Page 103 of Remember Me

I glance at it briefly. “Yes. It’s very intense. I love the way the colors jump at you and collide. A metaphor for sex.”

He grins. “Wow. I never thought about it that way. You’re so fucking smart.”

“Thanks,” I say humbly.

“I like smart, sexy women. And you’ve got great taste.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, missing a chunk of bruschetta on his stubbly double chin. Then, takes a chug of his drink and glances at the painting again.

“I’m glad you like this painting because guess what... I just bought it. Fifty thousand clams. I’m a big supporter of this artist. Phineas Jackson. I know art and one day his pieces will be commanding high six figures. Maybe more.”

“You’vegot great taste.” The cloying scent of his cologne getting to me, I take a sip of my champagne.

Licking his upper lip, he relishes my innuendo.

“Sweetheart, how come I’ve never seen you at one of these events? The art world is small. Everyone knows each other.”

“I’m new in town.”

He focuses his energy on my cleavage. “What’s your name?”

“Scarlet Callahan.”

“Are you a starlet or something?”

My demeanor perks up. “Indeed, I am. I’m actually an aspiring actress-slash-screenwriter.” I draw a sharp slash mark with my forefinger. Like a knife blade I want to scroll across his chest. “I have a film project I want to sell and star in.”

So far, I’m right on script.

He snorts. “Well, you’ve just met the right person.”

Feigning innocence, I lift my brows. His eyes bore into me.

“Do you know who I am?”

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Does the name Sheldon Greenberg sound familiar?”

“Oh my God! You’re the big TV producer! I loveCriminal Justice!I think I’ve seen every episode three times.” The truth is I boycotted the show once I learned he was the producer. Why give the monster another moneymaking eyeball?

A smirk curls the corners of his slimy lips. “I’m liking you better and better, sweetheart.”

A server passes by and he snags another hors d’oeuvre. A stuffed mushroom. He shoves it into his mouth.

“I have a pending three-pic deal with Netflix. Maybe your movie idea fits the bill. Is it high concept?”

“Yes!” I say excitedly. “Very!”

Then, on my next breath, he gropes my breasts.

“I like high concepts.” Leering at me, he squeezes them. “And I like big tits. These are very nice.”

I’m repulsed by him, but have my first opportunity to prove sexual assault. This is just the beginning. By the end of tonight, the beast will be wishing to be tried as a felon. Fingers crossed my new watch is working and he’ll be charged for attempted murder. Squirming, I confront him.

“Please take your hands off my breasts. It makes me uncomfortable. And you’re hurting me.”

Ignoring my plea, he squeezes harder. “Drink some more champagne. C’mon, babe. Loosen up.”

I do as he asks, taking another sip. It pleases him.