Chapter 6

Gisele practically shoved Kelsi back into their leather booth, slamming the cocktails onto the table.

"Spill it," Gisele demanded, leaning across the table. "Who the hell is that? He looks like he walked straight out of a GQ editorial shoot."

Kelsi took a sip of her drink, wincing slightly as the alcohol hit her stomach. "I met him in London a year ago. He's an artist. We only talked for a few minutes."

Gisele's eyes narrowed as her internal radar began to spin. She tapped her manicured fingernail against her chin.

"An artist," Gisele mused. "And his name is Yannis. Sounds Greek. Very exotic."

"He said he just moved back from London because the opportunities there dried up," Kelsi added, tracing the rim of her glass.

Gisele slammed her hand on the table again. "I knew it! Kelsi, I am a genius. He is the textbook definition of a struggling, repatriated artist."

Kelsi frowned. "What makes you say that?"

Gisele waved her hands emphatically, dissecting the man they had just left in the hallway. "Did you look at his clothes? That leather jacket was gorgeous. The cut was perfect. But did you see the cuffs? The leather was worn down at the edges. The collar was faded."

Kelsi thought back to the moment he had caught her. She had been close enough to smell the leather and cedarwood on him. Gisele was right; the jacket looked heavily worn.

"What does that mean?" Kelsi asked.

"It means he has incredible taste, but absolutely no money," Gisele declared triumphantly. "He bought one expensive jacket years ago and has to wear it every single day. It's called 'exquisite poverty'."

It sounded absurd, but Kelsi found herself nodding slowly.

"And think about what he said," Gisele continued, leaning in closer. "The opportunities dried up. Did you see his eyes when he said that? There was this flash of... defeat. He's probably incredibly talented, but the art world is brutal. He's back in New York trying to hustle, and I bet you anything he can barely afford his rent."

Kelsi stared at the melting ice in her glass. Gisele's theory fit perfectly. It explained the contradiction in him-the arrogant, powerful way he carried himself, mixed with the worn clothes and the quiet admission of failure.

A strange pang of sympathy tightened Kelsi's chest. He was so handsome, so clearly intelligent, yet he was struggling just to survive in a city that ate people alive.

"So," Gisele wiggled her eyebrows. "Are you going to go for it? A hot, tragic artist is the perfect rebound. And the way he was looking at you... trust me, he is interested."

Kelsi shook her head immediately. "Stop it. I literally broke off my engagement this morning. I am not looking for a rebound, especially not with someone who has his own problems to deal with."

Despite her words, the image of Yannis's dark eyes burned in her mind.

Across the club, in the dark corner of the VIP lounge, Augustus sat down on a velvet sofa.

Chase Cabrera, a notorious playboy and one of Augustus's oldest friends, handed him a fresh glass of whiskey.

"Where did you disappear to?" Chase asked, eyeing him curiously. "I saw you talking to Gisele Vazquez's friend down there."

Augustus took a slow sip of his drink. He didn't confirm or deny it.

Chase smirked, leaning back. "You interested in her? That's Kelsi Owens. She's engaged to Jeb Harrington. The wedding is supposed to be huge."

Augustus lowered his glass. His eyes performed a slow, calculating sweep of the room before locking onto Chase. His voice was dangerously quiet.

"They won't have a wedding."

Chase froze, his glass halfway to his mouth. "How do you know that?"

Augustus ignored the question. "How well do you know Gisele Vazquez?"

Chase shrugged, confused by the sudden shift. "Well enough. We run in the same circles. See her at parties. Why? You want me to pump her for information?"

"I need to know everything about Kelsi Owens," Augustus commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Specifically, I need to know exactly what happened between her and Jeb Harrington in the last twenty-four hours."

Chase let out a low whistle. "You're serious about this. Alright, consider it done. But I have to ask... careful, that's Jeb Harrington's fiancée. Are you planning on poaching her?"

Augustus looked through the glass partition, his eyes finding Kelsi in the booth below. He watched her laugh at something Gisele said. The possessiveness that flared in his chest was violent and absolute. His mind drifted back to that gallery in London a year ago. She had thought he was just a struggling artist featured in the exhibit. She didn't know he had bought the entire gallery a week before the show, filling it with works from artists he sponsored, just so he could put his alias on one piece and have an excuse to finally speak to her.

He didn't answer Chase. He didn't need to.