27. Riley
“What’s the matter?”I ask Olivia, confused. “That’s one of Cole’s friends. He’s—”
“Yeah, uh… I’ll be right back,” she says, sounding distracted. “Let me just—”
She turns to slip away, and almost immediately collides with one of the waitresses, who yelps, nearly dropping the tray of cocktail shrimp she’s carrying. A bowl of cocktail sauce slides off the edge and shatters on the floor, spraying red goo all over the white tablecloth.
The waitress glares at Olivia, fuming, and my friend cringes. “Agh—I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking—”
Reed arrives at our table, looking over at Olivia and the waitress in befuddlement for a moment. Then he turns to me.
“Hey, I just came over to let you know that the bidding’s going to start soon, if you want to get a look at any of the artwork.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, embarrassed on Olivia’s behalf. She busies herself helping the waitress with the pieces of broken ceramic, as well as the dirty tablecloth.
Reed nods. He glances at Olivia, and for an instant, their eyes meet. His expression is unreadable as he turns to leave.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, I turn to Olivia, who looks miserable. “What the hell was that about?”
She takes a deep breath. In a hushed voice, she says, “Okay, so… I actually know that guy.”
“Are you serious?”
“That’s Reed Eastwood.”
The name sounds familiar to me. I scour my brain for a moment, trying to place it. “Eastwood… like the hotels?”
She nods, her eyes wide. “I knew him years ago. Honestly, when you told me about this charity thing, I was worried he was going to be here.”
I blink, startled. “How did you know him?”
“It’s… complicated.” She thinks for a moment, then slumps her elbows onto our table. “Actually, you know what? It’s not that complicated. My mom worked for his family as a housekeeper when we were kids.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well… why didn’t you say hi, or something?”
“I was hoping not to run into him.”
“Did something bad happen between you guys?”
“Not exactly,” she admits. “Either way, though, he didn’t seem to remember me, so…”
She trails off. I know Olivia well enough to recognize both relief and disappointment in her tone. She shakes herself as if trying to remove the encounter from her memory.
I glance back over at Cole’s table, and he catches my eye. Across the crowded room, he gestures to me.
“I’m gonna take Archie back over to Cole’s table,” I say to Olivia. “If they’re about to start the bidding, I want to get a look at some of the pieces. You coming?”
“I don’t know,” she says, shifting her weight uncomfortably. Her gaze keeps darting over to Reed, whose back is now to us. “I think I might just stick around by the bar. I don’t want to get roped into a conversation.”
“Fair enough.” I shrug, a little mystified by Olivia’s behavior. She said that nothing bad happened between her and Reed, but it’s still pretty clear that she wants to avoid him like the plague.
I take Archie’s hand and lead him back to Cole’s table, wondering what could’ve possibly happened between them that has affected her so deeply—but that Reed doesn’t even remember.
When we get back to the table, Cole gives me a nod. “Do you want to go around and look at the artwork with me?”
“Sure,” I say, grateful for the distraction—and the opportunity to get a closer look at some of these paintings. There are more than a few that have caught my eye.
Cole hoists Archie into his arms, which is a relief for me; I was hoping he’d be able to get a better look at the paintings, since he’s been so interested in artwork himself, but I definitely didn’t have the strength or energy to lift him up.
We go around the outside of the ballroom counter-clockwise, pausing at each easel so that we can examine the piece. I don’t say much except to comment on the brushwork here and there, or shrug when it’s not to my tastes.
Eventually, though, we stop in front of a canvas that takes my breath away.
It’s abstract: a series of jagged lines in shades of blue, black, and white. They travel down from the top of the square canvas to the bottom, the colors bold.
The strokes are bold at the top, the lines clear, but as they reach the midway point, they begin to blur into each other, overlapping in streaks of dry brush. By the time the lines get to the bottom of the painting, they’ve blended together entirely into a haze the same color as Cole’s eyes.
The tag at the bottom of the easel dubs the painting Things Change.
“Oh,” I say, before I can stop myself. “I love this one.”
I can feel Cole’s eyes on me. “Really?”
“Yeah. It’s gorgeous.”
“What do you like about it?” he asks. I wonder for a moment if he’s making fun of me, or just indulging me, but his question seems genuine.
“Well… for one thing, the use of color,” I say. “It feels like the entire piece is built around a blending of colors, so the choices of color are pretty much perfect for that. And the brushstrokes are beautiful, too. They start out so smooth and invisible at the top, and then when the lines start to blur, you can see the strokes.”
Cole leans closer to the painting as I speak, examining it for himself.
“It feels very intentional,” I go on. “It’s hard to get the strokes to disappear like that. This artist knew exactly what they were doing.”
Cole straightens. He’s wearing that strange expression that sometimes crosses his face, his classic almost-smile. “Well, we are at an art auction,” he says. “You could bid on it.”
I snort a laugh. “Right. Sure. Let me just…” I pick up the clipboard lying on a table beside the easel, holding it up for his inspection. “I’ll go ahead and drop two hundred thousand dollars on it, I guess.”
Cole nods, understanding, and takes the clipboard, setting it back down on the pristine tablecloth.
I take another long look at the painting, wistfully imagining it on my wall—somewhere I could wake up and see it every day. I’ve been wistfully imagining a lot of things lately.
A lot of situations where I get to keep something that I want. A lot of futures where my experiences are steady rather than fleeting.
“I hope it goes to a good home,” I say.
“You sound like you’re talking about a stray puppy, or something,” Cole says, lightly teasing.
I grin and shrug, turning away from the canvas. “Artwork has to be taken care of. Whoever buys it… I just hope they appreciate it, you know?”
We continue along the line of easels. There are several beautiful pieces that I admire, but none of them are as striking as the abstract piece with the blurring strokes of blue.
After a while of looking, I notice Archie starting to drag his feet. Earlier, he was excited about a few of the paintings, especially the ones that had his favorite colors in them, or depicted animals. Now, though, he seems a little tired. As I watch him, he yawns and rubs at his eyes.
I nudge Cole. “I think Archie’s starting to get sleepy.”
“I think you’re right,” Cole agrees. “I can call a car for the two of you, if you don’t mind taking him home. It’s well past his bedtime, anyway.”
“I’m not tired,” Archie says wearily. “I can…” He trails off, interrupted by another wide yawn.
“You’ve got another big day tomorrow, buddy,” Cole says. “Besides, I think you’ve pretty much seen all the paintings.” He looks up at me with a nod. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” I say easily.
The businesslike look slides from his face for a moment, and a little bit of heat slips into his voice. “I’ll see you later on.”
I bite my lip as he walks away, returning to the table with his friends.
* * *
Cole
The event startsto wind down around midnight. All of the paintings have been sold, and the crowd has thinned out considerably as the auction comes to a close.
Sophie goes home shortly after Riley does, and I retreat with the guys to a private cigar room off of the main ballroom. Everything’s leather in here, and the air smells like smoke and whiskey.
“This place is very you, Dec,” Reed says, flopping down into a high-backed armchair.
Declan snorts, but doesn’t disagree, as he pours glasses of whiskey for the three of us. We light cigars and settle into the chairs, listening to the murmur of voices coming from outside the door.
“This has been an interesting evening,” Declan says quietly, after some time.
“Did either of you buy anything?” I ask, avoiding his gaze.
“I didn’t,” Declan replies. “Just made observations.”
That can’t be good.
“Well, who wasn’t making observations?” Reed says with a dry chuckle. He flicks some ash from the tip of his cigar. “I got a couple paintings for the new hotel opening in Miami. The PR guy seemed to think it would be a good idea to spend money at a charity thing.”
“You would’ve bought those paintings anyway,” Declan points out, and Reed sighs, nodding.
“Yeah, probably,” he agrees.
It’s silent between us for another few minutes. I puff at the cigar sparingly. They’re nice to have every once in a while, shared between friends, but I don’t want to make a habit of smoking them. Mostly, I just like the smell. Rich and savory, like burning spice.
Finally, Reed says, “So… are we gonna bring up the elephant in the room?”
“What are you talking about?” I mumble around my cigar.
“He’s talking about you,” Declan says, leaning back against his chair. “About whatever’s going on between you and your new nanny.”
I give them a practiced smile. “There’s nothing going on between me and Riley.”
“Oh, bullshit,” Reed exclaims. “Give us a break, Cole. We’re not all five years old. Your Archie tactics aren’t gonna work on grown adults.”
Fair enough, I think to myself.
“For what it’s worth, Sophie noticed, too,” Declan says. “We talked about it in the lobby while we were waiting for her car to arrive. I hope it wasn’t this obvious when we had our secret office tryst.”
There’s no point trying to deny it anymore; it seems like all three of them have everything figured out. With a sigh, I nod. “Okay, fine. You got me. I’m—we’re fucking. Are you happy?”
“Well… I don’t know,” Reed says. “I mean, fucking the nanny… that’s not exactly a good way to maintain a professional relationship, is it?”
“It’s nothing serious.” For some reason, I feel like I have to justify everything to them. They’re both looking at me with expressions somewhere between concern and disapproval.
That’s a lot to handle from Reed, who has to do press conferences every other week to save his public image from sex scandals.
“We’ve set ground rules, and we’re careful to make sure Archie doesn’t find out about anything,” I continue. “I’ve promised myself I won’t let it jeopardize Archie’s care.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” Reed’s voice takes on an eager tone. “Tell me about it, then. What kind of stuff have you done? Is she good?”
The best, I think but don’t say. Typically, if we were talking about women we’ve fucked, we’ll share some details. They don’t stay in our lives for long, and we’re often curious.
But I don’t want to do that with Riley. She’s not just someone transient in my life; she lives in my house. We’re too close to each other for me to disrespect her like that, and besides, even if I felt like I could, I wouldn’t want to.
What happens between us is private. It’s bad enough that they know it’s happening in the first place.
I shake my head. “None of your business.”
Reed deflates a little, clicking his tongue in disappointment. “Okay, prude.”
“And what’s your issue?” I glance over at Declan, who has been silent this entire time.
He hesitates, watching a ribbon of smoke filter up from his cigar. At last, he clears his throat. “Well, I have to say I’m skeptical about this whole thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not so sure that ground rules are going to keep things as simple as you want them to be. This isn’t the kind of arrangement you can easily control.”
“Why not?” I ask. I try to sound casual and disinterested, but the truth is that his words worry me. Lately, I’ve been thinking the same thing—I’ve just been in denial, too afraid to admit it to myself.
“I have some experience with this kind of thing,” he points out dryly. “It’s never as uncomplicated as you think it is.”
“You think I’m getting too attached?” I ask. I take a drag from the cigar, breathing in tobacco smoke and doubt.
“I don’t know,” Declan replies. “Are you?”
We sit in silence for another long moment before Reed changes the subject to a lighter topic. Whatever his flaws, Reed is always graceful in conversation, and knows exactly when to shift the subject.
Eventually, when my cigar is too small to continue smoking, I stub it out in an ashtray and rise to my feet.
“Well, gentlemen, I’m going to head out.”
“I’m happy to host the next poker night,” Reed says. “Just let me know when both of you are free.”
“Sounds good,” I say, waving over my shoulder on my way out the door. “See you guys later.”
I wait in the lobby for a few minutes for my driver, thinking over everything Declan said. In truth, I was already thinking a lot of it myself, but to hear it from another person, especially someone who knows what they’re talking about… it doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.
By the time the car arrives, my thoughts are nothing but doubts.
What if I’m getting too attached?
Several times throughout the car ride, I pull out my phone and consider texting Riley. Maybe the two of us ought to talk about this, to make sure that our arrangement is still stable.
Each time, I think better of it. I don’t want to alarm her.
But I also don’t want to let myself slip further.
When I finally arrive home, it’s a little past one in the morning. I’m half-expecting—maybe hoping—that Riley will be asleep, but the lights are still on in the living room.
Either she forgot to turn them off, or she’s still up.
The second I step through the front door, Riley appears at the other end of the hallway. She smiles when she sees me, a huge, genuine smile, and my heart sinks all over again.
Shit. Declan was right.
She comes up to me and stands on her toes for a kiss, and I bend down to kiss her back. When we break apart, she asks, “How was the rest of the auction?”
“It was nice,” I say. I hesitate for a moment, then add, “I should’ve told you not to wait up. I don’t think anything will happen tonight. Sorry. I’m too tired.”
Her face falls; she looks a little bit crushed, which I absolutely hate. It makes me feel like a fucking asshole. But I know that this is for the best.
“Okay,” she says, her tone just missing casual. She slips past me, heading upstairs. “Goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight,” I reply heavily.
I linger downstairs until I hear the sound of her door closing, then go up to my own room. I shuck off each part of the tuxedo with unnecessary force, every muscle tensed in frustration.
Sexual frustration, of course, but also frustration at myself because I couldn’t think of a better way to handle that. I still can’t think of a good way to handle this situation going forward.
I step into the shower, and as the water pours over my shoulders, I take my hard cock in my hand. Thoughts of Riley spring into my head, unbidden; I’m too addicted to avoid them.
Fuck. I’m starting to wonder if I’m beyond help.