One of the artists had the last name McCullough, and that caught his eye. His work was charcoal realism and it was incredibly lifelike.
“What do you think?” a man with jet black hair and startling blue eyes asked, joining Rhett as he stared at the portrait of an older woman cradling a baby.
“Are you the artist?”
“I’m the messenger. The art comes to me, and I put it to paper, but I never take credit for the design.”
Rhett grinned, liking his explanation. “I think it’s strikingly realistic. Who is she?”
“My mother. She’s holding my newest nephew.”
If this man was one of Skylar’s uncles, that would make the woman her grandmother. From everything she said about her and the many times she and Addison visited, he knew they were very close.
The portrait showed time in the most delicate fashion, evident in the space between generations. He could feel the woman’s affection for the child in her arms. He wondered what it might feel like to receive such unconditional love, wondered if anyone ever held him in such a way.
“How much is it?”
“Fourteen hundred or highest offer.”
Rhett went to the ballot and filled out a slip of paper for three thousand dollars. He folded his bid and dropped it into the secret box.
He wanted the work of art because he thought Skylar might appreciate it, but he also wanted it because the subject matter was riveting. Unconditional love always fascinated him, as it was something he’d never experienced firsthand.
But that was exactly what the portrait conveyed. And when he stared at the woman holding the baby, he felt her unreserved affection somehow.
Constituents kept him locked in conversations for most of the night, and Erin kept him hydrated. The musicians played classic cocktail music and, despite the confusion with the venue, the house seemed to be working out just fine.
They were at the halfway point of the evening when a commotion caught his attention at the front door. Erin squared off with a dark-haired man dressed in street clothes, demanding entry.
“Excuse me,” Rhett said, slipping out of a conversation to investigate.
Several heads turned as the situation and the man’s voice escalated.
“Sir, you’ll have to step outside,” Erin said. “This is a private event.”
“I’m not leaving until I see the mayor!” the man barked.
Rhett rushed over, as did the McCullough artist he’d been speaking with earlier. He would not allow anyone to disrespect his staff in such a way. “What’s going on?”
“You,” the man growled.
“Ant, what are you doing here?” the McCullough artist asked, apparently familiar with the crazed intruder.
The best option, with so many watching, seemed to be to diffuse the situation and move them outside. Rhett kept his voice calm and placed a casual hand on the man’s shoulder. “Let’s take this outside so we’re not disrupting others.”
The man flung his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
Rhett paused and scowled, sure he hadn’t seen this man before in his life. “Do I know you?” There was something familiar about him, but he couldn’t place his face.
“I’m Anthony Marcelli.”
Understanding registered and Rhett lowered his head. “Ah. Nice to meet you, Mr. Marcelli. How about we go to my study where we can speak privately?”
“You’re all about keeping things private, aren’t you?” The man’s fists locked at his side and his neck pulsed with thick veins. “Afraid people might actually learn who you really are?”
“All right, that’s enough,” Erin interjected, but the man stepped forward and spoke over her.
“Did you touch her?”
The room silenced, and Rhett drew in a slow breath. “This is the last time I’m offering you a choice. You’re welcome to speak privately in my study, or you can leave.”
The McCullough artist was now scowling as well. “Who did he touch?”
“I didn’t touch anyone!” Rhett snapped, but that wasn’t necessarily true.
“Skylar!” Marcelli barked. “You took advantage of her! What kind of man does that?”
“What?” The McCullough man turned and scowled like a crazed, blue-eyed devil. “You put your hands on my little niece?”
Rhett held up his hands. “Hold on. I didn’t take advantage of—”
“She’s half your age!” Skylar’s father glared like a homicidal man on a mission.
Rhett’s jaw locked. Now they were just throwing out lies.
Eavesdroppers gasped and crowded closer. Sweat gathered beneath Rhett’s collar. Even Erin was glaring at him. He felt cornered and unfairly judged.
“This is neither the time nor the place—”
“How about you answer the fucking question?” the artist snapped. “Or I can let my brother-in-law beat it out of you.”
This was insane. These men were acting like Neanderthals. This was a formal event, not a truck pull. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid my patience has run out, and it’s time for you to leave. Both of you.”
“She’s a kid!” Marcelli snapped, bearing his teeth.
Rhett balked, unable to let that one go. “She’s twenty-one—”
The right hook came out of nowhere, and white light exploded behind his eyes, momentarily blinding him. Voices erupted as he staggered back, falling into the crowd, only to be pushed back toward the man who just hit him.