Chapter Twenty
Jesse
The floor wavered. My blood surged hot through my veins, burning my cheeks. Slowly, I lifted my gaze to Janine.
“I’m sorry, did you just say Sebastian got me this gig?”
Confusion flickered across her face. “Yes. I thought you knew. Malcom is an old friend of his. Actually… I assumed you’d asked him to do it.”
I swallowed hard. My eyes were locked on Sebastian, but instead of love, they now shot arrows of rage. “I would never have asked him that. I had no idea he even knew Malcom.”
My fingers trembled against my lips. I needed out. “Excuse me, Janine. I have to use the ladies’ room.”
Her hand darted toward me. “Jesse, wait. Sebastian just wanted to help—”
But I was already moving, slipping past her grasp, my eyes burning. I barely made it to the bathroom before my vision blurred. How could I have been so stupid? I had truly believed Malcom had approached me because he valued my art. That he was kind and supportive because he admired my talent.
It had all been a lie.
To Malcom, I wasn’t Jesse Nielsen, artist extraordinaire. I was Sebastian’s girlfriend—another accessory to his charmed life. And Sebastian… he’d robbed me of the one thing I craved most: proof that I’d made it on my own.
Shame choked me. Maybe I’d gotten this chance because of my talent in bed, not my talent with a brush. Hooker, pity project, fraud—I could be any of them now.
Inside a stall, I locked the door and pressed my back against it, my whole body shaking. I had never felt so angry, so humiliated, so disappointed. For one glittering moment tonight, I had believed I was worthy of being called an artist. Now that belief had shattered.
It wasn’t my art that people had come to see. It was the endorsement from a famous gallery, for an exhibit that I hadn’t earned. Sebastian had made this happen, not me. None of this had been due to my own merit.
Hot tears streaked down my cheeks, but I bit my lip to hold in the scream clawing up my throat. How could I face Sebastian again? How could I look at him without punching that stupidly handsome face women adored?
The snake! He’d lied so smoothly I hadn’t even noticed. What else had he lied about?
And then the cruelest truth slammed into me. I was so damn head-over-heels in love with him that he could have lied about anything, and I would never have known. Love had made me dumb. Blind. I’d stopped being smart the first time he’d kissed me in the laundry room.
Not anymore.
Voices echoed closer, heels clicking against the marble floor. Two women swept into the bathroom, their laughter ricocheting off the tiles.
I held my breath, every muscle locked. No way was I letting anyone see me fall apart in here. If I wanted to scream, cry, or tear Sebastian limb from limb, I’d do it later, alone. Right now, I had to pull it together.
Just one more hour, Jesse. One more hour, and then you can dump the son of a bitch in private.
“…and that painting with the mermaid?” one of them gushed. “I almost cried when I saw it was sold. It would’ve looked incredible in my living room.”
“It was gorgeous,” the other agreed. “But I’m obsessed with the Poseidon piece. The trident, the waves—it’s so powerful. I swear I could feel the storm rolling in. I’ll never get tired of staring at it.”
A pause, followed by the muffled sound of a lipstick cap clicking shut. “Can you believe we’d never even heard of this artist before tonight?”
“Right? I’m going to ask if she does commissions. I’ve always wanted a nude portrait of myself. Preston would die if I gave him that as a gift.”
They both giggled, stall doors creaking open, fabric rustling as they straightened their clothes.
I stayed frozen until their laughter faded out the door. Only then did I unlock my stall and step out, moving like a ghost.
The mirror above the porcelain sinks threw my pale reflection back at me. I dabbed away a streak of mascara, forced my hands to stop shaking. My hair still held. My lipstick hadn’t smudged. No one would know my insides were twisted and raw.
I pressed my palms against the cool marble countertop, inhaling slowly. For the next hour, I just had to wear the mask. After that, Sebastian and I were going to have it out—and he’d wish I’d never picked up a damn paintbrush.
As I stepped out of the bathroom, I forced myself to breathe evenly, each inhale a battle, each exhale a rehearsal for composure. I still had to mingle, smile, shake hands. Tonight wasn’t over, and no one could suspect I was a bomb, only seconds away from detonating.
Across the gallery, I spotted Sebastian and Janine. Their faces were somber, Janine’s gaze flicking toward me with something like pity. Of course she’d told him.
My eyes locked on Sebastian’s, sharp as blades. “Don’t come near me,” I murmured under my breath. “Not one step closer, or I swear I’ll lose it.”
But the second he saw me, he started toward me. Worry darkened his features, not guilt. Not shame. Just that steady concern I’d once adored. I lifted my chin, summoning every ounce of self-control to keep from clawing him apart in front of half of Manhattan.
And then a smooth, cultured voice brushed my ear like velvet.
“Jesse. I am in awe.”
I turned, startled. Ben McFarlane the Third stood before me—perfectly pressed white shirt, gray slacks tailored within an inch of their lives, shoes so polished I could see my reflection.
“Ben, hi. I’m so glad you could make it.” My voice came out lighter than I felt.
“My apologies for arriving late.” He took my hand and brushed it with his lips. “But one look at you, and I know it was worth the wait. You’re as flawless as your art.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Thank you.”
He looked and smelled like money, and for once I didn’t resent it. He radiated admiration that felt genuine—though a sharp doubt cut through me. Had Sebastian pulled strings here too? Was even Ben part of his grand manipulation? Paranoia tasted bitter in the back of my throat.
Sebastian had slowed when Ben appeared, but now he advanced again, determination in his stride. My pulse jumped. I glanced at him, scanning his face for recognition of Ben, for collusion. Nothing. Just tension.
“Sebastian, this is my new client, Mr. Ben McFarlane the Third,” I said tightly. “Ben, this is Sebastian Wright.”
Their handshake was quick, perfunctory.
“Nice to meet you,” Sebastian said, his tone flat. “Jesse, can I talk to you for a moment?”
Ben still held my hand, unfazed.
“I’m sorry, Sebastian, it’ll have to wait,” I said smoothly, pivoting before anger cracked through my voice. “I promised Ben a tour.” I leaned into Ben with a smile. “Let me offer you a drink first.”
I guided him toward the refreshment table, Sebastian’s gaze boring into my back. Let him watch. Tonight, my focus was on the client who valued me, not the man who had lied.
“Was that your…?” Ben began.
“Neighbor,” I cut in before he could finish, my tone crisp. “Now, what’ll it be? Water, soda, champagne?”
“I think this occasion deserves a toast. Don’t you?” His smile gleamed, impeccable teeth and all.
I matched it, handing him a glass of champagne and taking one for myself.
He lifted his flute. “To the most talented woman I know. May you bring all my dreams to life.”
The words struck deep, like balm over raw skin. I tapped my glass lightly against his.
“I’ll do my best.”
We clinked glasses and sipped the cool, frothy champagne.
Ben, ever the gentleman, offered me his arm. “Shall we?”
I slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow and led him toward the seasons’ section.
As we moved through the gallery, I explained the stories behind each collection.
He listened intently, pausing often to comment on details that caught his eye.
I stored away his preferences, already weaving them into ideas for the commission at his house.
Everywhere I looked, red dots covered my work.
Each one should have been a triumph, but instead, the sight hollowed me out.
Who had really bought them? Friends of Sebastian’s?
Colleagues he’d strong-armed? Each dot felt less like validation and more like a reminder that my success wasn’t truly mine.
My chest tightened with an ache of self-doubt so sharp it nearly stole my breath.
Then Ben stopped short, his gaze riveted on the largest painting in the center of the gallery—the piece I’d painted to represent the whole exhibit.
“Oh, my,” he breathed. “This is magnificent. Please tell me it’s still for sale.”
A voice behind me cut through like a blade.
“It’s not for sale anymore.”
I turned, my pulse lurching. Sebastian stood there, rigid, his voice cool and resolute.
Malcom appeared at his side, slipping discreetly toward the canvas. Without a word, he placed a red dot in the corner.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Malcom said smoothly, addressing Ben. “Mr. Wright has purchased this painting.”
My jaw went slack, but I forced myself to lift the glass to my lips and take a measured sip.
Rage churned beneath my composure. Why? Why would Sebastian buy this piece?
To stake a claim? To buy back my affection?
For one treacherous second, a voice whispered that maybe it meant he truly valued my art.
But the anger inside me crushed that thought before it could grow.
Ben’s expression cooled into polite steel. “I’m sure we can settle this. Is there a bidding opportunity?”
Malcom folded his hands, clearly uneasy. “I’m afraid not, sir. There’s a fixed price—first come, first served.”
Ben looked ready to press the matter. Sebastian’s jaw was locked so tightly I could see the cords of muscle straining beneath his skin.
I couldn’t let this escalate.
I slipped my hand around Ben’s arm, my tone light, playful. “Ben, don’t worry. I’ll fill your house with paintings even more magnificent than this one. Besides…” I forced a grin. “I think I know just the piece for you, and it’s still available. Come on.”
With a stiff smile to Sebastian and Malcom, I steered Ben toward the mythology section. I launched into the stories I’d been telling all day, letting the cadence of myth drown out the storm inside me. Ben’s interest sharpened, his eyes glowing with admiration as I explained the symbolism.
He stopped in front of Aphrodite—the reimagined goddess rising from the waves, her latte-colored skin glowing against the foam, amber eyes full of mischief, raven-black hair curling artfully to shield what needed shielding.
“This,” Ben said, voice low with awe. “This is the one. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I’ll put it in my office, let it be the centerpiece.” He tapped his temple thoughtfully. “Maybe we can build the whole room around this theme.”
His excitement was genuine. I couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out, a momentary balm to my shredded pride. I felt like someone was buying my talent, not Sebastian’s favors.
“I can’t wait to start working on your house, Ben,” I said, my smile real this time. “I’ll be there tomorrow, bright and early.”
Ben tapped his temple with two fingers. “Oh, that reminds me…” He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “Bright and early isn’t really my style, so you can let yourself in tomorrow. I’ll show up eventually, but you’ll need keys anyway.”
“Thanks.” I reached for them, but he held on a beat longer, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“You’re the first woman to have keys to my new house.” Finally, he let them drop into my palm.
“Don’t worry, I won’t abscond with the silverware.”
He grinned, teeth flawless against his clean-shaven jaw. He could have been cast straight out of a Barbie movie—perfect, polished, and a little too smooth.
“I’m sorry I arrived so late tonight.” His voice lowered into something more earnest. “If I take you out to dinner, will you forgive me?”
My lips parted. I wasn’t sure if this had been friendly banter or low-grade flirting until now, but a dinner invitation made it too serious.
I glanced at my watch, buying myself time. “You don’t have to buy me dinner, Ben. I’m just grateful you showed up. Honestly, most employers wouldn’t even care about something like this. Besides, the exhibit isn’t over—I still need to be here.”
It was polite, but firm. A line drawn in careful words.
Ben didn’t seem the least bit deterred. Still smiling, he caught my hand and lifted my fingers to his lips again. “Then I’ll let you get back to dazzling your fans.”
“Thank you for coming. And for buying the painting. If you like, I can deliver it myself tomorrow.”
“That would be perfect.” His smile softened. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jesse.”
I watched him disappear toward the exit, my pulse still unsettled when Sebastian’s voice jolted me.
“Is that the guy you’re working for?”
I spun around. His face was tight, his eyes locked on me with a mix of frustration and something else—hurt maybe?
“Are you stalking me now?” My words snapped sharper than I intended.
“I was waiting for a free moment. We need to talk, Jesse.”
“You bet we do.” My nostrils flared, my eyes narrowing to slits. “But not here. Since you went through all this trouble to make Malcom organize this little charade, I’ll see it through to the bitter end. I hope I was worth it.”
“What the—” His hand clamped around my arm.
“Not here,” I hissed, yanking free. My gaze swept the room. It wasn’t crowded anymore, but there were still people lingering near the walls, sipping champagne, admiring canvases. The last thing I needed was an audience. “We’ll talk in an hour. I’ve been humiliated enough for one night.”