“It’s real. No embellishments or sensors. It is what it is,” he says quietly. He breaks the spell and turns his attention back to me. “So what type of drawings do you do?”
“What type of work do you do?”
“A lot.” He smirks at me.
“So do I.” I grin. If he doesn’t want to tell me anything, I won’t tell him anything either.
“I’ll show you my favorite painting.” I lead him to where I remembered it being. Luckily, it’s still there, so I don’t look like an idiot. “Degas is my absolute favorite painter. The way he captures light and color is just amazing.”
“The Dance Lessons,” he reads off the information card below. “I saw this in Washington last year.”
“I think they made a trade for another painting. Wait, you were in a museum?” I smirk at him.
“Something like that.” He loves to talk in codes.
“Hmmm, a hint… do you work in a museum? You’re an art collector? Or you’re a notorious thief, and you’re scoping out your next grab,” I guess.
“You really want to know what I do?” he asks with a sly grin.
Suddenly, he gets serious, stepping closer and holding my gaze. I stop my eyes from drifting to his lips.
He leans down slowly and whispers, “I work for the mob.”
I sigh and gently push him away, seeing his wide smile. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop asking. But it is legal, right?”
He shrugs with a slight smirk. “Maybe, maybe not,” he says even more cryptically.
I roll my eyes at him. Suddenly, his jacket pocket buzzes, and he pulls out his phone.
“This will only be a minute,” he promises and I nod, excusing him. I hear him say, “Hello?” as he walks a little ways down the hall.
A voice at my side interrupts my enjoyment of the view walking away from me.
“Hi, I’m Darrell Comings, a photographer from the Journal. Do you mind if I take a picture of you looking at this painting?” he asks, already prepping his camera. I don’t even know where this guy came from.
“Um… sure,” I say, but when I look back down the hall, Cal is nowhere to be seen. I could have sworn he was just there.
The cameraman ushers me in front of a painting. “Just look up at the painting naturally.”
I look at the painting, seeing it for the first time. “Is that good?”
“Perfect, stay still.” I hear the quiet click of the camera, followed by, “You’re done.
Thank you.” He and his companion walk away.
I look through the crowd, trying to spot Cal. Walking out to the main hall of the museum, I observe the crowd of impeccably dressed people and servers carrying trays of expensive champagne. The comforting quiet of the other section is replaced with a low hum of chattering, clicking heels, and soft piano music playing overhead.
I make my way through the crowd, trying to spot my handsome, six-foot-something companion, and I feel someone lightly grab my arm. I let out a sigh of relief until I see that’s it’s Jason.
“Lauren, I thought it was you,” he says happily.
“Hi,” I say, trying to match his enthusiasm. God, I don’t want to get stuck talking to him all night. I continue to glance around, hoping to spot Cal somewhere.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, oblivious to my anxiousness.
“I… I was invited.”
“Really?” he asks, stepping forward, a little too close for my liking. I step back, trying to reclaim my comfort zone, but he continues to move in on me. “I’m really sorry about dinner. My boss called.”
Too busy to call and see if I made it home safely, hmm? “It’s fine. I understand.” God, why am I so nice all the time?
“Yeah, well, I know this was the second time. I really just want to apologize. It won’t happen again,” he assures me.
I know it won’t happen again because we’ll never be on a date again. We both stand around awkwardly, and I scan the crowd for Cal.
“Would you like some champagne or something?” he asks.
“No, I’m fine,” I say weakly. “Your eye looks better.” It’s still a bit swollen, but the makeup over it is doing its best job to hide it.
“Oh yeah. It feels a little better,” he says, running his hand across it. He smiles at me. “Y-you look beautiful.” His eyes drift from my legs upward.
I wrap my arms around myself out of irritation. I feel as if he can see through my clothes, and it’s creepy. “Thank you. I like your suit,” I reply mechanically.
“Thanks, I just bought it,” he says, tracing the rim of it proudly. “Umm, are you doing anything after this?” He moves closer to me again.
“Actually…” I say, starting to excuse myself from another date of boring torture, when I feel a strong arm wrap around my waist.
Cal is back at my side, looking down at me with an arched brow and a sexy smirk. “I lost you for a minute.”
“It was more like I lost you,” I retort, thankful for his return. For a moment I forget Jason is even standing here. I glance over to see him looking annoyed but more confused. I should feel awkward about this, but I’m more amused than anything. “Jason, this is Cal. Cal, Jason.”
Jason sticks out his hand, and Cal takes it. For a moment, a look of anger crosses Jason’s face.
“The infamous Cal.” He laughs tightly and runs his hand across the bruise over his eye.
I then remember that Cal is the reason he has that bruise. I glance at Cal and see his expression is still calm—and a little smug, if I’m reading it right.
“Lauren, I thought you would keep our midnight escapades a secret,” he says, pulling me closer.
I look at Jason, who is turning red from either anger or embarrassment; I’m not sure which. I feel a little sorry for him, but I’m unwilling to pull away from my comfortable position in Cal’s arms.
“Well, I better get going. I have a lot to write for the paper,” he bumbles, already walking away.
“It was nice seeing you.” I give him a slight wave.
“Oh, Jason, you may want to get that looked at,” Cal says, gesturing to the cut above Jason’s eye.
Jason presses his lips together tightly and walks away in a huff. I let out a much-needed sigh of relief.
“So let me know if I’m wrong, but you seem to have lot of options here?” He laughs.
“Are you implying something, sir?” I say, hoping my sarcasm covers my embarrassment.
“Oh no. It’s just I thought I was on a playing field all my own,” he says, crossing his arms with a smug grin.
“You don’t seem to be the type that’s easily intimidated,” I retort, playing along.
“Oh, I’m not.” He laughs haughtily. “I guess I’m going to have to do something to make myself more memorable.”
He leaves me with a seductive smile that I can’t help but follow.
May 9th 2011
May 9th, 2011
I’ve been tiptoeing around the house for the past few hours, admittedly trying to avoid Raven. I haven’t faced her since the most embarrassing moment of my life. I suspect she left quite soon after she found Cal and me in the pantry. We’ve run the poor woman out of her own house. How terrible is that?