Things I already knew: He hated me. He wanted me to stop seeing Patrick. He wouldn’t be my friend until I stopped seeing Patrick. He hated me. Above all, he hated me, and he was burning his world down because of me.
I wanted something else, something else that would distract me from the way things were now.
Either Shawn really did have a good lawyer, or he hadn’t shown back up in court. The case remained under the radar of the media, and I was unable to learn anything else about my friend.
I should’ve probably stopped calling him my friend. He’d told me he wasn’t. That he didn’t want to be. So I should’ve stopped, for both of our sakes. Maybe I should cut the line, cut the net, cut the losses. I could develop other friendships, focus on other people on campus I usually didn’t pay much attention to in favor of hanging out with Shawn. Most of the different study focus areas were so cliquish that the fact that Shawn and I were even friends was something of an event on campus. A photography major and a fine art major? Never!
So I needed to be closer friends with my fellow photography majors. That should be easy enough. I would cultivate new contacts, new confidants. It would be simple…
…only it wouldn’t be. I could never forget about Shawn. If I hadn’t been friends with Shawn, I never would’ve so much as crossed paths with Patrick. But had Shawn really already served his purpose? Was he only supposed to be in my life to point the way toward my destiny, which was Patrick?
It felt like my brain had been scrambled after the tumult of the night I bailed Shawn out of jail. It was difficult to focus on anything, let alone schoolwork and my relationship with Patrick. I was trying to keep my distance a little from Patrick. Shawn had demanded that I not tell his father what had happened that night. Was this a secret I could keep?
My turmoil was affecting both my academic and my personal life. All of the members of my graduating class in photography were already well on their way to completing their senior projects, but I had yet to fully start mine. So much of it depended on Shawn’s cooperation, but he was barely in control of his own life, let alone a silly senior project. It was hard to devote the time and effort into caring about such an ephemeral, pointless thing when there were so many bigger things at stake.
But everything came into focus when my professor, Mercedes, pulled me aside after a photography class.
“Loren, I’m beginning to be concerned about your senior project,” she told me after the majority of my classmates had filed out. “I haven’t seen any work from you on it.”
“It’s still on, believe me,” I lied, feeling terribly guilty as I did so. Mercedes had been the one to discover the power of my photography. If she hadn’t reached out to me to apply to the institute, there was no telling where I’d be.
“You’ve said that several times, and I want to give you the benefit of the doubt,” she said slowly. “But I want to see your process and what progress you’ve made. You and your friend have lots of work to do, and lots of steps to document. Where are those pictures?”
“They’re all there,” I told her, dishonest again. “It’s just…we’ve hit a small snag in the project. It’s really just a personal thing. We’re going to get everything ironed out as soon as possible so we can get back on track. But believe me—we’re going to be on fire when we really get going and gain momentum. I bet we’ll be ahead of everyone by the end of the year.”
“Loren, it’s not a race,” Mercedes said, waving her hands to dispel the notion. “I just want to make sure that you’re in a good place with your senior project, and I haven’t been able to see that based on the lack of documentation you’ve provided me with.”
“I’m in a good place—we’re in a good place,” I said quickly. “Definitely. And I’ll make sure to get you some pictures soon. As soon as we solve this one hiccup. But after that, I’m talking immediately.”
“Loren.”
“Yes?”
“I know you’re covering for your friend, Shawn.”
My shoulders sagged. Why couldn’t I have been a better liar? I didn’t get away with anything, especially the things I needed to conceal.
“I’m not really covering for him,” I said, throwing up one last attempt at a defense. “We’ve both been busy. The personal thing is for both of us. We’re trying to work through something, and it isn’t going well, but once we do get it worked out, we’re going to get cracking on the project.”
“I’ve spoken with his adviser,” Mercedes said coolly, resting her hands on my desk and shifting her weight forward, toward me. “She says he’s been skipping workshops.”
“Not very many of them,” I countered, trying, in vain, to count back the number of weeks it had been since the confrontation between Shawn and Patrick.
“All of them, as it turns out,” she said. “Loren, honey, I know you’re trying. I know you’re talented. And I know your senior project, whatever you choose to do, is going to be amazing.”
I blinked slowly. “You want me to choose a different project.”
“Don’t you think it’s time?” Mercedes shook her head. “I know you like challenges, but you’re going to be months behind of the rest of your class by the time you get started in earnest. You know how much time a quality project can take. Think about it.”
“I can’t give up on Shawn.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they were true. If I were ready to give up on him, I wouldn’t have bailed him out. I would’ve started another senior project weeks ago. We still had plenty of time to figure this out, and I knew what I needed to do.
“There comes a time, dear girl, when you have to put yourself first, in front of everything else,” she was saying. “This is one of those times. He’s a brick tied to your foot, and you’re fighting to stay afloat. Cut the rope, Loren. You’re such a talented photographer. Do something that interests you for your project. I’m sure you have plenty of ideas.”
“I do. I have lots of ideas.” Only right now, none of them in particular pertained to photography. “I…I actually have to go right now. I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Think about what I’ve told you,” my professor said, her hands on her hips. “Don’t let your own academics suffer because of your friend. Cut that rope.”
“Okay, thanks!” I said, nearly running out of the studio in my haste to get away.
I couldn’t give up on Shawn. That much was clear. But I was going to have to betray his trust in order to get him the help that he needed, and it was more apparent to me now than ever that he needed help.
The help was going to have to come from Patrick.
I knew that Shawn would hate me for going to his father after everything that had happened. But I also knew that I needed to be honest with Patrick if our relationship had any hope of working. Honesty had to come first, and it was killing me to watch the man I loved pine over the son who wouldn’t get in contact with him. That wasn’t going to work for me.
I took out my phone and called Patrick. He answered on the third ring.
“Out of class finally?” he asked. “That’s good. What time can I swing by and get you?”
“Time? Get me?”
“The benefit. At the gallery. It’s tonight, remember?”
I smacked myself in the forehead. “Oh, that benefit.”
“You going to more than one benefit?” Patrick asked wryly.
“No…it’s just…it slipped my mind. That’s all.” God, the benefit. The thing that Patrick had been so thrilled about taking me to, wanting to show me off to all of his rich friends.
“Can you be ready in an hour?” he asked. “Feel free to tell me no.”
“Of course I can be ready in an hour,” I laughed, hoping I sounded much more confident than I felt. “See you then.” I took off at a run.
I focused on the task at hand, which was getting myself ready, and in formalwear, as quickly as possible. How could I have forgotten about the benefit? Patrick had told me about it weeks and weeks ago, promising I’d
have plenty of time to prepare. It had completely vanished from my mind. Worrying about Shawn had banished just about everything that used to occupy the space between my ears these days. How could he just be roaming the city, without a car or a phone, a DUI charge and God knows what else hanging over him? My stomach tied itself in knots at the image of him shuffling along, lost, like that first day I’d found him near campus, high out of his mind.
But this wasn’t the time to be thinking about Shawn. It would only worry Patrick, and Patrick deserved at least one night free from the pain of wondering just what his son was doing with his life. I knew he’d been quietly talking to people he knew in the police department—and even a few private detectives on the outside—about just how discreetly they could go about checking up on Shawn. I did my best to discourage him from doing so. I was afraid of what Patrick would learn about his son.
It was harrowing, but almost nice, to focus on getting myself ready for the benefit. I’d meant to go dress shopping long ago, but there wasn’t any time for that now. I was going to have to use whatever I could find in my closet.
I tried to embrace my anxiety—it was good to be anxious about something other than Shawn for once—and plunged into my apartment at a dead sprint, tossing my tote bag toward the couch and setting my camera down a little gentler before tearing through my closet. Every movement I made was designed to distract myself from Shawn, to bury my worries deep inside so they wouldn’t disturb Patrick on the one night I wanted him to truly enjoy himself.
I picked out every long dress I had in my closet—a grand total of four—and flung them across my bed, assessing the pros and cons of each one. My jersey material maxi dress with wildly colored stripes was the first to be cut from the running. That was in no way, shape, or form going to be mistaken as formalwear tonight. After some hemming and hawing—and panicking because my hemming and hawing was costing me precious minutes—I decided on a strange, black linen number I’d snatched up at a thrift shop and never worn. It was a beautiful piece, but not one I thought I could ever actually wear somewhere.
If a fancy benefit wasn’t the place, then I’d never find anywhere to wear it. Unless, of course, I could figure out how to incorporate it into a Halloween costume. It was that kind of dress; it was quirky but only a thin line separated pretty from bizarre.
I hung the dress up on the bathroom door and threw myself into the shower. I needed to take one, first of all, and I needed the steam to smooth the wrinkles the dress had accumulated from my closet. I kept my hair up and away from the spray, rinsing off the day and the drama that had accumulated in my mind like little wrinkles on that dress, hopefully visible only to me.
I toweled myself off and swept on makeup as fast and carefully as I could, knowing that it was going to be that and what accessories I could turn up that would elevate my dress. I drew liquid eyeliner cat eyes with the steadiest hand I could muster before applying a red lipstick that would only smudge off if I exfoliated my lips. A pair of heels and some chandelier earrings later and Patrick was knocking at my door; I hadn’t so much as looked at the full effect in the mirror.
“I’m almost ready,” I said, ripping the door open and pulling him inside before getting a good look at him.
“Wow,” we both said at the same time, looking each other up and down. He was dressed in what was clearly a well-tailored tuxedo. It fit him like a glove, accentuating his gorgeous body. He looked exactly like a person was supposed to look on his way to a fancy benefit, the bowtie shaped perfectly, and I looked like…
…well, I looked like me.
“I’m sorry!” I said quickly as Patrick’s eyes widened. He looked so handsome in the tux that I was ready to rip my hair apart and throw the dress away for good. “I got caught up with schoolwork and everything and honestly forgot about the benefit until the call this evening, and so I threw something together. Can I please be excused?”
Patrick burst into laughter as I wilted. “You’re asking me to excuse you from going to the benefit?”
“It’s just…you look so freaking hot,” I said. “Seriously. We should institute a dress code in our relationship, and that is your new uniform. You’re only allowed to wear tuxedos from now on.”
“If we’re going to have a dress code in our relationship, I’m going to require you to be naked all the time,” he said, his voice making me shudder. “That’s when I love you the best.”
“Well, I can’t really go naked to the benefit, can I?” I asked almost hopefully. I felt silly in the dress and elaborate makeup. I was certain everyone else going to the event would know me exactly for what I was—a fraud.
“I’ll change the theme for next year,” he mused, studying me. “Tarzan and Jane, maybe. The Nudists’ Vacation. No, I’ve got it: the Garden of Eden.”
“Enough,” I said, rolling my eyes as he laughed at his own jokes. “You’d better get going. You’re going to be late.”
“I’d better get going?” He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this benefit, Loren. Hell, no. You’re going, too.”
“I can’t go,” I moaned, throwing my hands up in the air.
“And why the hell not?”
“Look at me!”
“Look at you.” Patrick captured one of my flailing hands and turned me around as if I were a prima ballerina. “You are so beautiful, so perfect, so perfectly you, Loren. I couldn’t have imagined anything better.”
“It’s weird,” I said.
“It’s you. You’re not trying to be anyone else, and I love it. You’re genuine. You’re real.”
“You’re not embarrassed to be seen with me?”
“I’m only embarrassed for the getups everyone else will be wearing,” he said. “You’re going to outshine them all. The belle of the ball.”
“I highly doubt that,” I scoffed, blushing.
“You are perfect,” he repeated. “Now get that perfect ass into my car or else we really will be late.”
It felt wonderful that Patrick approved wholeheartedly of my faux formalwear, but as soon as we were in the car, and I was feeling secure in one area of my life, the other worry—Shawn—reared its head. I had to breathe deep and try not to panic. I needed to keep my mind on the task at hand, making it through the benefit without alerting Patrick that anything was wrong. He needed this. I needed this. We needed some form of normalcy.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing over at me, clearly alerted to my distress from my heavy breathing.
“Nothing,” I lied. “Thought I was getting the hiccups.”
He smiled, and I hated myself for being dishonest.
“Have you heard from Shawn lately?” he asked. “Seen him, even?”
I should’ve expected the question; it had sort of become our “hello” or “how’s the weather,” but it still took me off guard.
“Why?” I asked. “Have you heard anything?”
“No,” he said, looking at me askance. “That’s why I was asking you.”
I was terrible at lying, and I hated it. I wondered if there was a subtle way I could shift the conversation.
“I did see him the other night,” I said, carefully, trying to feed Patrick something of some substance, something to reassure him and make him happy, and something to distract him from my falsehoods.
“When?”
“A few nights ago; I don’t remember which, exactly,” I said. “He was doing fine. He’d been out on the town with some friends. Just ran into him, really, and there wasn’t much time to catch up.”
“Loren, you’re shaking.” Patrick reached over and grabbed my hand. “Please don’t be nervous about the gala. You look tremendous, you really do. It should be the least of your worries.”
“I’m not worried about the benefit,” I protested, realizing my mistake too late, understanding I should’ve gone with the excuse he’d provided me with. Instead, Patrick gave me a long look and pulled the car over long before the turnoff for the museum.
&nbs
p; “Then tell me what you’re worried about,” he said, looking deep in my eyes. “I am begging you to be honest with me. I know it’s about Shawn. I know you’ve been lying. I need to know the truth about him. How he’s doing. I only have an incomplete picture. I haven’t been able to find out much, and like it or not, you’re the best informed out of anyone.”
How had I drawn up the courage to lie to this man about his son? It seemed ludicrous now, and I realized the courage had been false. I’d been only protecting myself. It was my fault that Shawn was like this now, and I was so horrified at my role in his tragedy that I hadn’t even been able to be honest with myself.
I told Patrick everything, leaving nothing out, divulging every grim detail and observation, every suspicion and worry, every heartache and horror. Everything.
He was quiet for a long time before pulling back out onto the road.
“We’re still going to the benefit?” I asked in a small voice. I hated myself for it, but I actually felt better after burdening Patrick with the truth about his son. I knew how badly the truth had to hurt.
“We have to at least put in an appearance,” he confirmed, his mouth set in a straight line.
It was difficult to feel anything at all as a valet helped me from the car, as Patrick fixed a smile onto his face and escorted me on his arm inside the museum. He introduced me to more people than I could remember, then deposited me near the bar.
“I have to use the restroom and make a couple more rounds,” he said, “then we can leave. Try to enjoy yourself.”
Every time I smiled it felt like I had broken glass in my mouth. I’d lied to Patrick, and I’d destroyed his trust in me. I’d done it with the best intentions, but there were some pretty dire sayings about intentions. My efforts to save Patrick grief had caused him even more pain in the end, and the only thing I could try to do for him was to keep a brave face on and soldier through this benefit, for both of our sakes.
The champagne was tasteless, each intricate appetizer dust. I couldn’t even enjoy the canvases and sculptures around the beautiful gallery that hosted the benefit.
Crushing On The Billionaire (Part 2) Page 5
