For 100 Days(34)

Anyway, I can see it’s too late to dance away from the truth now. Margot’s shrewd, almond-shaped eyes narrow on me.

“What’s this about, Avery? Why did you go?”

“I met someone. At the party.” I gesture to the area where we’re standing now. “I bumped into him—literally—right here in front of this painting. Turns out, we’d met before. Well, not exactly met, but we’d seen each other a couple of nights earlier. Anyway, we started talking about art and . . . well, other things. Then we decided to leave together.”

“Leave together.” Margot’s brows arch high on her forehead. She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, even though we’re the only two people in this section of the gallery. “Are you telling me you went home with this man? As in, slept with him?”

My sheepish look is evidently enough of an answer.

“No wonder you have no interest in Jared!” Her face lights up with curiosity. “Do I know this mystery man? Tell me more about him. Like his name, for starters.”

“Nick,” I murmur, and it astonishes me that just the sound of his name on my tongue is enough to make me recall every delicious detail of our conversation that night at the gallery and the hours of skin-on-skin communication that followed at his place. “His name is Nick Baine.”

Her smile falters, but it’s so subtle I almost miss it. Almost.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry, it’s just . . .” She lifts her shoulders in a faint shrug. “It’s nothing. I mean, I don’t think you’re asking for my advice, right?”

That is so not what I want to hear. My stomach bottoms out at the cautious way she phrases her reply. The troubled flicker in her gaze doesn’t help either.

“So, you’re telling me you know Nick?”

“Of course, I know him.” Her voice is tentative, trailing off quietly. I spot tenderness in her eyes—the hesitance of a friend who’s reluctant to hurt me, yet who can’t stand by and watch me stumble. “Avery, I work for Dominic Baine. He owns this gallery.”

“Dominion belongs to him?” I hear the wooden quality of my voice. The confusion I’m unable to conceal.

Margot nods. “I’m guessing he didn’t tell you that.”

“No, he didn’t.”

I don’t know why I should be so surprised. Nick’s obviously incredibly wealthy, and well-versed in art. An admirer, so he told me himself. The fact that he would own a gallery shouldn’t make my temples pound and my breath constrict in my chest.

And it wouldn’t, if he owned any other gallery than this one.

If he wasn’t the reason my own pieces were pulled from display to make room for other, more deserving artists. Was he aware of that when we talked in front of Beauty? When we fucked most of the night and then again the next morning? Was he only pretending he didn’t know damn well who I was?

He’s a shrewdly intelligent man. I don’t imagine much of anything gets past him. Right now, I can hardly say the same for myself.

Humiliation burns my throat, but being played for a fool is only part of my disappointment. I’m angry too. For letting myself fall so easily into whatever game he thinks he’s playing. For letting him draw me so effortlessly into his bed.

Most of all, I’m furious that he’s lied to me—whether by omission or evasion. Can I trust anything he’s said or done? Now, I’ll never be sure.

And yes, I recognize the irony of my outrage. After all, I’ve given him little more than lies either.

I pull myself out of the dark spiral of my thoughts to glance at Margot. “If I did ask, what kind of advice would you give me about Nick?”

I’ve caught her off guard. She swallows, then licks her red-glossed lips and slowly shakes her head. “It’s not my place,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said anything at all.”

“Margot.” I reach out, placing my hand on her shoulder. “What do I need to know about him?”

She holds my stare for a long moment, indecision clouding her deep brown eyes. Finally, she blows out a long sigh. “Just . . . be careful, Avery. That’s all. Dominic Baine’s not like other men you may know. He’s not like Jared.”

“In what way?” I need to know, but I’m not sure she’ll give me the truth. I can practically feel her discomfort with this turn in the conversation. It’s in the wariness of her expression, the hitch of her shallow breaths. “Margot, please. Tell me.”

Her mouth compresses and gives a vague shake of her head. “He’s damaged, Avery. Deeply. I don’t know how or why. I don’t think anyone can say they really know him. He doesn’t allow it. Anyone I’ve seen try has been cut loose swiftly and banished from his life without a speck of remorse.”