Page 5

CHAPTER FIVE

The charity auction was hosted at the main ballroom in The Kingston, a five-star hotel. The ballroom showcased paintings, sculptures, haute couture, and antiques that would later be auctioned off for eye-watering prices. Waiters milled around the crowd, offering champagne and wine. There was a bar on either end of the room for guests to order more specific drinks. Above us, the crystal chandeliers glittered and glimmered.

“Fancy,” Cameron commented, tilting his head back to look at a life-sized marble statue that would be auctioned off later that evening.

“Tell me about it,” I replied as we weaved through groups of people talking. A waiter passed by, and I picked up two flutes of champagne from the tray, passing one to Cameron.

“To tonight,” I said. It was the first thing I could think of .

“To tonight,” he echoed. We clinked glasses and took a sip. Around me, I could already hear chatter about so-and-so. This person had won this business deal. That person had married an heiress. This person was getting divorced. That person had been charged with embezzlement.

“Are you going to bid on anything?” Cameron asked me, pulling me from the haze of gossip.

We looked around. Some of the art was nice, and the antiques were cool. It was all very niche, though.

I shook my head and motioned to a table next to the stage where someone was taking donations by cash or check. “I’m just going to write a check. I don’t need anything in return.”

“You don’t need a Parisian corset or a breakfast bookcase from the 1700s?” Cameron replied with a teasing smile on his face.

An uncontrollable smirk crossed my lips. “I don’t think any of that will match my vibe.”

Cameron chuckled. “I don’t think so either. You need…”

“The best?” I asked, the words slipping from my mouth before I could even process them. Was I already getting loose lips?

He gave me a wry smile. “Of course.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off his, captivated by his smooth words and alluring grin. I wished that I could —

“Alison! Is that you?”

I whipped around, my eyes widening at the sight of Russell McArthur. What the hell was he doing here? “Russell,” I said, forcing a polite smile. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Russell gestured around us. “I’m surprised to see you here too. You should have told me you were coming.” He gestured at the blonde woman on his right, who wore an emerald dress and diamond earrings. “This is Lindsey Harmond, one of the chief executives at Capital Tech, and this is Arthur Wilson, CEO of Crowne Consults,” he said, motioning at the short, bald man on his left.

I politely shook their hands. “I’m Alison Firth of Firth Marketing. This is Cameron Holmes.”

Cameron jumped in and shook their hands. “I’m the executive assistant.”

“Oh, an assistant. She got you fetching drinks and holding her chequebook tonight?” Arthur asked with a teasing laugh.

While I wrinkled my nose, everyone else chuckled, even Cameron. Of course — he was always easy going.

“Actually,” I said, “I invited him as a friend.”

There was a short silence before Lindsey swept her hair behind her shoulders and smiled at Cameron. “Well, it’s lovely to meet you.”

Was I imagining it, or was Lindsey looking at Cameron the way a carnivore looks at a fresh cut of meat? I tried to stamp down my irritation, and finished the rest of my champagne .

“Yes, yes,” Arthur was saying now. “It’s always good to see new faces at these types of events; it gets boring otherwise.”

I picked up another flute of champagne from a passing waiter, then found that Russell had moved to stand beside me. “I enjoyed the other night with you. Shame it came to an end so early,” he murmured.

“Yes, it was nice,” I lied, taking a long sip of my drink, letting the warm, bubbly sensation fill me. I needed this to take off the edge a little.

“We should do it again soon,” Russell told me. “Maybe in a more private setting.”

I started to scoff but hastily turned it into a cough. Involuntarily, my eyes shifted over to Cameron, who was lightly laughing as Lindsey told him a story that I was only halfway listening to.

I took another sip. And another. A sip for every time that Russell tried to flirt with me. Another sip every time Lindsey touched Cameron’s arm. It wasn’t long before my face felt warm from all the alcohol I’d had.

“Next item up for auction. Confinement by Nicolo Ranallo. Acrylic on canvas,” the auctioneer announced from the stage as he gestured to a large canvas that I couldn’t quite make sense of. The background was green, and there was a red shape in the center that looked like a misshapen rectangle. Inside of that red shape was a smaller black shape that could’ve resembled a potato for all I knew. Tiny white dots littered the entire canvas like it had chicken pox.

“Wow. That’s fascinating,” Russell said as his hand rested on his jaw out of awe. “Look at the texture of that.”

Lindsey nodded in agreement. “That’s really nice.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that burst from me and shook my entire body, the rest of my champagne nearly sloshing over the rim of the glass. This was my third flute. Or was it my fourth? Fifth? “Are we looking at the same thing? It looks like a preschooler made it with crayons.”

Cameron shot me a shocked look.

I glanced around, seeing that other people were looking in my direction. Oops. I might’ve said that a little too loud.

“Art is subjective, but you should really take the time to try and understand what artists are trying to portray in their works,” Russell told me.

“Let’s start the bidding at $1,000,” the auctioneer called out.

Russell lifted his bidding card.

“Got $1,000 right here,” the auctioneer said as he motioned in Russell’s direction.

More laughter bubbled from my lips that I tried to muffle with my hand. He was really spending $1,000 on a painting that he could do himself? Not that I knew anything about his artistic talents but come on.

“Okay,” I said to him. “What is this painting about?”

Russell blinked at me. “Pardon? ”

“What is this painting about?” I repeated. “To me, it looks like a whole bunch of blobs and colors. They’re not even pretty colors.”

Cameron shifted closer to me. “Alison, what are you doing?”

I ignored him, keeping my attention on Russell.

“Well,” he said, eyes flicking around at the people who were looking at us. “It’s about confinement.” He tore his attention away to bid $2000.

“ Confinement ,” I repeated. “Wow, how insightful.”

Russell went red. “Look at the shapes, the way they are inside of each other. They’re confined by each other. It’s a metaphor.”

“A metaphor?” I echoed, trying not to laugh.

“ Alison ,” Cameron warned in a low voice.

“Yes, a metaphor for the prison industrial complex,” Russell said, then waved a hand. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Most people don’t get art — it’s nothing to feel insecure about.”

“Going once,” the auctioneer called out. “Going twice…sold! To Mr. MacArthur for $2000.”

Everyone turned around to applaud Russell for his win.

“I,” I began, waving a finger at Russell, “think you” — my voice was slightly wobbly, a bit slurred. I hadn’t had that much to drink, had I? — “are full of shit.”

“Excuse us,” Cameron spoke up as he placed his hand on my back firmly, ushering me away from everyone and out of the ballroom.

“What are you doing? I need to see Russell write that check,” I told him as I started to draw away from him.

Cameron wrapped his arm around my waist, anchoring me to his side as he brought me out into the hallway, and then into an empty conference room. He shut the door behind us, blocking me from leaving. The noise and voices from the ballroom were completely muffled from here.

“Don’t move,” Cameron told me sternly. He walked over to a water cooler in the corner of the room and pour me a small cup.“Drink. You need to sober up.” He placed the paper cup in my hand.

I frowned. Talk about killing a good buzz.

With an annoyed sigh, I downed the whole cup of water, but he wasn’t done yet. He made me drink several more cups, and we remained in that room for what felt like an eternity.

“You’re sabotaging your reputation,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, waving a floppy hand. I wasn’t in the mood to talk about this stuff.

“Have another,” he said, passing me another cup of water. I drank it, even though what I really wanted was more champagne. That, and to return to the ballroom to laugh at Russell.

“You can’t be sloppy and drunk like that. Not where people can see you,” he continued.

I rolled my eyes and made a talking hand with my mouth, signalling that I thought he was yapping nonsense.

He sighed. “You’re clearly still tipsy. Stay here. I’ll get you some food to sober you up.”

After he left, I considered ignoring him and returning to the ballroom. Who was he to boss me around? But suddenly, I couldn’t be bothered. I wasn’t as energized as I had been before, when I’d had a lot more champagne in my blood stream.

Finally, he returned, with a plate piled with canapés. “Here,” he said, pushing me into one of the seats at the conference table, and placing the plate in front of me. “Eat.”

I obeyed, not because I wanted to listen to him, but because the food did look really good. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. I quickly helped myself to the tower of bite-sized savory snacks, and as my stomach filled, I sobered up more and more, until I realized exactly what I had done, back in the ballroom. Embarrassment burned in my throat.

Oh god. I’d acted like a bitch. An immature, unprofessional bitch. No, I didn’t care if I offended Russell and his stupid painting, but I’d behaved badly in front of Lindsey and Arthur and who knew who else.

“You can’t act like that again,” Cameron said, taking the seat across the table from me.

“I know,” I snapped, because he didn’t need to rub my face in it .

He didn’t seem to notice my irritation. “I’ll make excuses,” he continued. “I’ll say that you’ve had a rough day. That you’ve been exhausted from work.”

“You will not,” I said. “That makes me sound weak. Out of control.”

“I think you’re forgetting,” Cameron said calmly, “that you were out of control and it was weak of you to get drunk within the first half an hour of arriving.”

I stood up, my chair pushed back with an ugly screech. “Excuse me?” I demanded, my palms flat on the table. “You can’t speak to me like that.”

He didn’t blink, just looked at me with that same unfazed expression, which infuriated me even more. He was supposed to apologize. Even if there was some truth to his words, I was still his boss. There were standards about how you were supposed to speak to employers.

“Never boss me around again or chastise me like a child,” I told him, ice in my voice.

“Then don’t act like a child.”

I walked around the table, so I was standing right by him. “I think you need to remember, Cameron, that I can fire you whenever I want.”

His jaw tensed for just a second, before the side of his mouth turned up. Was he…smiling? “You can’t fire me. You need me.”

No, I don’t. I don’t need you at all. In fact, most days I can barely stand you .

He was close enough that I could see the different shades of blue in his eyes, so vivid and clear like sapphires.

“There are hundreds, even thousands, of people out there with your same qualifications. Some with even better.”

He stood up, and I stumbled a step backwards. When he’d been sitting down, I’d almost forgotten how tall he was. Now he was at his full height, towering and looking down at me. “You don’t need someone with the best qualifications. You need someone who is brutally honest with you,” he said. “You need someone to look after you. I help you. I want to help you.”

I couldn’t say anything. I felt frozen, staring up at him, as each of his words hit me deep in my chest like a bullet.

“I care about you,” he said, more quietly.

Then, as if in slow motion, he reached for my face, thumb tipping my chin up. My heart pounded, loud like a drum, my eyes widening in shock. This was the sort of thing that happened in dreams.

The logical part of me wanted to say no, to pull away, to remind him I was his boss. But the rest of me was overwhelmed with yes , with heat and wanting, and it felt like heaven when he finally lowered his head and kissed my lips.