“I hate fucking rumors.” A loud crash echoes through my phone. “Are you asking me if I fucked her?” His voice escalates.
I pull my phone away from my ear. My eyes stare at the Don’t disturb the art plaque right in front of my desk as I wish I could go off on him right now.
“I know you fucked her. I’m just wondering why you lied to me,” I seethe, looking toward Bette’s office doors to double-check that she can’t hear me. In all honesty, I’m assuming he fucked her.
“It was a drunken night a year ago. It meant nothing to me.”
“It obviously meant something to her. She was upset that we were dating.”
Him not caring about a woman he slept with scares me. How invested is he really with me? How quickly will I be forgotten?
“Were?”
“Were what?”
“You said we were dating. Are we not anymore?”
“It was a slip, but after this exchange, I’m wondering if we should be done.”
“Listen, Lia, I like you, and I don’t think I’ve given you any reason not to believe me.”
“Except for lying about sleeping with Heather and calling my boss to pull some strings you feel entitled to.”
“I don’t have time for this, Lia. I’m late for dinner. Why don’t I call you tonight, and we can talk more if you want?”
Here I go again with another guy who doesn’t put me first on his priority list, another guy who thinks his world is better than mine.
“Maybe we should take a break.”
“Fine, if that’s what you want.” His tone changes to indifferent.
With that alone, my decision is made. “Fine. Have a nice dinner.”
Way to be childish, Lia.
“You’re being terribly immature.”
“Whatever.”
“I’m not sure why I’m going to tell you this, but I’m going to dinner with my ex tonight. It’s nothing more than a dinner with friends, but she’ll be there. I’m fairly certain photos will be taken, so I wanted to prepare you in case the paparazzi print anything.”
A nauseous feeling gnaws in my stomach.
“Lia?”
I clear my throat. “Have fun,” I croak out.
“Lia.”
I hang up the phone and immediately look up Davis’s ex on Google. It doesn’t take long to see images of the two of them together during their short time as a couple. Anyone can see the love pouring out of Davis’s eyes as they laugh while leaving a coffee shop. She’s in yoga pants and a midriff T-shirt while he’s sporting track pants and a T-shirt. They look like they just escaped out of a sex marathon in bed for the past three days. A queasy ripple churns in my gut. It only confirms our break—most likely breakup—was a good idea.
The bell over the door dings, and I look up to find a pair of crystal-blue eyes peering over to me.
“What’s up, hot stuff?” Todd crosses the gallery, and his forearms flex when he leans over the counter.
“The question is, are you ready to make sex to my camera?” I stand and mindlessly grab my purse from the drawer.
“I’ll screw more than your camera, if you’ll let me.”
I swallow hard, and heat flows up my neck. I focus on the floor before he notices my red cheeks. “I was expecting to meet you at the park. Let me go tell Bette that I’m leaving,” I murmur before disappearing down the hall.
On the way, Davis disappears from my mind, and giddiness washes over me as I think about spending the rest of the day with Todd.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Amelia
Friday morning, I walk into Art on Wells. The smell of coffee fills the small space.
“That’s an interesting look,” Bette says, actually touching my recently cut bangs. “Why did you cut them?” The dislike in her tone isn’t hard to miss.
“I just wanted something different,” I remark, ignoring her hidden insults to my new hairdo.
“She’s beautiful, as always,” Todd compliments me after sauntering through the front door.
“Oh, Todd. Someone taught you to be a gentleman.”
Bette places her hand on his arm when he approaches, and his lips turn into that panty-melting smile she enjoys so much. His eyes meet mine and he moves away from her, coming closer to me. My breathing stops until his lips touch my cheek.
“Good morning, Noodle,” he says softly.
My breathing picks up as well as my heartbeat. When did Todd make my body react as if I’m a teenager with a crush on the high school quarterback?
“Morning.” I turn on my heels and escape to the back room.
“So, can you believe ABC is coming here? You were a must. They told me that if you weren’t going to be here, they might not come.” Bette boosts Todd’s ego and deflates mine in one shot.
“Oh, I doubt that. Amelia’s talent is what’s bringing them here.” Todd comes to my defense.
I’m grateful someone believes in my work.
Ignoring the two, I distract myself with the art on display. I make sure the guys hung and marked each picture accordingly before the news crew arrives.
By the time I’m in the middle of the room to make sure my center point is correct, Todd’s reading the description. He doesn’t look up, but his hand reaches out and links with mine. An unspoken connection is made between us. It’s as if we both know that day in the studio, so many months ago, things changed for him, for us. I didn’t realize then what I know now—how Todd could have been my one this whole time.
Not caring about anything other than Todd’s touch, I stand there in silence with him. His crisp citrus cologne overtakes all of my senses.
“You’re so talented,” he whispers.
“Thank you.” Finally, my head rises, and I look in his direction. I don’t fight his compliment or brush it off like usual.
His hand reaches up and cradles my face.
“I need the money so bad,” I reveal my fear.
His smirk vanishes way too fast for me.
“Maybe not after tomorrow night.” Again, he believes in me more than I do.
“Doubtful, but thank you,” I say, pressing my face into his strong hand. “Todd.”
He steps closer, breaking the gap. “What, Noodle?” My heart thumps against my chest.
“Thank—”
“Amelia, Todd”—Bette’s nails-on-a-chalkboard fake voice booms into the room—“the camera people are here to set up.” She stops talking instantly when she turns the corner.
Once the sounds of the equipment distract our thoughts enough, we separate.
Bette’s forehead is scrunched up in twenty wrinkles lining her forehead as she studies us to understand something she never could. “Amelia, dear, you should go freshen up,” she directs.
As much as I want to say that I already did that half an hour ago, the separation from Todd would do me good at the moment.
Two hours later, the news anchors for the morning show are busy drooling over a very charming Todd while I’m discussing with the assistant what time the show will air and the art show exhibit details. They leave, and knowing there’s nothing more I can do, I gather the last of my self-confidence in my photos and decide it will have to do. This late in the game, there’s no way I can change anything.
“Let’s go get some lunch.” Todd swings his arm around my shoulders and leads me to the door. “You need to relax, and I’m just the guy to help you,” he flirtatiously says, which only brings tingles to every nerve cell in my body.
The thought of him relaxing me sounds pretty damn good right now.
“Where do you want to go?” I change the subject, not knowing where our relationship stands in this moment. I feel like we’re the sail on a ship, allowing the wind to lead us wherever it decides.
“I have a place.”
We leave Art on Wells and walk to Todd’s Jeep. He’s the perfect gentleman, opening the door for me and shutting it once I climb in. He’s never done that, and whatever is evolving between us is moving faster than the windstorm of a hurricane.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE