Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“I heard Raine is on holiday.”
“Yes, I’m filling in for him. I’m actually a stylist,” I blurted for no reason whatsoever. “Mostly hair, but I dabble in couture.”
“You must be responsible for the jumper.”
“Alistair’s azure sweater? I am. Chic, isn’t it?” I tipped my hat and gave a friendly nod, but he kept his gaze forward, a slight sneer on his lips.
Unless I was mistaken, I’d been judged and found lacking.
To be fair, I’d been thinking the same thing for a few days, so I sort of agreed with him, but also…fuck Colin Farrington. I inched away from the posh turd to avoid stomping on his Prada loafer and tuned into Gerard, who was pointing at a projected image of a shard of pottery with writing on it.
“…demotic ostracon recording tax payments for grand monuments are of interest.” Gerard clicked a button and the image changed to the sexy queer-themed rock he’d showed Alistair at the hotel a few weeks ago. “But ‘grievances’ for other favors were also recorded. The image is reminiscent of a better-known ostracon currently at the British Museum, however, this one is unmistakably homosexual. Dr. Creighton wanted a chance to translate the demotic script, so perhaps he can shed light on the subject.”
All eyes zoned in on Alistair.
For the first time in days, he looked unsure.
Alistair cleared his throat and faked a smile. “I haven’t had the opportunity to delve into this particular one, but—”
“Oh, my mistake,” Gerard said. “I assumed you’d done the research, but that’s okay. Perhaps you can speculate on the subject?”
“Speculation isn’t research,” the professor replied, launching into a speech about the better-known naughty artwork at the British Museum.
As he warmed up to the topic, he seemed to regain his footing. Phew.
“I have a strong feeling A-lee didn’t do his research,” Colin tsked.
His comment was addressed to the person on his right, but I bristled ’cause if I’d overheard him, so had everyone in our little section, and that was not okay.
“Not like Dr. Creighton at all,” the faceless man hummed in disapproval. “He’s compulsively organized.”
I pushed away from the wall and glowered. “That wasn’t his research. It was a favor.”
Colin and the man next to him regarded me with the mild surprise reserved for spiders that show up out of nowhere.
“A favor? I don’t think so. It’s an important piece of LGBTQ art that should have been prioritized,” Colin huffed under his breath.
“He didn’t have time,” I argued.
For the first time since he’d joined me on the wall, Colin turned to face me. “I wonder why. Too busy with extracurricular pursuits? That’s not like A-lee at all.”
His gaze burned a hole through my forehead before raking a slow trail down my body. I gasped in dismay. This fucker was throwing shade and he was doing it so well, it almost sounded like a compliment. It wasn’t.
I pushed off the wall, fists clenched and jaw set in a straight line. “Extracurricular my ass, honey.”
Three hundred people turned on cue.
Oh, shoot. That wasn’t my inside voice.
“What are you doing?” Colin hissed.
“Nothing.” I waved sheepishly and tried again in a softer tone. “I was there. I know what happened. The omnipositron is brand-new and there wasn’t time for—”
“Lower your voice,” Colin snapped.
“What is he talking about? What’s an omnipositron?” the other man asked as a twitter of curiosity buzzed throughout the room.
Heads were craning to see what was going on. Nothing good.
“Sir, please.” The moderator took the microphone and pointed menacingly at me. “You must find a seat at once.”
“But I—”
“Sit down.” Colin grabbed my elbow.
I shook him off and collided with someone behind me.
“Sorry,” I muttered, overcorrecting as I stepped forward and landed on Colin’s foot.
He lost his balance and toppled backward on his ass, taking me with him.
Yep, I lay sprawled on top of my lover’s ex in the middle of an international conference attended by intellects from every galaxy in the universe.
No, this wasn’t a brawl, but my uncoordinated attempt to untangle myself was compounded with a helping of misplaced animosity…on my end, anyway.
I took my time standing up, and when Colin’s knee almost connected with my nuts, I pushed him down again…harder than necessary. Unfortunately, I had an audience and yes, I looked guilty as fuck.
Half the auditorium gasped in dismay. I supposed it was only natural that all hell would break loose too.
“Sir, you must leave at once,” the moderator demanded. “Gardes!”
A serious-looking guard pulled me off Colin and unceremoniously escorted my ass out of the room, deposited me on the steps outside the conference center, and yelled at me in French.
I fixed my hat, straightened my collar, and held my hands up. “I’m going, I’m going.”
Mortified, check.
Humiliated, check.
Ashamed, check.
I was too stunned to think straight.
What had I done?
I walked a block or two in a daze, shaken and confused.