I want to argue with him, tell him this would have been a much more painstaking process without him, but Logan appears at my side with three glasses of champagne and a huge smile on his face.
He offers two of them to Nick and me then clinks glasses with nothing but a wink. There’s a bright flash, blinding me momentarily. When my eyes focus, I recognize the cute young man who arrived with a reporter earlier.
“Chad, you better have gotten my good side, or I’ll never invite you back,” I tease him.
“Miss Grace, I’m not sure you could take a bad picture.” He flirts like an expert.
“Flattery is the best way to ensure you’re always welcome here.”
“I’m telling the truth. Don’t you agree, Six?” He peeks at Nick with so much admiration, my heart swells. He’s star-struck.
“Oh yeah, buddy. Grace definitely doesn’t have a bad side. Every part of her is gorgeous.”
Now it’s my turn to swoon. It’s one thing for Nick to whisper sweet words to me when we’re alone, but to announce it to a stranger—and media member—is big.
“Mr. Monroe, can I get a few of you and Miss Grace together?”
Nick steps back while Logan and I pose for a few shots. When he’s done, he thanks us and moves into the crowd with his camera raised, but not before a few words of praise to Nick.
One of our largest clients approaches us with an inquiry about a few pieces, and I mouth to Nick that I’ll be right back as I follow
Mrs. Shields to answer her questions. He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, tucks a stray hair behind my ear, and brushes the rest of my hair over my shoulder. The intimate gesture sets my heart racing.
To my surprise, Mrs. Shields not only wants information, but she also wants a full display section for the holiday season in her home. Logan explains the process, and I listen intently, my own pride overflowing at my brother’s keen business acumen. He doesn’t skip a beat as he rattles off the next steps, promising that we’ll handle everything after the waivers and contracts are reviewed. By the time he’s finished, Mrs. Shields is glowing with excitement.
I excuse myself, promising to be available for the install at her house, and thank her before walking around to make sure the rest of the guests are okay. When I round the corner, my feet stumble to a halt. Nick is leaning against the wall, still holding two glasses of champagne with his arms crossed. A beautiful brunette is standing close, talking to him. I watch as he says something to her, and she takes it as an invitation to step closer, invading his personal space. She arches until she brushes her chest against his crossed arms.
The air around me changes as jealousy bubbles inside. Nick’s face snaps to mine, and his eyes widen as he searches my face. Then a cocky smile crosses his lips, and he puts the glasses down on the podium behind him and strides to me, completely ignoring her. She spins around to watch as he approaches me. The last thing I see is shock on her face before Nick pulls me into him and lays his mouth on mine.
“I missed you,” he draws out in his sexy voice. “That may be the last time I let you leave my side tonight. How’d it go?”
I’m about to tell him about my conversation with Mrs. Shields when there’s an exasperated sigh behind us.
Nick exhales with irritation and twirls us, tucking me to his side and dropping his arm to my waist. I’m now facing the busty brunette, whose earlier flirty demeanor has changed. She’s staring at me with a dismissive glare.
“Nick, I wasn’t quite done with my story,” she snips.
“Sorry, Shannon, I was distracted.” Nick leans down and runs his lips along my hairline.
“Who’s your friend?” She doesn’t try to hide her disapproval.
“This is my girlfriend, Grace Monroe. Grace, this is Shannon,” he tells me, tightening his fingers into my hip. I’m momentarily stunned at him introducing me as his girlfriend.
Our eyes meet, and I fight to keep standing at the expression on his face. His eyes are dancing with happiness, glowing the bright blue I love.
“Monroe, as in Monroe Gallery?” Shannon sneers.
“That’s me,” I confirm with a short nod.
“Logan did mention his baby sister was coming to Miami.”
“You know Logan?” I question her.
“Yes, I’m Shannon Rails,” she answers confidently, flipping her hair over her shoulder and poking her chest out.
I remain quiet, tossing the name around in my head, trying to recall if Logan has mentioned her. Nothing comes up. The silence stretches, and her face grows more and more agitated.
“From ‘Shannon Says’,” she finishes, as if this will clear up any confusion.