Beats Of The Heart

The Charity Gala

You're underestimating how much I love a good cause," I said, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, who else would fund such a wonderful cause?"

"I suppose you do have a gift for turning something ordinary into something exceptional," Adrian said, standing a bit nearer, lighting up with curiosity in his eyes. "And this, I take it, is a test of my work?"

I turned a bit, glancing at the sketchpad, the lines of its drawings flowing into designs as beautiful as themselves. "I didn't come to judge," I said. "I simply came to see you. And this is about the work of someone who could change the world."

His eyes softened, but there was a lingering caution behind them. "That's flattering. But what if I'm just a guy making pictures for a living?"

"You're so much more than that," I said, leaning just close enough so that he could hear me. "You're a man with idea, vision, and power to leave a footprint; you just don't see it yet."

I considered deep within myself what I want. Not just the image or just the recognition; deep within me, there is a there that wants connection. A part of me wanted someone to see my wealth and power not to be feared or coveted but as something entirely not, placed outside of me. And somehow Adrian was the one who really saw that.

"I want to see the world change," I said, my voice softening. "I want to see something beautiful come out of it. Something longer-lasting."

He met my gaze, hesitating for a moment longer than was quite necessary. "So, I think you want the same thing I do."

A tingle shot through me as if Adrian had just opened a door I didn't even know was closed. Between us, there was a subtle shift; a silent agreement that both had wanted something beyond the gilded cage we'd found ourselves in.

The evening dragged onward, and the weight of the room felt greater. Yet next to Adrian, I could not have felt lighter. I was no longer the benefiting donor being drooled upon and ridiculed. I was just Celeste, standing on the precipice of something greater than myself-something more real, more honest, more alive.

As the night wore on, the music rose and filled the air. All I heard was the soft hum of possibility between Adrian and me.

The room pulsed with movement; glasses clinked, voices meandered in and out like an elaborate dance, the air vibrated with opulent laughter. I leaned back against the wall of the ballroom and lightly balanced a glass of champagne with my fingers. The golden liquid caught the light as I tilted the glass slightly forward, watching the rise of bubbles. Perhaps a metaphor for the way people like me lived in halls like this- always rising, always sparkling, always careful not to spill.

Then, I felt it.

A presence.

Not just any presence, but one that surged an awareness through me before I'd turned my head. Adrian.

With an easy posture, he leaned on the far side of the bar, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other held up some dark, potent liquor in a tumbler. Dark eyes flitted toward mine at that moment. It felt like the lights dimmed around us, leaving the room cloaked in the sharp intensity of recognition.

“You appear to consider something dangerous…” he leered, with a smooth and teasing tone. “Should I be concerned?”

I burst into a grin, bringing the glass to my lips. “Actually, I was thinking that maybe I ought to leave early. But since you’re here, I might have to reconsider.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Just what is so special about me that makes you want to stay?”

I let my gaze toy with him, deliberate and slow. “Still making up my mind.”

Adrian laughed-low and knowing. He slid himself off the bar and moved in closer. Taller than the majority of the men in the room, his was a presence even more marked. And where the others were unabashedly trying to impress, there was no such need on his part: no desperate count of my last name, no need to appeal to the status of my bank account.

“You wound me,” he remarked, hand over his heart in mock offense. “But I like a challenge.”

“I don’t recall presenting any challenge to you.”

“You needn't. You wear it on your very skin.”

I chuckled quietly, shook my head. “And what, exactly, do I wear on my skin, Adrian?”

He didn't blink. "You are a woman who keeps people at arm's length, the sort that likes control. But right now, you are asking yourself whether I am worth bending the rules for."

A raised brow. I had no choice but to admire him. "And what if I am?"

His slow, steady, smiling was getting better. "Then I would say we are in for a very interesting evening."

There it was: the pull between us, like an electric current just before initiating between words.

I sipped my champagne slowly, sizing him up. "You're awfully confident."

"Not always." He leaned in ever so slightly, just enough for me to catch a whiff of cedar and something deeper, something intoxicating. "Only with you."

A slow, heated ripple crawled through my, but I forced it down, unwilling to betray how easily he was getting under my skin. "You've known me for a handful of conversations."

"Some people you don't have to know for years." His voice dropped lower, more deliberate. "Some you just know."

My stomach sank, but I wouldn't let it show. I'd spent years developing the art of distance- keeping people just far enough away to amuse me but never close enough to be a threat.

Adrian was dangerous; not dangerous the way most men were: through money or power plays. He was dangerous because he didn't abide by the usual rules. He could see through the performance and the careful layers I wore like armor. Worse, he seemed to like it.

He smirked. "Buildings aren't just buildings. They tell tales. So do people—if you will only know how to watch."

"And what tale do you think I'm telling?"