece of art makes you feel something?” He took another sip of his drink, then tilted his glass towards me and asked, “If money was no object, which one would you buy?”
I could feel sweat gathering on my upper lip as he looked at me, waiting for a response. The little black dress I wore suddenly felt too tight, too restrictive. I was worried about saying the wrong thing and making myself sound stupid. Stalling for time, I cleared my throat, as I felt every pair of eyes boring into me. Then I glanced around at the others, the room around us now back in focus and blaring loudly, making me feel self-conscious. Our circle had stopped talking and they were watching us, waiting for me to speak. And just like that, my tongue felt too big for my mouth.
“Don’t worry about them,” Alex said, moving to stand right in front of me, blocking the others out. Sensing I was nervous and acting in a way to defend and protect me. “You’re not on the spot here. There is no right or wrong answer, Emma . Just pick one.”
“The heart,” I blurted out, turning to point at the wall with the S.K.A.M. graffiti art on it. “Follow your heart,” I added, “Because how can you follow your heart if it’s in pieces like that? Which part do you follow? Because it all matters. Everything attached to each fractured part. And I think, maybe, the artist is trying to explain that we all feel torn in life, between duty, family, work, friends, caring for the environment, being the best person we can be, but always feeling as if we’re failing, because we can’t follow every part. We can’t be all things to all people.”
“We can’t,” he replied softly, his face so close to mine as we stared at each other, lost in a little bubble he’d created. “But if we can be something to someone, doesn’t that make everything worthwhile?”
I nodded, unable to form words.
We stood for a moment in silence, and then he glanced to the side, where a podium with a gorgeous flower arrangement stood. He reached out and took one of the pale pink peonies from it and handed it to me.
“Here’s to being somebody’s someone,” he said, and I took the flower, glancing at it before peering back up at him.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to take those,” I said, my eyes wide.
He leaned closer. “Who’s going to stop me?” He winked, and the flutters I’d felt exploded like fireworks inside me when I saw the hint of power and dominance he was radiating.
For a moment he held my gaze, a slow almost predatory smile spreading across his handsome face.
Then he turned to Lloyd, and gestured to the ‘Follow You Heart’ piece. “I’ll take that one,” he announced. “Have the papers sent to my assistant and arrange for it to be delivered to my Wintshire home.”
Just like that, he was buying it.
The art that I chose.
Because of me.
“Of course,” Lloyd replied.
Alex turned to face me. “Will you be watching the live performance?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.” I twisted the stem of the peony in my fingers and looked across to Lloyd.
“She’s here to write a piece for the newspaper,” Lloyd stated. “Of course she’s going to see our star performer.”
“Then I can’t wait to read your article,” Alex said, ignoring Lloyd and focusing on me, and then I felt the brush of his hand against mine as he moved closer, and the whispered stroke of a finger as he smiled. “I know it’ll be amazing.”