Page 157 of Pink Ink

If I’m a demon, I’ll make a hell just for us.

“What was that for?” Reyna gasps when I finally pry myself away for air.

“I’ve decided I’m going to be an asshole again. I want you on the bed on your hands and knees within the next ten seconds, Miss Sinaga. Or else your ass is going to be so red you won’t be able to sit down for your exam.”

A coy grin twists her lips. “Yes, Mr. Shaw.”

REYNA

“Thank you.” I force a smile as I hand over my coat to the attendant, shivering from the combination of cold and anxiety.

I run my clammy hands over my black dress, trying to pass the move off like I’m straightening it. I can’t count how many times I’ve attended the opening night of an art exhibit, but this is the first time I’ve ever felt like throwing up from nerves.

Showcasing my work never gets any easier. It’s worse since I didn’t start recording Maddox in the creation process until all the pieces were relatively complete. Despite his assurances that I’m freaking out over nothing, I’m worried people are going to think I half-assed my job.

People walk around in suits and dresses that probably cost more than I make in a month. I recognize some as critics or artists who attended Mom’s showcase. It’s weird to think any number of people here could be part of the Order.

And anyone here could drunkenly tell me how bad the videos are.

I’ve been intentionally avoiding looking at the screens around the foyer since I arrived.

My eyes slip, just once, and I see something that spikes my panic to new heights.

People sidestep around me, grabbing drinks and canapés from the servers while they walk around the exhibit, but I can’t move as he makes his way to me.

“Reyna, it’s good to see you,” Dad—James—greets. I can’t decide which to call him yet. I’ve been interchanging them for the past week.

I took Maddox’s advice and agreed to meet up with my dad. It went… surprisingly well. We exchanged stories about Mom the entire time, and even if it doesn’t mend the bridge between us, it’s nice to talk to someone who knows her as well as I do. Common ground is a safe place to start.

An awkward chill settles between us when he puts his hand on my shoulder in a show of what I can only assume is meant to be affection.

I clear my throat and shift my weight once he pulls away. “What are you doing here?”

An art exhibit is the last place I expected to see him. According to Maddox, neither of his parents will be attending tonight. If I thought he was an arrogant prick before, it’s nothing compared to how cocky he is now that his dad is in the doghouse because of mine.

I mutter a quick thanks when a server offers me a glass of champagne. My dad looks at me with concern when I throw my head back and down the drink. Liquid courage is the only thing that will get me through tonight.

“I haven’t missed a single one of Maddox’s exhibits since he was a boy,” he answers.

“Oh.”

I shouldn’t be upset that James was there for Maddox, sort of. Yet the thought of it makes my stomach sour.

“That’s nice,” I add, because I don’t know what else to say.

“Miss Sinaga.”

I turn toward the deep voice and almost dissolve into the floor. Maddox in a tux might be the death of me. The fabric fits perfectly, tailored around his frame in a way that has me wanting to wrap my legs around him. With one hand effortlessly tucked in his pocket, he oozes sex appeal.

His eyes darken when they land on me. The slow perusal of his gaze raises my temperature by ten degrees, getting hotter when his sights land on my cleavage that’s peeking out above the sweetheart neckline of my dress.

Blush colors my skin pink. My professor is unashamedly checking me out in public.

I jolt when Dad clears his throat. “Maddox, we need to have a chat about the pieces you made of my dau—”

“I’ll be stealing your daughter now, thank you,” Maddox interrupts, placing a warm hand on the bare skin of my back to lead me away.

“Dinner tomorrow, right, Reyna?” Dad calls.