Page 9 of Twisted Knight

“I’m making it my business.”

My chuckle is low and unforgiving. “Clearly you think highly of yourself.”

“Then it seems we both do.”

A smile toys at the corners of my lips. She’s got some fight in her. I respond despite myself. “What about the painting?”

“You just spent a pretty penny on it.”

“I think most people here have plenty of pennies available for spending.”

“True. We do. And yet the mystery man who no one quite knows just one-upped all of us with that show he put on.”

“Hardly.” What’s her angle? There’s no way she can know what’s going on. Can she?

“What do you plan on doing with it?” She ignores my question. Her heels click as she moves closer.

I watch the liquid I’m swirling around in my glass. “Throw it away. Burn it. I haven’t decided just yet.”

She freezes. “What am I missing here?”

“Nothing. You heard me perfectly fine. Art’s just not my thing.”

“Then why buy it?”

“I have my reasons.” Anything to prevent them from having it.

“So, buy it then destroy it? Just like that?”

“Hmm. Yes.” I lean forward, rest my elbows on the railing, and slide a glance her way. “Just like that.”

Out of all the reactions I was expecting, her throwing her head back and laughing is the last of them. But that’s exactly what she does.

For a woman I had no interest in talking to, she now has my undivided attention.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’ll fit in well at Westmore.”

“Why’s that?”

“You have the ‘classic prick’ thing down pat.”

“If that’s supposed to be an insult, you’re going to have to work harder.”

She snorts and that composure of hers crumbles some with the stumble that follows. Her hand reaches for the railing to steady herself, while mine reflexively grabs her arm to do the same. Her proximity affords me a closer look. The glassiness to her eyes. The ease of her smile. The empty martini glass in her hand that was full only moments before.

Her body. Christ, her body.

Her nearness affects the both of us. It’s in the hitch of her breath and the sudden jump of my pulse. Her lips part ever so slightly as we stand frozen for the briefest of seconds.

Distractions, Holden. Stay the fuck away from them. Especially in this crowd. Particularly her.

Her lashes flutter before she gives a quick shake of her head and takes a step back. “Sorry.” She holds her hands up. “It’s been a rough week, and this”—she lifts her glass up—“is how I’ve chosen to cope tonight.”

“Enjoying yourself that much, are you?”

“Yes. Having the time of my life, can’t you tell?” She rolls her eyes and huffs out a breath but then she meets my gaze again.