Black Ties and White Lies(7)

I’m quiet long enough, my foot tapping against the carpet as I think through his words, when he feels the need to fill the silence with more of an explanation. “I’ll get you an interview with Camden Hunter.”

My foot stops immediately. “How?”

“We went to boarding school together. He’s one of my best friends.”

I snort. “I’m shocked you have friends. You don’t seem like the kind of person to form attachments.”

His eyebrows pinch together on his perfectly wrinkle free forehead. “I form attachments just fine. I’m just picky about who I choose to form them with. Am I to assume your answer is that you don’t want an interview with him?”

“You assume correctly. I don't want to be hired by Camden—owner of one of the most elite art galleries in New York—just because you know him. I don’t want my dream job handed to me.”

There he goes, making my heart flutter just from the sound of his laugh. It’s deep and rumbly, a sound that is felt from my head to my toes. “It’s cute you think I have that kind of power with Camden. He’s charming but ruthless. It wouldn’t matter if I begged him on my knees to hire you. While he’d find it hilarious, he’d never feature someone’s art he didn’t love. I’ll get you the interview to show him your work, your ideas, but it’d be up to you and your talent to solidify the partnership.”

Why is the thought of Beck on his knees making me feel hot and bothered? Do we have AC in here? It’s got to be the lack of airflow and not the mental picture.

My eyes narrow to pinpricks as I mull over his offer. The picture he paints doesn’t seem so bad. I’d pretty much sell my soul or any non-vital organ to even be in the same room as Camden Hunter. The son of two of the most world-renowned artists, it was only natural that the moment he opened his own gallery, it’d be the talk of the city. While Camden isn’t known to be an artist himself, he’s got the best eye there is. If he even looked at any of my drawings, I could die happy.

“I can’t believe you know Camden Hunter,” I comment, my voice full of wonder.

He runs his thumb over his lip, a gesture I’m learning he does often. “I can’t believe you hero worship him. I knew him when he had acne and braces.”

My mind tries to picture the not only brilliantly talented at spotting art, but a work of art himself Camden, with braces and acne. “I refuse to picture him like that.”

Beck shrugs dismissively. “I’ll deny I said this, but he could still get any girl he wanted back then—braces and all.”

My nose scrunches. “That’s more like it.”

Beck’s large hand rests on the table. For some reason, I keep focusing on his fingers. I’d never wanted to draw the veins on the back of a hand so bad. They’re so freaking sexy, and I don’t understand why. I itch to run my finger over them, to trace them all the way up his arm, even getting the luxury of feeling the skin that’s hidden underneath his suit.

“So, what do you think?” His dark, strikingly blue eyes focus on me. “Are you open to hearing more about my offer?”





I’ve never cared to know what people are thinking. Other people’s opinions on things have never really interested me. Until I laid eyes on the fiercely stubborn woman sitting across from me.

The moment she stuck her tiny little hand in mine at our summer house, the countless rings on her fingers scratching against my palms as we shook hands, I wanted to know what she thought of me. I was curious to know what she thought of her boyfriend’s older brother. She’d barely told me her name and I had countless questions I wanted to ask her. I’d never wanted to know every detail about another human being until I met her.

Then I saw her draw in her sketchbook and the only thing I wanted to know more than how she viewed me was what she was drawing in that little book of hers.

We’d barely spoken the rest of the weekend. I’d tried to avoid her when possible.

Except one night that weekend. The night that is forever burned in my mind.

Just as badly, I wanted to know what she was thinking when she met me. I’m desperate to know what’s going through her head.

Margo clears her throat, breaking me from my memories and bringing my attention back to her.

Has she already made up her mind to say no? I’d use every one of my breaths to get her to change her mind.

Is she considering it? I’ll make sure it’s worth her while.

Has she made the decision to say yes? I’ll give her anything she wants and more.

Unfortunately for me, Margo doesn’t let on to what direction her head is going in—at least not yet. “I need more details on how this is going to work before I agree to anything.”

“Done.” My answer is immediate. Standing up, I walk around the table until I’m standing right next to her. Reaching up, I undo the button of my suit jacket and let it fall open. I slide my hands into my pockets and sit on the edge of the table. If I scooted over an inch, her knee would brush up against my leg. I’m tempted to do it just to feel some sort of connection between the two of us. “What else do you want to know?”

“What does being your assistant mean? And what happens to your other one? Do you fire them?”

I scoff. “No. Polly still keeps her position, except she’s going to stay more grounded in New York. You’ll be based in New York with me, but you’ll also travel with me when needed.”