And even a lot of the art is void of color. It’s charcoal or black and white paint. The little bit of color on the walls catches my eye. There’s a section with three different paintings that are vivid. If I didn’t have a swarm of people around me, I’d take a step closer and take a look. Not a single piece of art on the walls has caught my attention tonight except these.
Just then, I see a large figure step into my eyeline. He stands with two other people, the three of them staring at the same pieces I was just admiring from afar.
Camden is magnetic. I can’t look away. I credit it to the fact he appears so different tonight. He seems actually charming. He speaks to a couple, but the woman looks like she wants nothing to do with the man standing next to her, despite his attempt to pull her closer to him by wrapping his arm around her.
She doesn’t notice; she’s hanging on to every single word Camden says as he looks at the art in front of him. He’s passionate about art, that much I can tell. But this looks like something more. He seems to talk about the art the way I talk about Wake and Bake. Like he’s put his heart and soul into it.
I hate it, but I can’t help but think maybe he’s different than what he seems. At least he is tonight. I’m sure around me, he’ll go back to his true personality of being an asshole. Even though I can tell my tray is empty and I should go get another round of food, I can’t tear my eyes away from him as I wonder…what is his true personality? Is it the raging asshole I’ve encountered a few times? Or is it this man tonight? The one who actually cracks a smile when the woman clearly asks something about the piece they’re looking at.
I’ll probably never know for sure. Our relationship has been established, but it’s fun to wonder.
I’m so lost in watching him do his thing that I don’t notice the three men who walk up to me.
“You’re out of food,” one man says, his tone rather rude. His voice takes me by surprise, making me jump and lose my grip on the tray for a moment.
“It appears I am.” The tray is completely empty except for one sad mozzarella ball that’s been unraveled, the pesto dripping out all over the tray.
“So are you going to get more, or are you just going to stand here looking clueless?”
My jaw snaps shut. Oh no he didn’t.
The guy who I’m tempted to put into his place looks to his friends. He laughs, running a hand over his protruding gut. They laugh with him, even though it seems forced and they both appear rather uncomfortable with his harsh words.
“Hunter really needs to get himself better help, doesn’t he?” the man continues.
“What was that?” My pulse angrily thrums through my veins. I can hear the thumping sound in my ears.
The man’s beady eyes widen as he realizes that I’m not some meek human who will let him berate them without sticking up for themselves.
“I said, Hunter needs to get himself more competent help.”
I let the tray slip from my hands with a wide smile on my face. It crashes to the ground with a loud smack to the concrete. The lone mozzarella ball covered in pesto flies in the air and lands with a plop against the pompous asshole’s shiny shoe.
He lets out an inaudible string of curses as he looks down at the mess on the floor.
“Stupid bitch. You did that on purpose.”
We start to catch the attention of people around us, but I don’t care if they’re watching or not. I’m not going to let this man talk down to me because he thinks he’s better than me. “No,” I lie, sidestepping a bit until I grab two full champagne flutes from a nearby table. “But this is.” And then I go against every moral my mom ever taught me, and I toss the champagne on the guy.
He screeches, the sound hilarious.
“You worthless little—”
“Leave,” a voice commands from behind the guy. He steps aside, allowing Camden to come into view.
Even though he’s soaking wet with champagne, the guy stands in place, looking from Camden to me. “You heard him. Leave.” He has the audacity to feel smug. If I knew how to throw a punch, I’d knock him right in his terrible veneers.
A pit forms in my stomach because for a split second, I’d hoped Camden was better than these people. There’s no way he didn’t hear that asshole call me name after name, resorting me down to nothing. But he’s one of them. Of course he’d tell me to go when he was the one who begged me to help to begin with.
I take a shaky breath due to the adrenaline running through my body. I look at Camden, shaking my head at him. “You’re no better than him.” I seethe with disgust. I take a step forward, hitting my shoulder with his as I make my way away from these people who don’t deserve to be in this town.
A large hand grabs me by the bicep, strong fingers digging into my skin and making me come to an abrupt stop. Shocked, I look up and make eye contact with Camden, wondering why he has a viselike grip on me. I hate that I can’t get out of the hold. I hate that he might be able to feel the shakiness of my arms and mistake it for fear instead of what it truly is—rage.
My attempt to make eye contact with him fails because he’s looking over my shoulder at the terrible excuse of a man behind me. “No,” Camden clips, his voice so calm and collected that it’s almost scary. “She stays. You leave, Jason.”
The guy makes a sputtering sound—or maybe it’s from me. I don’t truly know because voices begin to whisper around us. Maybe the onlookers are just as confused as I am.
“Now,” Camden barks, his voice louder this time.
I try to pull my arm from his once again, but he holds on even tighter. This time, there’s a sting from his fingertips pushing deep into my skin. My feet stay planted as Camden stares daggers over my head. Anger sizzles in the air between us as I try to wrap my head around the fact I think Camden—the man who has been an asshole to me from the moment we met—is sticking up for me.
9
CAMDEN
Pippa tries to wiggle out of my grip, but I don’t give her any leeway. She isn’t leaving. But this sorry excuse of a human I regret ever inviting sure is.
“You can’t be serious,” Jason hisses, outstretching his hands to try and play it cool.
It isn’t.
He just called Pippa stupid in multiple different ways, and he thinks everything is cool? Absolutely pathetic.
“Camden, it’s fine,” Pippa insists from my side. “I can go.”
I don’t even give an answer. There’s no way in hell she’s going anywhere when she’s done nothing wrong.
“Jason, don’t make any more of a scene than you already have. You can leave, or I can make you leave, which would make me very, very upset because I don’t like drama or theatrics.”
“You’re going to defend a server over me? I’ve been friends with your father since before you were born.”
I hate the feeling of all eyes on us. I’ve never been one who enjoys attention. It reminds me of when I was a child and my parents would parade me around to all of their friends—some of whom are in the room right now—and then discard me the moment the doors were shut. It made me hate the attention because I caught on at a young age that I was being used. I don’t like being used.
“It’s a great thing I don’t give a shit about that.” My jaw tenses. This conversation is already far longer than it was supposed to be. Tonight was supposed to be about the art, about bringing luxury art somewhere new. Jason’s narcissism and egotistical personality fucked that up.
“But I’m not the one who—”
“Go,” I interrupt, my voice booming because my patience is wearing thin.
He and I stare at one another. It’s like he’s trying to figure out if I’m being serious or not. It’s a stupid mistake of his. He’s been around all thirty-six years of my life. He should know by now that I mean what I say.
It’s comical now that the men surrounding Jason all pretend they don’t know him now. He looks to them for help, but they say nothing. They’re all cowards. The only person here brave enough to speak for themselves is the woman trying to pull out of my grip.
“This is a mistake,” Jason rants.
I click my tongue, cocking my head as I stare him down. “No, the mistake was inviting you.”