Free Crushing On The Billionaire (Part 3) by Lola Silverman Page A

herself. But this was just another testament to the power of my work, a reaffirmation that it was really worth something.
     It was a huge relief, and delight, when Shawn arrived, looking dapper in a suit.
    “Did you get dressed up for this?” I laughed, making him turn around. “You look handsome, but it wasn’t necessary.”
    “You got dressed up, too,” he said, accusatory but laughing. “Take me through everything. I know the artist, here, and I demand a personal tour.”
    It was difficult to explain to him that I’d taken the bulk of these photos during that dark time away from the Paulsons, after all of the trauma, but I wanted to be honest. So much had almost been lost because we weren’t being open with one another.
    “You’re a gem, Loren,” Shawn announced after we reached the centerpiece shot of the bridge. “All that pressure you were under, and you came out with all of this brilliance.”
      “Stop it,” I said. “You’re going to make me cry and mess up my makeup.”
    Shawn eavesdropped on other attendees on the show, reporting back to me on what they were saying and making me blush for a while until it was time for him to leave.
      “I hope you don’t mind if I skip out early,” he said, holding the empty plastic cup he’d sipped club soda out of. “I have a meeting to go to.”
    “Go to your meeting,” I said, smiling at him. “Thanks for coming!”
    “As if I would miss it,” he admonished, giving me a hug. “This is seriously the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.”
    “I thought our senior project was the greatest thing.”
    He grinned. “You’re right. Our senior project was the greatest thing.”
    I laughed as I watched him exit the gallery. If possible, I loved my best friend now more than ever. Maybe it had been because I’d almost lost him. But I liked to think that all of the tragedy actually transformed him, brought him into a place of better mindfulness, and helped him understand what he could take seriously and what he could let go of. Shawn was more mature and emotionally steadier now.
    I started to circulate around the room, introducing myself politely to people who were examining the prints and asking if they had any questions about any of the shots I took. I spotted Mercedes across the room, and was about to go say hello to her, but Mere approached me instead, her face alight.
    “Loren, someone wants to buy the big one.”
      “The big one?” My eyes lit up with recognition. “You mean the Golden Gate Bridge? But that thing’s like a thousand dollars!”
    “A buyer’s a buyer,” she said. “Aren’t you excited?”
    “Of course I’m excited, but who would want to drop a thousand dollars on one of my photos?”
    I peered around her to the display to see who was a big enough fan to want my piece, and locked eyes with Patrick.
    Everything made sense, then, even as my stomach dropped out from beneath me. He was the only one in the room who understood the significance of that specific photo, and I approached him, leaving Mere speechless behind me.
    “You don’t have to buy the photo,” I told him. “If you want it that bad, I’ll give it to you.”
    “I will be buying this photo,” he said roughly. “I can more than afford it, Loren. And I want it.”
    “I don’t need your charity, Patrick.”
    “It isn’t charity,” he said. “And this piece should be priced much higher. I can afford to invest in art I believe in, and I believe in this piece.”
    “This piece wouldn’t have been possible without you,” I said, my tone softening. It was such a shock to see him here. I hadn’t even realized he was aware of the show.
    He shook his head. “All I did was give you a ride and put a camera in your hands.”
    “And you told me to look,” I said, my voice sounding funny to my own ears. “You opened my eyes to this moment, and I saw both you and the bridge.”
    He reached for me for a brief moment, seeming to forget himself, before remembering,