Black Ties and White Lies(117)

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I look down, seeing Ruby’s name pop onto the screen. I sigh, backing into the stairwell for a moment before Margo spots me.

I swipe to answer. “Is it done?” There’s no hint of emotion in my voice. I don’t want there to be. Not with her.

“That story has been killed,” Ruby answers. “Although, I thought the title Black Ties and White Lies was pretty fucking epic for the name.”

I grunt. I wouldn’t hate the title if the article on the center of the website tomorrow wasn’t originally planned to out everything that’s transpired between Margo and me. All the lies included. I’d be fine with the world knowing the lies I’d told to get her, but I don’t want Margo’s name anywhere near it. Especially with how big tonight is for her. I don’t want anything clouding it tomorrow.

“You’ve got to admit,” Ruby speaks up, not caring that I didn’t give her a response. “It was kind of catchy.”

“You’ll think of a better one for the article I’ve paid you to write instead.”

“The new one isn’t so bad either,” she says reluctantly.

I smile. I cut a large check to Ruby to have her change course on the article running tomorrow. It no longer focuses on the past between Margo and me. Instead, I gave Ruby a VIP ticket to the event tonight and made her promise to write about the newest up and coming artist in the Manhattan scene. “Send it to me to read first,” I demand.

Even though she’s a reporter, she isn’t as terrible as I first believed her to be. She’s just out for herself, I can’t really blame her on the fact. She worked with me to change course on the article. I’ll always appreciate her for it.

“Your brother keeps calling.” Her tone comes out annoyed. I feel her sentiment. I’d be annoyed too if he was still bothering Margo and me. My little trip to San Jose a few months ago halted all threats and calls from him.

It’s been nice.

“Sucks for you,” I answer. “Look, Ruby. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Sinclair. Nice working with you. See you.”

When I return to my spot from earlier, I find Margo looking right at me. She smiles brightly, rushing across the clean, white space to wrap me in a hug. “You’re here,” she says with enthusiasm.

I kiss the top of her head, pulling her into my body. I instantly relax after being able to touch her. I’ve been at work all day and she’s been here since early this morning. I’m relieved to have her in my arms once again. I already look forward to everything that’s in store for us after this event.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Okay don’t be mad, but Camden told me that the centerpiece…the one of you and me…it's already sold.”

I feign surprise. My eyebrows raise. “Did it now?”

She bites her lip anxiously, rocking back and forth on the same pair of heels she wore to our engagement party months ago. Ones I fully expect to see her in tonight—with nothing else on. “I’m sorry. I told Camden we didn’t have to put it up for sale, but he told me it was too late. It was already purchased. I can always make anoth—”

I cut her off by kissing her lips. “I think it’ll make a great centerpiece in a bedroom. Don’t you?”

She looks at me confused. Her puffy lips, lined in a delectable red that I want to ruin so bad, turn down in a frown. “Maybe? I don’t know. Are you not hearing me? Someone else bought it. I don’t know where they’ll put it, but it sold—for a lot of money I hear—but it won’t be ours.”

I press a kiss to her temple before reaching down and grabbing her hand. I lead her through the different pieces of art she’d been working hard day and night on for the past three months. All of them follow the same concepts.

Her showcase is called “What If.” The focus of it is on her concept of taking people or scenarios she’s seen and reimagining what their life is—or what their life could be.

I stop us in front of the one deepest into the gallery. My personal favorite—the one that solidified our past, present and future.

The one of us in the conference room joined with us on an imagined wedding day.

“Are you mad? Why did we have to come to this one?” Margo questions, looking at me skeptically.

“Because I’m the one who bought it, Violet. There was no fucking way anyone else was owning it but me. Or us.”

Her mouth hangs open. She looks from the canvas to me and back again. “No you didn’t.”

“Yes I did.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “I don’t think I’ve been this mad at you since you fired me.”

I smirk, my eyes roaming every single one of the pieces she put her heart and soul into for this showcase.

Fuck. I’m so god damn proud of her. So painstakingly in awe of her talent—her beauty. Essentially everything about her.

“You can be mad, baby. I love how you take out your frustrations on me.” A flush creeps up her neck as she no doubt remembers the mind-blowing sex we had the night I fired her. It was the weekend after I’d come back from San Jose. She’d complained she was sore from it for days.

“Beck,” Camden says, looping around a canvas to stop next to Margo and me. “I knew you’d sneak in early.”