Page 33 of Break Me Beautifully
"Modest," he snorts. "This young lady is going to sell every canvas that hangs at the Ramette House." He winks, and I wonder how he can be so sure. His smile is beyond smug.
One of the men nods at me. His muscular frame is so large, his suit has to be custom. Something about him reminds me of Marshall but I can't place it. There's a piercing in his tongue, it sparkles when he talks, making me so distracted I don't hear him at first. "What, sorry?" I ask.
"I said you're in the right crowd." He holds up his glass with a grin. "Rub elbows with Bradford and you're set for life."
"Set how?" I ask.
"Money. Fame. Political pull. Whatever you need, you just ask. That's how it works when you earn someone's favor."I’m surrounded by knowing smiles. I want to say that's not what I'm chasing. Instead, I put on my sweetest smile and say, "Thanks for everything, Bradford. I mean it."
He waves me off, back to talking to one of the women in a low-cut top. Another man, all muscle in his Armani suit, leans in to speak in Bradford's ear. Another flicker of unease traces around my brain. But there's only so much room for confusion, and the rest is taken up by my current personal problems.
"Hey," tongue-stud man says to me. He looks me up and down, and I feel his eyes ripping through my clothes, picturing me in a way that makes me ill. "You got hooked up with Bradford through Marshall Klintock, didn't you?"
"Yeah," I say, tuning in curiously. "You know him?"
"Anyone who needs a good problem solver knows him, if you get my drift."
"Sorry, I don't."
"Shit," he says, scratching his neck uneasily. He shoots a quick look around before flashing me a sideways grin. "Forget I said anything. I don't want to get on that guy's bad side."
I shake my head. "Wait, what's your name?"
"Nicolo," he says reluctantly.
"Nicolo. Okay. Tell me what you mean," I insist, leaning closer to him.
His wide mouth tilts down in a deep frown. "You really don't know? That's probably for the best. Personally, I'd keep as much distance between yourself and Marshall Klintock as you can. He's got a reputation."
He starts to back away; I grab his jacket by the hem. "Wait! What reputation? Do you mean the mafia stuff?"
"Dammit, lower your voice," he says gruffly. There are a few people eyeballing us, he notices and bends close to my ear. "You need me to spell it out for you? Fine, chickee. Listen up. Your pal Klintock isdangerous.Not someone you go fishing with unless you want to see how the fish spend their days up close and personal. Follow me?"
"I follow," I whisper. "Thanks." A surge of panic hits me. I have to get away from the crowd. I make a beeline for the open doors.
When the breeze tickles my bare neck, I sigh in relief. There are less people outside mingling underneath the lighted arches that lead to a vast vine covered fence. I know the city is on the other side because I can hear the cars honking. There are thick green hedges shaped like cones dotting the length of the space. Wandering towards them, away from the low chatter, I press my glass to my lips. The drink is tart; it makes my tongue buzz. There are barely any lights where I stand. I hug myself, shivering from the winter chill. But I don't hate it. It's a distraction.
My purse vibrates, surprising me. The light radiating from my phone makes the green hedges blue.It's a text from Katy,I realize with relief.
Katy: Sorry for the late response. You awake?
Me: Barely. I'm at a boring gala.
Katy: You always hated those. Must be a great reason to be there.
Me: Networking.
Katy: I can hear you rolling your eyes.
Chuckling, I type with one thumb as fast as I can, with the glass occupying my other hand. I drink another mouthful.
Me: Things are moving fast here.
Katy: Oooooo, sounds scandalous.
I flush hot red. I didn't mean it that way, but she isn't wrong. Tempted by telling her what happened, I stroke my screen, hesitating. My phone buzzes again.
Marshall: Where are you?
