Bitch.
I smiled demurely, ignoring the huff of amused breath from Sinclair next to me.
“Thank you, Willa.”
She inclined her head regally. I could see clearly how she would have liked Elena. They both wore their artifice and insincerity like a string of highly polished pearls.
Without another word, she turned and made her way over to a small group that I recognized as a Congresswoman, a prolific political advisor, and a journalist from the NY Times.
“Merde.”
“Careful, most of the people here speak French,” Sinclair reminded me.
“As if I wasn’t intimidated enough already,” I muttered under my breath.
Sin smiled at me but before he could say anything a short man in a suit with his sparse hair carefully arranged around his bald crown approached us.
“Daniel Sinclair, it has been a very long time,” he said while stabbing his hand towards us.
“It has. How are you Mr. Carroll?”
My eyes widened before I could curb my reaction. Mr. Carroll was one of the most famous defense attorneys in the country. I knew this, of course, because Elena had been obsessed with the little man/big lawyer for years. It was her dream to battle against him in court one day and beat him. She had mentioned once that whenever she went into court, she pretended Mr. Carroll was her opposing council.
I imagined the shrill sound of my self-esteem rushing from the puncture hole in my confidence. How in the world was a poor artist from Naples supposed to converse with such a man?
Happily, Mr. Carroll took care of the job for me. He turned my way with a small but genuine grin that made him far more comely.
“Miss Moore, it is my absolute pleasure to meet you. My wife and I have been deep admirers of your work since your second exhibition in Paris, I believe it was in 2013?
“Oh yes,” I said, miraculously harnessing my shock. “It was my first nude collection.” And this esteemed man had bought some of that work.
I tried not to freak out; settling on what I hoped was a demure smile instead.
Sinclair squeezed my hand in support.
Mr. Carroll chuckled. “Yes, I remember well. My wife is a good friend of Terry Paulson. It was she who turned her on to your art. I must admit, we bought one of your pieces at your last showing and my wife was incredibly disappointed that she didn’t get to meet you. She will be furious that she missed dinner tonight.”
I laughed, charmed by this innocuous-looking yet charming man. “You must give her my card and tell her to call. There are a few pieces that I left out of the collection if she would be interested in a private viewing?”
His eyes widened comically. “I would have brownie points for years if I could secure that. We were looking at the preview catalogue for your next collection just the other night and already put a hold on one of the pieces.”
This time, we all laughed.
“Well, I’m happy to do it. May I ask which piece you bought?”
To my delight, he blushed faintly. “Candy.”
He’d bought the painting of Candy Kay sucking salaciously on an oversized red lollipop. I was proud of both Sinclair and myself for remaining sober.
“One of my favorites too,” Sinclair said with a wink.
God, I loved that man.
Mr. Carroll grinned. “Of course, you must be incredibly proud of her, Sinclair. A man has to wonder what a gorgeous artist is doing with a workaholic, fuddy-duddy like you, eh?”
I snorted before I could help it.
Sinclair looked bemused by the comment but shrugged good-naturedly. “You can understand me when I say she brought color to my life, Isaac.”
He nodded. “I can, I can. Now, if I may insist, I would love your card, dear girl.”
I opened my mouth to explain that I had left my cards in my coat but Sinclair beat me to the punch, pulling out his slim leather wallet to retrieve one of my cards. He chatted briefly with the man before he handed it over but I was oblivious to the conversation. I was focused on the man who kept my business cards in his wallet and happily shared his love for me with almost strangers.
Everything awful in life was worth having this man by my side.
When Mr. Carroll had excused himself, Sin looked down at me with a broad grin. The expression slipped slightly, replaced by passion-narrowed eyes and tensed lips. His hand tightened in mine.
“Do not look at me like that in public, siren, or you may not like what I will do to you in front of these many eyes.”
I swallowed thickly, tilting my head back to expose my throat, like a beta wolf before her Alpha. “I think I would like it.”
Sinclair smiled down at me wickedly and whispered, “If you are a good girl, my siren, I promise to reward you for the tedium of this party.”