All or Nothing

2

"You look bored," Camila murmurs close to Lauren's ear when she finally gets the chance to speak to her again, escaping from the latest crowd of people eager to talk to her. As much as Camila adores her job, the thing she hates the most is events like these, where all eyes are on her, where there's an endless stream of people wanting to talk to her and ask her things – she'd much rather be holed up in her studio with a brush in her hand than watching nervously as strangers pour over her work with critical eyes.

She knows it's necessary, that she needs a public face, but it never makes a gallery opening like this any easier, never eases the nerves that summersault in her stomach in the days leading up to it and the night itself.

Tonight, though, she'd almost been looking forward to this; partly because it's her first exhibition in this city, and partly because of the woman standing before her, and the son Camila's spied staring at one of her paintings a few feet away, Lauren's careful gaze on his back though she does turn towards Camila at the sound of her voice.

"So do you," Lauren answers with a small smile, a fresh glass of bourbon held in one of her hands. She lifts it to her lips and Camila is transfixed by the way her throat works when she swallows, longs to trace her tongue over the same path. "Considering this is all for you."

"Which I hate," Camila tells her conversationally, leaning one shoulder back against the wall behind her and turning her body to face Lauren – she doesn't miss the way Lauren's eyes dip down to her lips, just like she hadn't missed her gaze lingering at the open buttons of her shirt when they'd first laid eyes on one another earlier that evening.

Camila's sure that she did a little staring of her own because Lauren looks gorgeous, the dress sinfully tight and making it extremely difficult for Camila to think – she's almost amazed when a coherent sentence leaves her mouth under the heavyweight of Lauren's gaze.

Lauren is the most beautiful woman in the room, and Camila has barely been able to think about anyone else since the day they'd met.

Which was stupid, because she was Lauren Jauregui, Lauren Queen-of-all-Media-Jauregui, and she wouldn't look at Camila twice if they crossed one another in the street. Except she had – only because of her son, and god, is Camila glad for that wonderful kid – and now she's here, at Camila's opening, because she'd asked her.

And she'd said that she wasn't just here for Leo, that she was enjoying Camila's company.

She's going to be giddy for the next week, she's sure.

"Don't like being the center of attention?" Lauren's eyes are bright and more than a little curious as they look up at her, and Camila is elated that she isn't shying away, that Camila hadn't pushed things too far when she'd told Lauren outright that she was flirting with her, that she was interested.

Usually, she wouldn't be so bold but Lauren is gorgeous and there's something about her that makes Camila want to be reckless. Camila has always known that Lauren is something else because she's been aware of her career for years – had admired her meteoric rise to power, to become the head of her own company, and if not for her big break in her dream career, Camila wonders if she might have perhaps ended up somewhere in journalism, instead, working under someone like Lauren – but to meet her in person... she's captivating, and Camila is completely enraptured by her and can barely believe that Lauren's willing to give her the time of day.

"Hate it," Camila tells her, with a delicate shudder. "Events like these are my worst nightmare. Something which I'm sure you probably can't imagine."

"Oh, on the contrary," Lauren replies quietly, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the side of her glass – Camila is reminded of the feeling of them curling around her wrist, her blood is still thrumming from the ghost of Lauren's touch. "I hate them, too. Not being in the public eye," she admits with a small smirk, "but premieres and galas and charity dinners... I'd much rather be at home with my son, wearing sweatpants and without these godforsaken heels."