Chapter 13
IMANI’s POV
The night was far from over, and I was bored already.
I leaned against the wall, sipping a glass of champagne, watching the sea of hypocrites on the dance floor bathed with sparkling lights.
I caught their eyes stealing glances from time to time, their lips spilling murmurs into the atmosphere.
I was the object of their gossip, seeping into the minds of everyone present in this room and beyond.
But they were not the ones that concerned me. In the corner of my eye, I could feel his glare boring into my temple.
I would have left already, but I needed to see it to the end. He needed to see me all night long– his defeat.
I would parambulate his wounded ego before his very eyes.
“I didn’t take you for an art enthusiast.” Someone said beside me.
I turned my focus to the stranger, his lanky figure drowned in the white coat he had on. The bridge of his pointed nose held gold rimmed glasses, his face unfamiliar.
“I don’t think we’ve been acquainted enough for you to take me for anything.”
He adjusted his glasses, “My apologies, I tend to make observable assumptions… a habit I picked up from work.”
“So what ‘observable assumptions’ have you made about me, Mr…”
He stretched his hand out quickly, “Dwightindale. But you can call me Dwight.”
I nodded and he continued, “You’re just like every one here.”
“How so?”
“Every disguised move you make is a calculated show of power.” He noted
I laughed lightly, “I wouldn’t call loving art a calculated show of power.”
“A love this generous would be considered… questionable.”
“Have you never loved anything, Dwight?”
“Of course, my life would be empty without it.”
“Imagine not being able to express that love because it’s ’questionable’.”
He came a step closer, “My passions are too… queer to be expressed in public, but I do have my outlets.”
“Well I guess we all have our ways of expressing love.”
“As much as I agree, three hundred and fifty million is a really expensive way of doing that.”
“Not to me.” I said calmly, turning my eyes to the dance floor.
And it wasn’t a lie. Three hundred million dollars were crumbs compared to the wealth I had amassed.
He stood in front of me, “Would you honor me with a dance, Miss Rodriguez?”
“I’m not much of a dancer.”
“Neither am I, there’s so much I can do with these brittle bones.”
I chuckled lightly, “We’d probably end up on the headlines tomorrow.”
“I control the news sweetheart, you have nothing to worry about.” He smiled reassuringly, but it did nothing to ease me.
“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“I took you for a risk taker, or was I wrong?” His eyes twinkled as he stretched out his hand.
I eyed his hand warily. He might look weak, but those frail hands held power. One that I would need in New York.
Empires were not built by one man. It took an army.
And slowly, I would build mine.
“Not this time.” I smiled as I reached for his hand.
He leaned in as he led me to the dance floor, “I must say, I was quite excited when I heard of your arrival.”
“Why is that?”
He gave me a twirl, and drew me closer, “The ground is about to be shaken, and nobody would stand still.”
“I didn’t take you as someone fond of chaos.”
He grinned, “Darling, I thrive on chaos. And so do the people.”
His hands fell to my waist, leading me to the music, “I thought you said you didn’t know how to dance?” I raised a brow.
“This choreography is even older than I, I’m afraid this is all I can give.” He sighed and gave me another twirl.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
“You flatter me, Imani,” then he dipped me, and surprisingly his arms didn’t give out “I believe we have become acquainted enough to address each other on a first name basis?”
“I believe so.” I smiled.
He lifted me, and swayed me for a moment, “This part of the choreography is where I let you go, unfortunately.” He held me by the hand, “I look forward to another dance, Imani.”
He twirled me away from him into another’s arms. And these ones weren’t weak nor frail. They wrapped around me firmly, like they never wanted me to leave.
As I raised my eyes from his chest, the scowl on his face mirrored mine.
“Of all people…” He muttered.
“I’d rather be with anyone else right now.” I hissed, and his grip on my waist fastened.
“Like that old man you were dancing with?”
“He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be.” I spat, my voice low.
His jaw clenched as he twirled me. I tried to let go, but he tightened his hold on my hand and drew me to his chest.
“You’d eat those words soon.” He growled, his hazel eyes drilling into mine.
I used to dream of those eyes, I used to pray they’d one day, gaze into mine.
I clenched my fists, “Your words hold no weight, Mr. Simmons.”
“You’re new around here, so I’ll excuse your insubordination as ignorance.” The arrogance oozed off his lips as he spoke.
I scoffed, “Ive been around long enough to know that you’re a joke.”
I could see the veins on his neck pop, “What the fuck did you just say?”
I leaned in closer, I could feel his breath on my lips. Something in his gaze faltered, for a moment, “If you’re all that you think you are, how did I outbid you?”
“What kind of stupid fuck would spend three hundred and fifty million on paint?”
“A very wealthy one. I understand you couldn’t afford it.” I said, my tone demeaning.
He chuckled darkly, “You could sell all your assets, and it wouldn’t stand close to my wealth.”
“And yet you couldn't even afford a painting.” I scoffed, and I turned around to leave the dance floor, his footsteps followed right behind me, “You fuc–“
And then I heard a rip.