The Contract Between Us

A Collision At The Art Gala

If silk were to speak, mine would scream.

The dress I wore tonight was older than my career, and no matter how many times I steamed it, that stubborn crease running across the skirt just wouldn't disappear. I ironed it out again, willing myself to know it was futile, then one last look in the worn mirror beside my front door.

Liam Thorne's invite rested on my kitchen counter like he was the king of the castle. I still couldn't even begin to figure out why exactly I accepted. Curiosity? Desperation? Maybe because when you're an artist barely staying above water, you don't turn down a hand that could possibly elevate you, even if that hand is on someone you just met and who happens to wear a suit that appears to have been fashioned to perfection.

My notice of rent was still stuck to the fridge, a heartless reminder of why I was doing this.

The building was not hard to find. Light streamed out through the high arched windows, and the murmur of voices within was muffled but insistent, like the quiet hum of a hive. Cars moved up to the valet, each one more beautiful than the last.

As I stepped out of the cab, I regretted it at once. All the women here seemed to have been born in haute couture, and all the men seemed to be moneybags on legs.

Inside, the air was perfumed with champagne and roses. Crystal chandeliers bounced back their light over a sea of black suits, silk gowns, and perfectly styled hair. A string played unobtrusively in the corner, and my heels clicked loudly on the marble floor, drawing more than a few glances as I passed.

The walls were painted with artwork,some beautiful, some absolutely confusing. I caught myself staring at a painting that had been employed as a projectile for a glass of wine and then framed. The placard at the bottom read: Untitled, $48,000.

I almost burst out laughing.

"Maya Santos?"

I turned to see a man in a black suit and a gold name tag smiling at me, having been informed I was coming, no doubt.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Thorne would like you to accompany him."

So this wasn't just a casual 'pick me up there' thing. He has been tracking my arrival.

I followed him through the crowd, catching snatches of talks, talk about the stock market, real estate gossip, names I recognized from the fronts of magazines. And then the crowd parted and there he was.

Liam Thorne stood there just as I remembered from the street, tall, confident, with a presence that filled up the room without even realizing. His suit was so well-fitted it appeared to be custom-made for him, and his dark hair glimmered as he turned to regard me.

Our eyes met, and for a moment, I completely forgot why I was there.

"Ms. Santos," he said in a smooth, almost impassive voice.

"Mr. Thorne," I replied, mirroring his tone.

"Call me Liam," he said, correcting me.

"Maya," I said, though he probably already knew it.

His eyes moved over me, not in a creepiness kind of way, but as if he were memorizing the details. It disturbed me, but somehow… exhilarating.

"I'm glad you could attend," he said.

"You sent two guys in suits to my apartment," I snapped back. "Not as if I had a choice."

A smile creased at the corners of his mouth. "You seemed… intrigued the other evening."

At the gallery?".

He nodded. "You were staring at that painting as if it were keeping secrets."

"And you were staring at me as if I kept my own secrets," I remarked.

His smile, this time, was genuine. "You're quite direct."

"I don't have time to waste."

A waiter appeared, holding out champagne, and Liam accepted two glasses, offering one to me. His fingers brushed against mine.

I would like to commission you," he said.

I was surprised. "You've seen my work?"

"I have seen enough."

His statement hung in the air, loaded with some meaning that eluded me.

"What is it?" I asked.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze drifted across the room, landing on a striking woman in a red gown on the other side of the floor. She was laughing with a group of men, casually resting her hand on one’s arm. When she caught Liam’s eye, her smile turned sharp.

“That’s Cassandra Voss,” he said, almost to himself. Then, turning to me: “Someone I will prefer to see lose.”

I scowled. "And what is that to me?"

His eyes bored into mine, and I caught a brief glimpse of something dark lurking beneath. "Everything."

I had not even had time to ask him what he was saying before someone yelled his name from the stage. He flashed a polite smile and stepped up to the spotlight, leaving me with my still-full glass of champagne and a dozen questions.

I watched him take the microphone; his voice cut through the gathering clearly as he read off the charity, the necessity of arts sponsoring, the typical gala speech. But I couldn't help but wonder how a man like him had noticed a starving artist staring at a painting in the rain.

As the applause died, he stepped down off the stage, and back into my path.

"Come along with me," he said to me, not inquiring.

I followed him out through a side door into a small courtyard with white string lights. The air was cooler there, the party sounded muffled.

"I need someone I can trust," he said to me, quietly.

I let out a burst of laughter. "You hardly know me."

"I know all I need to know."

He pulled out a small card from his coat and offered it to me, an address, a time.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Tomorrow. Noon. We'll talk then."

"And what if I don't show up?"

"Then I'll get someone else," he replied. "And you'll be passing up an opportunity you can't afford to pass up."

The tone in which he spoke sent a shiver through me, not because of the money that could be made, but because of how sure he was of my response.

I should have gone. I should have tossed that card into the nearest trash can. But I folded it into my pocket instead.

It was only a flash of red out of the side of my eye, but I was familiar with those hues. Red markers and crimson lipstick marked my fingers and my lips. Cassandra Voss stood in the doorway, watching us. Her eyes followed from Liam to me, slow and deliberate, as if she was marking me off some internal checklist.

She smiled.

It wasn't a friendly smile.

And in that moment, I knew, whatever Liam Thorne required of me, it was going to pull me right into her fight.