Bad Things (Tristan & Danika, #1)(72)

“He’s like one huge * magnet up there,” Frankie almost shouted into my ear.

She was right, and I hated it.

“He’s one huge * magnet everywhere he goes,” I replied.

She laughed, and I smiled unhappily.

I told myself that it was good to get a healthy dose of reality. It was the first step to moving on, and I needed to get past this insanity.

The band was good. Really good. By the third song, I was dancing.

Frankie started it, shaking her hips at me, jumping around like a maniac. I had never been one to turn down any excuse to dance, and killer live music mixed with good company was the best excuse of all.

I knew that Rodney the camera guy was taping everything, and I found that I didn’t mind. In fact, I gave him a show, dancing playfully with Frankie to the heavy beat of the drum.

I loved a good rock song with some heavy drums. I closed my eyes and let the music take over, Tristan’s deep, sexy voice washing over me. How could you be so intimate with a person, and not know they could sing their heart out to a crowd of strangers?

I told myself resolutely that it didn’t matter.

They performed seven original songs, all different enough to be interesting, some edgy, some moody and emotional.

“There’s some record producer guys here tonight. James Cavendish called them in. He should be here, too. We need to find him afterward, see what he thinks. Wouldn’t it be amazing if they got a record deal?”

I nodded, my eyes wide. In my mind, there was no doubt that they would get one, they were that good.

When the set ended, the stage was overrun, mostly by women.

In a way, I was relieved, because I didn’t have to worry about actually dealing with Tristan, or any of them, for that matter. I just wasn’t up for it.

Frankie seemed to be of the same mind, tugging me in the opposite direction, out into the lounge, her eyes searching the room, before she pulled me past that too.

When she started to wander down a hall that clearly said employees only, I dug in my heels.

“Where are we going?” I asked her, eyes narrowed.

“I told you. I want to talk to James.”

“This is for employees only.”

“I work here. Kind of. Don’t worry about it. What are they going to do? Kick us out?”

I thought that’s exactly what they’d do, but I let her pull me along.

We wound up in a huge white room that I quickly caught on was for the after party.

“Frankie!” I rounded on her. “I told you. I don’t want to see anyone. Why would you drag me back here?”

She ignored me completely, waving at someone behind me, then rushing off.

I turned to see James Cavendish striding into the room, dressed for business but looking relaxed. And God, he was still as stunning as I remembered. In the brighter light of this room, even more so, his skin darker, his eyes brighter, than I’d realized.

He was grinning at Frankie, then hugging her, saying something quiet into her ear.

I approached them, feeling very out of place. I did not hang out with people like this, and I couldn’t believe that Frankie did.

James smiled at me, holding his hand out politely to shake, and we shook. “Nice to meet you, Danika. Frankie has told me so much about you.”

I couldn’t have been more shocked, and I had to scramble just to make small talk with the intimidating man. “Nice to meet you, too. We met once before, actually. Some guy got kicked out of the club for being a creeper, and you came by to make sure I was okay.”

His brows raised, and he gave me a killer smile. “I remember that. Wow, small world. I didn’t make the connection. It’s darker in the lounge, but I see it now.”

“My boss has a few paintings from your gallery. Let me just say, I’m a huge fan of some of the artists you’ve discovered. Art is a passion of mine.”

He looked intrigued, tilting his head to study me. “Well, thank you. It seems we share a passion, then, Danika.”

Frankie seemed to catch his eye, and his grin widened.

“For art, Frankie. Relax. I wouldn’t hit on your girl.”

This baffled me, and I found my mind slowly trying to make sense of it when he turned his dazzling smile on me again.

“Who’s the artist of the paintings? The ones your boss got from my gallery.”

“Someone named Mallory. Jackson Mallory.”

“Tell me about the pieces.”

“One is an abstract, called Orchard. Bold, warm colors, emotional leaning towards moody. It’s absolutely stunning.”

He was studying me very intently. “I know the painting. I like that description. You have a flair for this, Danika. Tell me about the second one.”

“It’s untitled. A portrait of a woman. A redhead. Her features are very detailed and…sensual.” I felt very embarrassed to use that word in front of him, but I couldn’t think of a better one. “A semi-nude, though luckily the essentials are covered, since my boss has two little ones in the house.”

“I remember that painting, as well. I’ll tell you what, Danika. If you ever want a job in the art world, you let me know. You have a good eye, and a penchant for descriptions, which is very important. And most importantly, that passion.”

I was stunned, and flattered beyond words. So flattered that I barely stammered out a thank you at the praise. I’d never considered working at a gallery, but I couldn’t say why it hadn’t occurred to me. There was no question I’d enjoy it.