The motorcycle ride had been wholly unexpected and completely wonderful. You hadn't gone for a ride in ages and honestly you loved it. The evening with Clint came to an early end as you were meeting Steve at the one oh seven to talk about the pieces you had for the show. You were excited to talk about the show with him but part of you feared him telling you he hated everything and cancelling the show. The rational part of you told you he wouldn't do that. Would he?

You thanked Scott when he dropped you off and he told you to text when you were ready to go home. You paused outside the gallery and sucked in a breath, trying to brace yourself for the discussion to come. Finally deciding you weren't going to get any braver, you opened the door and stepped inside.

Steve was in front of you in seconds as if he had appeared from thin air. The grin he wore instantly put you at ease as you shook his hand. "It is so good to see you again. I'm glad we could get together." He held out a hand toward your portfolio. "Is everything in there?"

You handed it over with a nod. "Yes. Or at least pictures at any rate. I didn't exactly want to haul canvases around."

He chuckled and headed toward the back of the gallery. You followed him into a storage room with a large table in the middle. It appeared he had already cleared a space for you and he opened the portfolio. You'd expected him to just flip through it and maybe go back to look at a couple of pieces. Instead, he lingered over each image. Sometimes he asked questions, sometimes he didn't.

When he reached the end of your work, he leaned on the table and tapped his fingers against the wood. "Is this all you have?"

You'd completely forgotten the notebook in your purse and hastily pulled it out. "It's the finished pieces. There are some partials I didn't see the point of taking a picture of because you wouldn't be able to tell anything from them anyway. I also have some ideas for new pieces."

"Good. Let me see."

You placed the notebook in front of him and flipped through the pages to show him your sketches. He nodded along as you explained your vision for each work. When you finished he frowned. "What about the photography piece at the show? The one with the woman's back."

"A friend of mine modeled for it. I promised she could have it when the show was over as payment. I could maybe get her to loan it to me." You bit your lip. You'd liked the piece as well, but thought you had better work, anyway.

He waved a hand through the air. "Not necessary." He sighed. "I'm going to be honest. I like what you have here and the other pieces you have planned, but something's missing."

A knot formed in your stomach. "Like what?"

He raked a hand through his hair. "A showpiece maybe? A theme? Just something...more."

You chewed at your lip and flipped to a different page in your notebook. "I had another idea."

As you flipped through the next several pages of the book, Steve began to nod. "This is perfect. Absolutely perfect." He glanced from the page to you. "You sure about this?"

That made you smile. "I wouldn't have shown you if I wasn't."

He tilted his head with a grin. "Fair enough."

"Would it be okay if I took some pictures of the gallery before I go? It would help me decide on sizes and may help me come up with a new piece," you asked as you gathered your things up.

"Of course." He walked toward the door and motioned for you to follow. "Come on, I'll even show you the best angles."

***

In the days that followed, you noticed Clint was quieter than usual. When you asked him about it, he blamed work and you left it alone. You weren't certain you believed him, but you also didn't want to push too hard. Something in his demeanor had changed though you couldn't quite pinpoint it. It was enough to have you treading carefully around him, afraid if you made the wrong move, you'd lose him.

You'd started keeping the door to your studio closed when he was around. When he asked why you simply told him you wanted him to be as surprised as everyone else when your show opened. In truth, your new work left you feeling vulnerable and raw. That wasn't a conversation you cared to have with Clint just yet.

Soon it was a Friday night the week before Thanksgiving. You were meeting Clint at another dinner though you couldn't remember the charity for this one. He was supposed to pick you up, but you lost track of time and told him you'd meet him there. You'd cleaned up as quickly as possible and slipped into the new red cocktail dress you'd purchased for the occasion. Matching heels and a pair of delicate earrings and you were ready to go.

Clint told you he'd send a car. Sure enough, there was a dark sedan and a driver waiting in the parking lot. You were a bit disappointed it wasn't Scott, but he was driving Clint. You supposed he had to drive the person that paid him at least occasionally.

You gave a nod of thanks to the driver as he opened the back door for you. The ride to the venue was quiet and too long. By the time you arrived, you were more than ready to be out of the car and on Clint's arm. You made your way inside and were immediately handed a glass of champagne.

Your gaze darted around the crowded room until you found Clint. His back was to you and he was in deep conversation with Tony Stark from the look of things. Pepper glanced up and grinned when you caught her eye. You lifted a hand in greeting but were stopped by a touch on your arm as you stepped in their direction.

When you turned, you were surprised to find your father. More so, that he was sober and calm. "Can I have a word? It will just take a moment."

"Of course." You glanced back to see Pepper frowning in concern. You simply shook your head and did your best to convey that you were fine. Clint was still pissed at Rumlow over the last time so when your father steered you to a small room down the hall from the main event, you went without complaint. He rarely asked for your time when he wasn't angry so when he did, you tended to give it to him. Ass he may be, but he was still your father.

The two of you ended up in some sort of sitting room and you perched on the edge of a chair. "So, what did you want to talk about?" you asked when he didn't immediately start talking.

"I still don't approve of you leaving business school. However, it has been brought to my attention that you are succeeding in your endeavors at this school of yours which I suppose means you won't be switching back."

You tilted your head and studied him with a furrowed brow. His tone was unreadable and you weren't certain if this was his idea of conceding the point or if he was annoyed at your success. "I suppose you're going to have to explain for me just what you're trying to tell me here, dad. I can't tell if you're pleased or pissed."

He grunted. "Which do you suppose it is?"

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest. You'd been a disappointment to your father in one way or another since he discovered your existence. Eventually it would cease to surprise you. "Okay, I get it. You're pissed I'm in art school. I think we've already had this conversation two or three hundred times."

"See, that's just it. I don't think you do get it. Because if you did, we wouldn't need to keep having this conversation." He paced the small room as he spoke.

With a huff, you got to your feet. He always wanted you to sit while he loomed over you to lecture you. You guessed he thought you'd feel more intimidated. He'd ceased to have that effect on you years ago. "Maybe it's you that doesn't get it. Or maybe you just like to listen to yourself talk, because God knows I'm tired of listening to it. So unless you have something new to add, I'll be going. My date is waiting."

"Date? Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He grinned but there was nothing happy in the gesture. "It means we had a different name in my day for women that sold themselves for money."

You clenched your teeth together resisting the urge to scream at him. That's what he wanted after all—a reaction. "Well, you would know all about that. Wouldn't you?"

"Funny. Let's see if you think this is funny. I met with my attorneys this week. You are cut off. Completely."

It was always came back to the money with him. Every. Single. Time. You sighed. "You cut me off months ago, dad. This isn't news."

"You misunderstand. You will never get another dime from me, ever. Even when I die, you get nothing. If you can't do as I wish, you don't deserve it."

"Is that all?" He would do whatever he was going to do and there was nothing you could do about it. You refused to bend to his will anymore.

He stepped closer to you. "Don't you get it? We're over you and I. If you decide to do as you should, we can talk about it, but until then, we're finished."

"You're right, we are. Don't fucking call me, don't talk to me. In fact, why don't you forget I even fucking exist?"

"That's how you talk to your father?" Anger had him tensing and stepping closer to you.

"Are you serious right now? You're the one who said we were finished, but you're pissed when I act like it?" You sighed. You were so over his mind games. You'd been dealing with them since you were ten years old and frankly, you were exhausted.

"So, you don't even care that I'm not going to be in your life anymore? I really mean that little to you?" His voice was firm, angry but you thought for a moment you might have seen just a bit of remorse on his face.

You resisted the urge to stomp your feet in irritation. Barely. "I'm not the one doing this. You are." His glare hardened as you continued. "But you don't see it that way, do you? This is my fault because I won't fall in line. You are such an asshole."

Pain flared through your cheek and it took a moment for you to realize that he'd slapped you. Before you could even think of responding, he was gone. You cupped your cheek in your hand and gave into your earlier urge to stomp your foot. "Fucking asshole."

You took a breath and glanced at your reflection in the mirror. A couple more breaths had you looking less frantic and pissed off. Deciding that was as good as it was likely to get, you shoved what had just happened with Rumlow to the back of your mind and went to find Clint.

Nick and Maria had joined Clint and the others, and you slipped seamlessly into their little gathering. You linked your arm with Clint's and leaned into his side, just needing the comfort of his presence for a moment. After you greeted everyone, he leaned down to speak in your ear, and you turned your head to hear him better.

"Everything okay?"

You hummed in annoyance rather than answering outright. "We'll talk about it later."

He leaned back with a nod.

You were about to say something else when you realized your group had gone silent. They were all staring at you with various degrees of anger in their expressions. "What's wrong? Did I do something?"

Nick looked from you to Pepper. "Rumlow you said?"

She pursed her lips and nodded. "Yeah."

"Right, then." Tony handed his drink to Pepper. He straightened his jacket and looked around the room.

"What—" Clint cut you off when he grasped your chin gently and turned your head so he could see the other side of your face.

His transformation from easy going to furious was instantaneous and severe. "That son of a bitch." You frowned again and he reached up to trace your cheek with his fingers. "If someone other than your father left this handprint on your face, you better tell me now."