Page 12 of The Truth of Our Past

We walk through the space and decide where to put the stage and how best to display the items for auction. The other art in the gallery will be available for purchase the day after the auction. That way, all the money from the day of the event will go directly to The Q Solutions.

Von built an incredible arch, and when the lighting is installed, it will be a centerpiece. Mads and I decide that once everyone has arrived through the arch, we’ll wheel it back behind the low stage.

I’ll emcee the auction because no one can resist my charms.

No one but one very tall and infuriating Viking.

I’ve deluded myself pretending his rejection didn’t sting. It shouldn’t hurt to have something taken away that wasn’t mine in the first place.

He’s just a guy. An interesting artist who is intrigued by the truth but doesn’t offer his own. He’s the opposite of the guys I seekout. The twinks who don’t look beyond my dimples and take my words at face value. Von’s blue eyes hypnotized me into a conversation of substance.

Fucking dick.

I borrow a sketch pad to draw the layout to Madyson’s specifications. She leads me to the storeroom so I can see the size of each piece that needs to be displayed. Every item is tagged with the important information.

This auction is a gateway to possible media exposure and new clientele for the artists. Our friend Britt and a photographer are coming from Page Seven. Jayce and Von’s friend Lars will pose for pictures, so it will hit the gossip site and hopefully the society page as well. Whoever is lucky enough to have their art in the picture's background will get immediate exposure on X, Instagram, and online at Page Seven.

Von’s sculpture is black and I know without confirmation that he made the necklace Madyson is wearing. The metal has the same vibe and design elements. His sculpture is two feet high, with a rod running through the middle. The bottom forms a tripod, which transitions into triangles on each side of the center rod with an inverted tripod at the top. The tag says it’s the Nordic symbol for protection. It will be a centerpiece in the buyer’s room.

If I bought it, everything else in my apartment would seem cheap even though I know it’s made from scrap metal. Madyson toldme he’s insecure regarding his art—ridiculous. His art stands out even in a room full of striking items.

His piece is powerful, unapologetic, and makes a statement without being fancy. Like the man himself.

I racewalk back to Mads’s office. I don’t need to think of Von.

He walked away.

I don’t chase. Ever. Fuck him if he’s going to pretend he doesn’t want me.

Jayce brings dinner and Lars. He works for the Enforcers, but I’m not exactly sure what he does. He has money and influence, and generously uses it for the people he loves. Jayce is irritating but exactly what Mads needs.

Jayce and Lars put the conference call with Britt from Page Seven on speaker phone. I slide Jayce notes so he has the relevant facts and can answer her questions. Of course it would be easier to talk to her directly, but that isn’t how things get done. Jayce has the clout, and he’s using it to help us, so I’m going to do whatever is necessary.

Lars checks his phone and frowns. “Von isn’t answering my texts.”

“He’s undoubtedly obsessing over his latest piece and lost track of time. I can take you up to the studio if you want,” Madyson offers.

Lars shrugs noncommittally.

“So did you guys play hockey together?” I ask.

Lars barks out a laugh and then stops. “Oh, you’re serious.” He’s looking at me as if I should know more about Von. “No. Hockey wasn’t his thing,” he finally replies.

I turn to Madyson, but her face scrunches up in confusion too.

Lars’s phone buzzes and he stands. “I’m meeting my girlfriend. Later.” He bro hugs Jayce before leaving.

“Baby girl, let me take you home.” Jayce rounds her desk.

“Gimme another minute with Alec,” Mads says, but Jayce doesn’t look happy. “Call a rideshare. I swear it will be quick.”

Jayce’s large paw squeezes my shoulder as he walks by, and it’s the only sign that I’ll hate this.

“He was an addict. He’d been to rehab and his family was trying to get him back into a facility.” Her words tumble out faster than I can stop her.

“That’s what Jessica told me yesterday, so his overdose wasn’t your fault. You don’t have to blame yourself anymore.” She grabs my hand. “That guy, the one with shaggy green hair, he wasn’t his friend. That was his dealer. Their family feels sort of vindicated because the dealer was recently shot and killed in a drug bust gone bad. You don’t have to blame yourself. It had nothing to do with you.”

I hear every word, but the roar in my head is louder than a jet engine. Images flash through my head, and I don’t want to see any of them.

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