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

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.

“Whenever you’re done trying to hire her, James, I want you to tell me what you thought of the band!”

He looked thoughtful. “They’re good. Very good. That lead singer is an attention grabber. I’d be shocked if they don’t get a deal soon. In fact, I think they’re getting an earful about that already.” He nodded across the room, and we turned to look.

I turned, my gut churning as I saw Tristan and the guys, engaged in an intense conversation with some men in suits. I saw that Jerry was with them, which I should have guessed. He’d been the one to put this whole thing together.

I turned away quickly, not wanting to look at Tristan, or notice all of the women waiting to get the band’s attention.

I counted to ten, not letting myself look at him again.

“Does the casino have a magic act?” I asked James, a devil getting ahold of my tongue.

“Excuse me?” he asked, looking amused but baffled.

“Tristan, the lead singer. You said he was an attention grabber. You’re right. He is. He’s a great singer, but that’s not even his biggest talent.”

“Really? Do tell.”

“He does card tricks. Sleight of hand that you wouldn’t believe. I can’t even describe it, it’s so good. You should ask him about it. And you should think about getting a fresh, young magic act. There’s enough old men with too much plastic surgery dominating that field. You should do something different.”

James didn’t blow off my suggestion, as I’d more than half assumed he would.

“That’s a solid idea. Our current act is a walking heart attack, so I’ll have to ask Tristan about this sometime. Ah, here he is. Tristan, Danika’s been telling me…”

James trailed off as a hand grabbed my arm from behind.

“Excuse me,” I heard an achingly familiar voice growl right before I was being dragged out of the room by a big hand that was attached to the person that I least wanted to see in the world.

TRISTAN

It was even worse than I’d anticipated, when I laid eyes on her again. One glance at her and I was lost.

We weren’t alone, in fact it felt like everyone I’d ever met was crowded into the room with us. She was standing close to Frankie, their sides nearly touching. She was thinner than the other woman, but she towered over her, especially in those f**k-me heels.

Both of them had black hair, but that was about all they had in common, looks wise. Still, they were a striking sight, standing side by side. Danika looked like a supermodel, her lithe curves hugged perfectly in that tiny white dress that drove me out of my mind crazy, and Frankie could have been a pinup model, with her half-shirt exposing huge amounts of toned, inked up skin.

They were talking to James, in fact they’d gone directly to him, as though no one else was in the room. But of course, that wasn’t the worst of it…

The part that made my gut twist hard was that she barely looked at me, just one quick glance and she looked pointedly away, as though she was afraid to meet my eyes, as though she didn’t think I’d be happy to see her there.

That killed me, but I couldn’t blame her. I’d been a bastard. Not only had I not called her for weeks, I hadn’t even been the one to invite her here, hadn’t even tried to reach out when I knew she was coming.

She was saying something to James that had her eyes flashing, her hands moving in small gestures to emphasize her point.

She was doing that adorable thing she did where she got so passionate about a subject that it turned into a rant. I loved it when she did that, and now she was doing it for James Cavendish.

And worse, James looked fascinated by her, interrupting her impassioned little tirade occasionally, his smile warm.