quickly, quickly

9

The buzz of fluorescent lights and the hum of my computer filled the office as I glanced at the clock. 3:45 PM. My work was done earlier than expected—debugging the client's software had been surprisingly smooth today. I leaned back in my chair, stretching as the thought crossed my mind again: I could still surprise Josh.

He'd be knee-deep in preparations for the gala by now, likely running on fumes. I couldn't help but think about how stressed he'd been lately and how much this event meant to him. It wasn't just about the art—it was about his reputation, his connection to the donors, and the gallery's future. If I could be there for him, even for just a few hours, maybe it would ease some of the weight on his shoulders.

You said you'd support him, I reminded myself, standing to grab my bag.

After a quick stop at home to change into something presentable—a navy blazer and slacks—I was back on the road. The closer I got to the gallery, the more nervous I felt. I'd been to Josh's events before, but this one felt bigger, more significant. I hoped my surprise would make his night, not add to his stress.

The gallery's parking lot was already filling up when I arrived. Luxury cars lined the spaces, their polished exteriors gleaming under the evening light. I parked at the far end, straightened my blazer, and headed inside.

—

The moment I stepped into the gallery, I was greeted by the hum of polite conversation and the soft clink of glasses. The lighting was warm and precise, highlighting the art in ways that made every piece feel like a masterpiece. Servers in crisp uniforms wove through the crowd with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres.

I scanned the room for Josh, but my eyes landed on someone else first—a tall man with broad shoulders and a commanding presence, speaking animatedly to a small group. He exuded confidence, the kind that bordered on arrogance. Standing beside him was a striking woman, her fitted dress elegant and understated, her hand resting lightly on his arm.

"That's Brendon," someone murmured behind me, confirming what I already suspected. Josh had mentioned him enough times in passing—his coworker, his right-hand man for the gala. The man who, apparently, made everything run smoothly. And yet, I thought, watching him laugh at something his wife said, there's something about him I just don't like.

I couldn't put my finger on it. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, as if he owned the room. Or the way his smile seemed more calculated than genuine. Whatever it was, it rubbed me the wrong way.

"Excuse me," I said to a passing server, grabbing a glass of champagne and taking a sip. I didn't want to make snap judgments, but the longer I watched Brendon, the more I was certain he was the kind of person who thrived on being the center of attention. Even the way he gestured was theatrical, as though his every move was meant to draw people in.

Finally, I spotted Josh on the far side of the room, deep in conversation with a donor. His suit was perfectly tailored, and his smile, though polite, looked strained. I waited until his conversation ended before making my way over.

"Hey, stranger," I said, touching his arm lightly.

Josh turned, his eyes widening in surprise. "Tyler? What are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd surprise you," I said with a grin. "Figured you could use some moral support."

For a moment, his expression softened, and he pulled me into a quick hug. "You have no idea how much this means to me," he said, his voice low.

"You're doing great," I assured him, stepping back. "The place looks incredible."

"Thanks," he said, but his eyes darted past me, scanning the room. "Have you met Brendon yet?"

Before I could answer, the man himself appeared, his wife in tow. "Josh! There you are," Brendon said, his voice as smooth as his suit. His eyes flicked to me, and he extended a hand. "You must be Tyler."

I shook his hand, his grip firm to the point of being overbearing. "Nice to finally meet you. Josh talks about you a lot."

"Only good things, I hope," Brendon said with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Of course," I replied, though my tone was cooler than I intended.

"This is my wife, Sarah," Brendon added, gesturing to the pregnant woman beside him.

"Pleasure to meet you," Sarah said warmly, her smile genuine.

"And you," I said, forcing myself to smile back. Sarah seemed lovely, but standing next to Brendon, her warmth only highlighted how calculated he seemed.

"Well, I should get back to schmoozing," Brendon said, clapping Josh on the shoulder. "Sarah and I will see you later."

As they walked away, I exhaled, trying to shake off the feeling Brendon left in his wake. "He's... something," I said, keeping my voice neutral.

Josh chuckled, though it sounded forced. "He's good at what he does."

"I'm sure he is," I said, finishing my champagne. I decided not to push further. Tonight was about supporting Josh, not dissecting his coworkers.

He turned to me, his hazel eyes searching mine. "Thank you for coming," he said softly. "It really means a lot."

"Of course," I said, squeezing his arm. "I wouldn't miss it."

As the night went on, I tried to focus on the art, the guests, and Josh's achievements. But I couldn't quite shake the feeling that Brendon wasn't all he appeared to be. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it was something. Either way, I wasn't about to let it ruin the night.

"Come to my office with me for a sec," Josh pulled me out of my thoughts by whispering in my ear.

He grabbed my hand and whisked me away from the hustle and bustle of some of fine arts richest and most valuable members. I couldn't deny it felt pretty damn good to be on the arm of the man in charge of this whole thing, not to mention, he was looking hot tonight. My cheeks flushed as Josh escorted me into the dimly lit room. My husband truly is the sexiest man alive.