--6--

ALICE 

Bourland’s exhibits were known for their pops in colour, and it didn’t disappoint. The gold tones of everyone’s clothing only added to the bright blues, purples, greens, and yellows that jumped from his pieces on display. 

Cynthia stood next to Mr. Penn, Tom, in her very simple, yet elegant gold dress. She always aired on the side on conservative, especially where Tom’s roaming eyes were concerned, but me? My dress was meant to grab attention. 

Ted was my social butterfly, the saving grace to my introverted nature when it came to social functions. When I had to attend things by myself I often made bold clothing choices to do some of the work for me. 

The dress had thick straps of gold glitter, a deep V neckline that was held together by a frosted kind of mesh and across my waistline was similar sideways V cut-outs of frosted mesh. The glitter trailed off towards the floor-length of it and held a slit up the side that came to mid-thigh. Pairing it with clear heels that had a small platform on the bottom that held floating glitter was the icing on the cake. 

Amara grew impatient as I walked from piece to piece, taking in the extravagant nature of them. A Bourland piece of art reminded me both of where I started and where I was going. One of the first spaces I ever designed was built around someone's existing Bourland painting. It was perfect for them, and the more I was around it, the more I fell in love with it. 

I knew nothing formally surrounding art, only whether or not it lit emotions within me, but I listened to others comment on techniques, mediums, and how some of them really made a statement. 

While I approached one with swirling greens and sharp edges, the next piece caught my attention, and it pulled all of my focus towards it until I found myself in front of it. While I wanted to soak in every piece here tonight, the last one had now paled in comparison and I couldn’t bring myself to want to pay it any more attention when I could be spending my time here.

This piece was raging and calm. Serene and a disaster. It was bright like life had exploded from the center of it, yet dark like its life had been tainted. The vibrant colours that reminded me of Nixon seemed to have a life of their own. Every movement of mine around it seemed to ignite new textures, new ways of looking at it. 

I had to have it. 

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” A male voice half startled me, and as I turned to the right I still had to look up to see him, and Goddess me, something else was breathtaking. 

{Back up,} Amara’s voice echoed like a soft whisper, unsure but knowing she had a mate that wasn’t him. 

He was looking directly at me, not talking while looking at the art like everyone else. His eyes were an impossible grey colour as if they muddled after having every shred of colour ripped from them. His height and broadness were impressive, and I would have assumed he was a Wolf, but Amara was detecting nothing. 

“They all are,” I tried to play it off. There was no way I wanted a bidding war, for all I knew he could be working with Bourland to drive up prices, “do you have a favourite?”

“Only one has caught my eye,” he finally shifted his vision back to the painting in front of us. His suit was perfectly tailored to him, and where one gets a gold suit was a mystery.

I could feel the shadow of my mate’s hands gripping my hips, his bourbon scent mixing with this man’s who had a scent of familiarity to him. It was smoky in nature, much like Nixon’s, but there was a rich kind of leathery tone to it. 

I have a mate. Yep. Sure do. 

I wanted to stop looking in his direction, but a woman with long black hair and brown eyes caught my attention as she approached him from the side, scowling at me as if I’d just taken her man. He leant down to her as she whispered that someone had just arrived, so he was clearly here like Tom was, to meet people, missing out on taking in all that Bourland had to offer. I was well-practiced at hiding my reactions thanks to my lifestyle before I turned eighteen, but it was hard to hold in my surprise when he dismissed her. She wasn’t too pleased about it, telling him that she would circle back soon. 

“It seems, a store, as though my assistant has pressing matters for me to attend to,” he said flatly.

“Of course,” I nodded, a bit confused as I took a step past him, “enjoy the rest of your night.”

A store? He had a bit of an accent, maybe he meant to say something else. 

A… store… a-ster… aster… did he think my name was Aster? With the way he rolled that 'r' he can call me what he wants. Amara huffed at that as she tried to be upset, but I could tell she wasn't. 

At least it wasn't just me that he had all kinds of confused. 

The farther I continued, the more the only Bourland that stood out to me got farther and farther away. We were provided with a contact upon entrance for buying purposes so I reached out to express my interest, stressing that I would top any offer that came in. Even though I liked to work for my own money, I would dip into the royal family fund for this if I had to. 

“I’m sorry miss, but Mr. Bourland already has that one spoken for, and does not wish to entertain any other offers.” 

Of course. {Sounds like it’s time for Ambrosia.}

To Ted: Bourland = fail. Alcohol o plenty, a change of dress/shoes, and a tinted ride needed. 

~~~

“Teddy bear,” I finished changing in the back of the SUV, “how did I even survive before you?”

“Poorly,” he laughed, “now change your shoes. Best friends don’t let best friends wear mismatching shit.” Best friends, we were. It was hard sometimes to switch between being his boss and being his bestie, but I liked to think we managed it pretty well. 

I kissed his cheek as I climbed into the front, changing into the more moderate heels he brought to match the black dress. “Well, bestie, next time I’m taking you to the Bourland show… no exceptions! I needed your charm and charisma to get me that painting. You should have seen it, it was beyond amazing, it deserved to come home with me, and instead, I’m afraid that it ended up in some asshole's kitchen.”

“Their kitchen?” He snarled up his nose, “What animals.”

“Exactly,” I shuddered, “can you imagine eggs being in the presence of such a great piece… eggs.”

“I’ll make sure you get three at the next one,” he laughed as he parked the vehicle and we made our way in, the bouncer remembering us from the previous weekend. 

“Remind me to bug Cynthia about how many times she’s jumped that hot bouncer.”

“Oh,” Ted nodded his head in a big showy way, “at LEAST a handful. That boy is so pussy-whipped that we should be asking Cynthia to teach a class.”

The music grew louder, but Ted and I were used to communicating without needing to. A handful of drinks and several hours later it was safe to say I was pretty relaxed, other than the odd wave of Amara prowling the scents of the room, right up until I could smell the blood.