Page 16 of Start With A Slap

What was she supposed to say to that? No? Plus, she was still touching him, and he was making double entendre face. She took her hand back and hoped he’d let it go.

After being consistently outbid by one hundred-thousand-dollar increments, Sever finally said, “Oh for bloody’s sake. Ten million.”

As the crowd scandalgasmed, Ivy threw her napkin down, got up, and walked out.

Did he think ten million was her price? She paced in the museum’s hallway, calming a bout of hyperventilation.Does he think I’ll fuck him for a painting?

Sever came through the doors, and she leveled a glare at him.

“And you thoughtIwas giving them ideas,” he said with a tinge of amusement, patting his pockets. “That walkout’s gonna get you in the society pages for at least a year.”

Ivy didn’t share his amusement. “What was that?” she hissed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Clipping and lighting a cigar not three feet away from aNo Smokingsign, he shrugged. “Contributing to the arts.”

“You can’tbuyme, Sever, I’m not one of your… your ladies of the night!”

He laughed, expelling smoke through his nose like the dragon he was. “Who said I was offering?”

That threw her. She frowned at him, suspicious.

“You liked it,” he said simply. “Must be worth the investment.”

Oh. Okay. That was... preferable. Now she felt a little embarrassed by her hubris. Yes, he wanted to sleep with her, but no roll in the hay was worth ten million bucks.

From Sever’s faint smile, Ivy supposed he’d been reading her inner thoughts as they played across her face. Before she could say anything more, people began to filter out of the banquet hall. Sever returned his cigar to a silver tube in his breast pocket and raised a brow to gesture toward the mezzanine.

On the way, he caressed her lower back and said with a soft rumble in her ear, “Why would I try to buy you when I know you’re already mine?”

CHAPTER 6

Already Mine

Scanning the crowd for Sever’s whereabouts,Ivy emerged from the ladies’ room and made for the exit, praying she could slip past the glitterati unnoticed and escape in the Uber she’d arranged.

The sooner she got home the sooner she could undo this Society Barbie makeover, shower off her demon-in-law’s cigar-smoking, ear-whispering, lower-back-fondlingunbearably sexyresidue and accept that her well-meaning attempts to fix her husband’s broken family had combusted into a class A, level 5 disaster.

He was still talking to someone way across the room, back turned to her, and she was almost there, almostfree, when she heard:

“...Sever Mark is a rascal, plain and simple. Don’t let his baby blues fool you.”

Too curious for her own good, she slowed to admire a sculpture near the trio of gossips.

“...carried on regularly with that rock-n-roll tramp of his in their house, right under her nose.”

Rock-n-roll tramp? Were they talking about Jason’s mom? He did say that she was something of a groupie...

“That was eons ago, Mitz. Let the past stay dead and buried.”

“At leastwemade it out of there alive.” They shared a low, self-congratulatory chuckle, then: “Did you get a good look at hisnewarm candy? She’s positivelyfetal.”

“Did you see how she stormed off when he showboated over that shit watercolor? What on earth was that all about?”

“Maybe she’s his accountant,” said Mitz, and they all laughed raucously.

Ivy was only a few feet from the door. She could have kept walking — sheshouldhave — but a desire to correct this grievous error suddenly took precedence.

She tapped the speaker on the shoulder, and a Botoxed anorexic of indeterminate age turned to face her.

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