Obsessed

"Do you have a favorite piece, Ivy?" Brighton asks confidently.

I shift my focus to Liz who has a look on her face that screams, "Get this right Ivy or I'll never let you hear the end of it."

"Seduction..." I pause for effect, "is breathtaking." For good measure I raise my left hand to my chest and let out a deep sigh. I instantly realize that it’s over-the-top but Brighton strikes me as the type of man who has women praising his work, among other things, on a daily basis.

He beams and looks at Liz. "I like her."

"Brighton, we must talk." Richard Feist has appeared out of nowhere. I've never been happier to see New York's premier art critic before.

"Liz. Ivy." Richard doesn't look our way as he brusquely acknowledges our presence.

"Brighton, I..." Liz's voices trails in disappointment as Richard places his hand on Brighton's shoulder briskly guiding him away from us.

"Hell," she says under her breath causing me to laugh out loud. It's always amusing to hear Liz curse. She is the personification of a southern belle right down to her aversion to four-letter-words.

"Let's get some dinner." I look at Liz who is on her tip toes, trying unsuccessfully to see over the growing crowd. I assume her radar is still locked on Brighton.

"Maybe we should stay a spell more," she calls over her shoulder to me.

"You'll see him tomorrow." I plead my case. "He's busy. You're not going to get time with him tonight."

She twists around and grabs my shoulders pulling me into an embrace. "I can't leave without saying goodbye to him. Go on without me. I'll text you later."

With that, she disappears into the crowd and I'm left alone to weave my way to the exit.

Thirty minutes, and two conversations with acquaintances later, I'm still working on breaking free of the gallery and the now almost-to-capacity gathering.

"Ivy, wait!" A vaguely familiar voice rises above the buzz of the room just as I have the door within my sight.

I turn to my left to see Brighton rushing towards me. Unfortunately, Liz is nowhere in sight.

"Liz is looking for you." I smile at him. I realize this is my opportunity to sell all of Liz's artistic attributes to her current idol.

He frowns slightly, the disappointment flowing into his voice, "She's not with you?" He skims the room behind me and his expression speaks of his frustration.

"No. She set out on a search for you. Do you want me to text her and let her know where we are?" I reach inside my clutch fishing for my phone.

He touches my forearm softly. "That's not necessary. Can we talk for a moment?" He motions to the glass doors that lead to Ninth Avenue.

Brighton holds the door open for me as the welcome rush of cool spring air greets us.

"You're Brighton Beck!" a woman entering the gallery shrieks. The man accompanying her looks horrified by her outburst.

Brighton stops to talk with the woman and her companion. I can hear him expressing his delight in their desire to preview his latest creations.

I stand a few feet away, waiting for Brighton to finish, rehearsing in my head what I'll say about Liz and her watercolors. She's gifted, she's eager and she's in need of a moment to shine.

While I run through my mini-speech I turn to the street. There hailing a taxi is Jax. Next to him a beautiful, tall brunette is attached to his other hand. The subtle suggestion of women's perfume that he carried with him now has a face, a fabulous figure and a pair of gold Louboutin pumps my feet are instantaneously infatuated with.

A taxi rushes to the curb as Brighton joins me. "My apologies, Ivy but an adoring fan is impossible to ignore."

I nod, my eyes still fixed on Jax as he opens the door of the taxi and helps the leggy brunette in.

I turn my attention back to Brighton and my quest to help Liz. "It's wonderful that so many people appreciate your unique talents, Brighton." I'm optimistic that he's hearing sincerity in my words. I can already tell that coddling his ego will get me everywhere.

Brighton reaches for my

hand, once again bringing it gently to his lips. As he does, I look over his shoulder to see Jax, standing next to the open door of the taxi, his eyes fixed on us. A female hand reaches out of the back seat encouraging him to get in. He's frozen. I can't hold back a grin.