Standing like an idiot, I glanced around the table. Sitting on the left side were Peter and Henry. Together, they owned Chicago's hottest art gallery, where people paid insanely high prices for original artwork, created by established names, along with a few rising stars, like the ones selected by my dad's foundation.
On the other side sat Andy, the foundation's clerk, who would be doling out the award money, once a decision was reached. Next to him sat Claude, the ancient art critic who'd discovered my dad thirty years earlier.
And then, there was the stranger, who stood, watching me with those amazing eyes.
I stiffened.Forget the eyes. And forget his body, too, while I was at it.
I didn't care how hot the guy was. And I didn't care how much money my aunt had paid him. And I sure as heck didn't care that Derek was obviously in on the whole thing.
All I cared about now was avoiding this whole fiasco and getting the heck out of here, preferably without making a fool of myself.
Probably too late for that.
Still, I took a deep breath and summoned up a nervous smile. "I, uh, think we've seen enough." I forced some brightness into my voice and added, "So, should we call it a day?"
For a long, awkward moment, no one said anything. Finally, it was Andy who broke the silence by saying, "Actually, we haven't seenanythingyet."
Right. And I didn't want to, especially with Derek sitting next to me, shaking in silent laughter.
I looked toward him and hissed, "Just shut up, okay? It's not funny."
Still shaking, he replied under his breath, "That's whatyouthink."
Idiot.
I looked back to the stranger and said, "Sorry, it's not you. It's me. My schedule. I um, have another meeting, so…" With a growing sense of panic, I looked toward the door.
If I bolted now, what exactly would happen? Would the show go on without me?
Doubtful.
After all, Iwasthe birthday girl. Probably, he'd chase me down and strut his stuff on the front lawn. Cripes, it wouldn't be the first time.
Lucky me.
Hoping to end this now, I looked back to the stranger and said, "It's okay. You can go. I'll make sure you're uh, compensated, if you haven't been already."
But the guy didn't go. Instead, he looked toward Derek, who I suddenly realized was no longer laughing. When I looked, I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion.
Derek was leaning back in his chair, with his hands clasped behind his head. He was staring straight at the stranger, and smirking like he knew something the stranger didn't.
My gaze shifted from Derek to the stranger and back again. I felt like I was missing something. But what? HadDerekhired the guy?
Before I could make any sense of it, Derek called out to the stranger, "Aw c'mon, don't be shy. Show us your stuff."
What the hell?I turned to glare at him. "Seriously, stop it, okay?"
I gave a nervous glance around the room. If the others were in on the joke, they were doing a pretty good job of hiding it. They looked as clueless as I felt.
Near the front, Andy cleared his throat. He consulted his paperwork and said to the guy, "It says here that you're a painter?"
In a tight voice, the guy said, "That's right."
My mouth fell open.Oh, my God.So hewasn'ta stripper?
It was official. I was the biggest idiot on the planet. And here I was, still standing.
Crap.
