Page 2 of Tainted Truth

As I bring my gaze back to my piece, I make eye contact with one too many people.

If I can just find the damn bathroom, I can escape and hide until this geezer loses interest.

“Hugh, funny seeing you here. I didn’t think you were in town.” Another man in yet another suit stands opposite me. He holds a champagne glass, which looks dainty in his hand. His face is clean-shaven, and his light skin shines with a healthy glow. His nails are perfectly manicured, and his brows shaped. Thick mahogany hair styled with a natural look frames his face, but I see the tiniest glint of hair product. His sharp cheekbones and prominent jaw make him look harsh, but his eyes turn soft when they land on me.

I exhale a sigh of relief when Hugh’s attention diverts from me, and he stops trying to get his hands on me.

“Anthony, dear friend, good to see you.” Hugh’s eye twitches slightly, but not slight enough that I don’t catch it.

Hugh extends his hand, and they give each other a quick shake. When Hugh pulls away, he balls his fist at his side and his grasp on his glass turns white. I’m surprised it doesn’t break.

Hugh turns to me and says, “Anthony here is always in attendance at these events. He . . .acquiresmore art than most.”His hand makes its way to my arm and traces the length. My shoulders tense and I discreetly lean away.

Anthony slips a hand into his pocket and sips his drink with the other. He frowns at the space I placed between Hugh and I, and a flicker of hope lights inside me. I wish he would whisk me away from this creep.

Anthony is nice to look at and clearly more mature than the boys at school.

“Nonsense.” His statement is directed towards Hugh. “You got that set of fine oil paintings from me just last month. I had my eye on those. They would have expanded my collection nicely.”

“I can’t say I’m sorry about that.” A fake smile graces Hugh’s mouth behind his own flute.

“Excuse us, we’re being rude. I’m Anthony Cole.” Anthony steps between Hugh and I, putting some much-needed space between us, and reaches his hand towards me.

Thankfully I’ve been to functions like this before with Mom, so I’m used to being dismissed and forgotten quickly.

I automatically grasp Anthony’s hand. “Spencer Gray.”

“Lovely to meet you, Ms. Gray.” He unexpectedly guides my hand towards his lips, pulling me closer to him, and places a gentle kiss on my skin.

“Likewise,” I return in a shaky voice.

Well this has never happened at a party before.

As he slowly lowers my hand, his eyes travel up and down my body. Chills erupt all over, and I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad sign.

Anthony releases my hand and turns his attention to Hugh who is typing away on his phone, but he eyes the label next to my piece and turns back to me.

He tilts his head and asks, “Are you the same Ms. Gray who made this?”

“Just Spencer, please. And yes, I am.” I twist my hands together behind my back, hoping he can’t tell how nervous I am to have my work on display.

Add in the fact that I’m sure dodging creepy men is going to be on my itinerary for the rest of the night and one could consider me an overstimulated ball of anxiety. I need him to stay. I need him to like my art. Then maybe Hugh will go away.

“You don’t need this one, Anthony. I’m sure you can find another that will do just fine,” Hugh argues.

“This one won’t go in my stable. I think it’ll satisfy my personal needs,” Anthony answers resolutely.

Stable?

Anthony’s gaze darts between me and the fired clay.

Is he shocked that I made it? Is that a good thing?

Staring at the piece he questions, “How old are you, Ms. Gray?”

“Seventeen,” I reply automatically.

He takes a step closer and invades my space. “Tell me something, Ms. Gray. What do you feel when you look at this?”

---