My attempt to make eye contact with him fails because he’s looking over my shoulder at the terrible excuse of a man behind me. “No,” Camden clips, his voice so calm and collected that it’s almost scary. “She stays. You leave, Jason.”
The guy makes a sputtering sound—or maybe it’s from me. I don’t truly know because voices begin to whisper around us. Maybe the onlookers are just as confused as I am.
“Now,” Camden barks, his voice louder this time.
I try to pull my arm from his once again, but he holds on even tighter. This time, there’s a sting from his fingertips pushing deep into my skin. My feet stay planted as Camden stares daggers over my head. Anger sizzles in the air between us as I try to wrap my head around the fact I think Camden—the man who has been an asshole to me from the moment we met—is sticking up for me.
9
CAMDEN
Pippa tries to wiggle out of my grip, but I don’t give her any leeway. She isn’t leaving. But this sorry excuse of a human I regret ever inviting sure is.
“You can’t be serious,” Jason hisses, outstretching his hands to try and play it cool.
It isn’t.
He just called Pippa stupid in multiple different ways, and he thinks everything is cool? Absolutely pathetic.
“Camden, it’s fine,” Pippa insists from my side. “I can go.”
I don’t even give an answer. There’s no way in hell she’s going anywhere when she’s done nothing wrong.
“Jason, don’t make any more of a scene than you already have. You can leave, or I can make you leave, which would make me very, very upset because I don’t like drama or theatrics.”
“You’re going to defend a server over me? I’ve been friends with your father since before you were born.”
I hate the feeling of all eyes on us. I’ve never been one who enjoys attention. It reminds me of when I was a child and my parents would parade me around to all of their friends—some of whom are in the room right now—and then discard me the moment the doors were shut. It made me hate the attention because I caught on at a young age that I was being used. I don’t like being used.
“It’s a great thing I don’t give a shit about that.” My jaw tenses. This conversation is already far longer than it was supposed to be. Tonight was supposed to be about the art, about bringing luxury art somewhere new. Jason’s narcissism and egotistical personality fucked that up.
“But I’m not the one who—”
“Go,” I interrupt, my voice booming because my patience is wearing thin.
He and I stare at one another. It’s like he’s trying to figure out if I’m being serious or not. It’s a stupid mistake of his. He’s been around all thirty-six years of my life. He should know by now that I mean what I say.
It’s comical now that the men surrounding Jason all pretend they don’t know him now. He looks to them for help, but they say nothing. They’re all cowards. The only person here brave enough to speak for themselves is the woman trying to pull out of my grip.
“This is a mistake,” Jason rants.
I click my tongue, cocking my head as I stare him down. “No, the mistake was inviting you.”
He finally gains enough common sense to leave. But not without stomping his way out, acting far too childish for a man who has grandchildren.
The moment he’s gone, I look at the guests around us. I fake a smile, even though my body hums with rage.
“Now that that’s handled, let’s get back to the reason you’re here. The pieces are flying off the walls, so if you see something you’re interested in, make sure to find an employee to help you purchase it.”
The group of people milling around us begins to chatter, but I don’t listen to them at all. I’m already busy pulling Pippa through the group of people until we’re safely out of sight in my back office. The door slams behind me, shaking the walls of the old building.
The door is barely shut before I’m pushing Pippa against it, my eyes roaming over her body. “Did he hurt you?”
She shoves against my chest. “What? Get away from me, asshole.”
My vision begins to clear as I regain a sense of reality and no longer see red. “Did he hurt you?” I repeat, backing away from her until I bump against my desk. I undo the button of my jacket, placing my hands safely in my pockets as I wait for her to answer.
“No, of course not. He was just being a demeaning prick.”
“He’s an asshole.”