My gaze lingered, considering my approach. Lachlan was known for his aversion to the media; he didn’t grant interviews, didn’t attend high-profile events often, and kept his private life meticulously sealed off. But I knew, just from watching him, that there was a world of intrigue under that polished exterior. And tonight, I was determined to get him to crack, even if just a little.
Bracing myself, I took another sip of champagne, then stepped into his line of sight, strolling toward a nearby painting with the air of casual curiosity. I let my gaze drift over the piece, a swirling abstract that looked as chaotic as I felt at the moment. When I spoke, my tone was casual but loud enough for him to hear.
“I can’t decide if this piece is supposed to make me feel enlightened or completely lost,” I murmured, casting him a sidelong glance. “What do you think?”
For a second, I thought he might ignore me—he barely even looked my way. But then, slowly, Lachlan turned, fixing me with a steely gaze that sent a slight shiver through me. His eyes were as cool and guarded as I expected, betraying nothing.