Kendra gave me a knowing look. “Annie, there’s something you’re not telling me. And I think you’ll feel better if you spill the beans.”
I just about felt like spilling my beans right then and there—I was that wobbly and nauseous. “Maybe later, Ken, but I can’t right now.”
She sighed in defeat, but when she took another look at me, it made her stand up. “You look terrible, Annie! Do you need me to take you back to the dorm . . . or the health clinic? I hear there’s some kind of monster flu going around.”
I shook my head. “I’ll be okay. I just need to sleep it off.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yup, I know those nights . . . and you’re not off the hook, Annie Green. I demand the entire story once you’re out of the zombie zone.”
I gave her a cursory hug and headed in the direction of the dorm. I may have stretched the truth with my friend, but I wasn’t lying about hitting the hay—though there was definitely a part of me that felt wired enough to stay awake for days. Being around Chase was like getting hit by a Mack truck while on speed. I hated the effects, but I was simultaneously hoping they wouldn’t wear off too quickly.
“Annie?”
I turned around, and Kendra had a giant smile on her face.
“You know I’m expecting a full report when you’re more than half-conscious, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “There’s nothing to tell,” I insisted, although I was aware I didn’t sound particularly convincing.
“Don’t sweat it. I’m as patient as evolution,” she said calmly. “And trust me, I will find out what the missing link here is.”
Chapter Eighteen
Since our committee meeting had been canceled to allow us to focus on working with our artists for the next week or so, I had an impromptu study date with Harrison that night. I figured it would be the perfect way to cleanse my mind of the goings-on from the night before. I’d taken a long nap after I’d gotten home from lunch, which was exactly what the doctor had ordered.
In Harrison’s room at the Sigma Phi Kappa house, I felt newly invigorated and determined to master the complexities of the medieval illuminated book. Of course, the fact that we were sprawled out on Harrison’s king-size bed made concentrating on my homework a little challenging. Our legs were casually interlinked as I pored over my textbook and he researched some material on his iPad. Because Harrison was in his senior year, he wasn’t taking many classes. Instead, he was focusing on crew and an internship at some local councilman’s office.
“I don’t really know what I’m doing after college,” he had admitted to me. “I figure I’ll take over the family business at some point, but I also want to travel for a year or two. Maybe in Europe or South America.”
I looked around Harrison’s room. It was only my second time here, and I still couldn’t get over how formal it felt. The large four-poster bed was Tudor-style, with an ornate solid-wood frame and headboard. The cream-colored linens were flanked by cushions that reminded me of Persian rugs. In fact, the floors were covered with turn-of-the-century Tabriz rugs (which I recognized from my trips to antique shops as a kid) bursting with vines and flowers. I noted that the art on the walls was made up primarily of traditional still lifes, ocean landscapes, and portraits of stout Victorian women.
“Did you decorate?” I asked. It certainly didn’t feel like the choices of a twenty-one-year-old athlete had come into play.
Harrison smiled and shook his head. “No way. I wouldn’t know the first thing about decorating.” He scrunched his nose. “I’m not that crazy about it—feels like I’m in a creepy house full of some old lady’s stuff. But all of this was bequeathed unto me as the president of Sigma Phi Kappa. They’re all about preserving history, noblesse oblige, and all that.”
“I guess I understand, but I feel like your space should always have something of you inside it. I was always the one who took care of interior decorating back home,” I said, thinking of all the shlepping of boxes I’d done over the course of many years while we built up the old house from scratch.
“Oh yeah? That doesn’t surprise me. You have a natural talent there. I honestly couldn’t care less. It’s just scenery, you know?” He went back to his iPad.
I frowned. I didn’t think of a person’s immediate environment as being “just scenery.” But maybe Harrison felt that way because he’d never needed to think about beautifying his environment—it was already always beautiful.
At that moment, the door to Harrison’s room was flung open. It was his burly frat brother Chip, whom I hadn’t seen since that first encounter at Sigma Phi Kappa. Harrison seemed to be intent on proving to me that he wasn’t just another mindless frat boy, so most of the time we’d spent together had been outside the house.
Chip’s face lit up with salacious delight when he saw me. He crossed his burly arms across his chest. “Whoa, man, forgive me for interrupting!” Despite the apology, he didn’t budge but just continued to look at us, as if he were waiting for a show.
Harrison rolled his eyes. “We’re busy, Chip. Is there something you want?”
Chip shrugged. “Just wanted to see if I could borrow your car. I have a date with this bangin’ sorority chick, and I was thinking we’d take a ride out to my family’s place in Jersey—you know, for a little privacy, since that’s kind of a rare commodity around here.”
Harrison threw him his keys from the nightstand, not even bothering to look at Chip. “Be sure to bring her back in one piece, okay?”
Chip grinned ear to ear. “You talking about the girl or the car, man?”
“The car! And I want a full tank of gas this time.”
Chip shrugged. “Whatever, man.” He then winked at me, which made me feel like I had teeny insects crawling across my body. I shuddered.
“See ya later, kids. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! On second thought, have at it, but be sure to pass the video footage on to me.” He was out of there before Harrison could throw a pillow at him.
I looked at Harrison, and he rubbed my shoulder apologetically.
“I know, I know—Chip’s one of those guys who gives a bad name to all of us frat brothers—but what can I say? He’s an old friend and, I assure you, a lot less of a jerk than he comes off as being.”
“Well, he’s gone now, so it’s all good,” I responded, putting my book down and smiling. He put down his iPad, too, and pulled me into his arms.
“You’re supercute, you know that?” he said as he softly nibbled my neck and ear.
I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of his mouth on my skin. I had practically been pinching myself over the last week to get used to the fact that Harrison Waters was my boyfriend. Sure, things weren’t always all fireworks between us, but I liked how warm and safe I felt whenever I was around him. He had an effortless sweetness that reminded me of Peter, sans the immaturity. And despite the fact that we were from radically different worlds, he never made me feel like a pariah, which was something that just added to my respect for him.
He pulled back from the embrace and stroked my hair, propping himself up on one elbow. “You haven’t told me anything about the Quentin Pierce project lately—how are things going with that?”
My stomach sank slightly. I’d been keeping things under wraps about my piece of the project, and aside from spilling the beans to Kendra, I hadn’t told anyone else about working with Chase Adams. But since Harrison had expressed interest, I didn’t want to pussyfoot around it.
“Um, yeah. I actually found an artist to work with . . . Chase Adams,” I said. I could feel my heart pounding as Harrison raised an eyebrow.
“Chase Adams? Wait a second . . . is that the guy we saw at Washington Square Park? The one with the two muscled flunkies?” A hint of mockery crept into his voice.
“Well, yes, but he’s actually a really talented artist, and the work we’re doing together is purely professional, so I don’t have that much contact with him.” I felt bad for lying, but I didn’t want Harrison to wor
ry about my getting assaulted, or worse. “It’s pretty much a mutually beneficial relationship—I get an amazing piece of art from the deal, and Chase gets more exposure.”
Harrison frowned. “I thought this guy didn’t give a shit about exposure. He’s the one who’s always so high and mighty when he talks about the gallery scene, right? My cousin was telling me about him the other day.”
Of course—Elsie was butting in where she didn’t belong, once again.
“Yes, and he also has a lot of respect for Quentin, so he’s doing the piece in the spirit of creating something that goes beyond high- or lowbrow,” I explained.
Harrison ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but everyone knows graffiti isn’t real art, and isn’t that what this guy does?”
I couldn’t help but feel somewhat defensive at the dismissive tone in Harrison’s voice. “He’s a little more complex than that, Harrison. He does a lot of publicly commissioned murals and other stuff that’s meant to revivify neglected areas of New York City. It’s not about defacing public property—it’s about bringing life to places where people feel disconnected from their surroundings.”
“Yeah, well . . . I’ve heard he’s trouble, and I don’t want you to get hurt by association,” Harrison responded darkly.
He hadn’t seemed too threatened by Chase on our first date, but I could tell from the tension in his jaw and the clipped tone of his voice that he was now. Surprisingly, I felt a surge of fire in my veins at the idea of the two duking it out over me.
“Jealous?” I said playfully, tracing a line up his arm with my finger.
He was unmoved by my flirtation. “Not jealous, just looking out for you. That guy’s scum, and I don’t want him getting any ideas about my girl.”
I felt my skin heat up the way it did when I was bracing myself for a debate. A little jealousy, I could handle. But being treated like someone’s property? Not a chance. “I can take care of myself,” I said, maybe a little too shortly.
That seemed to snap Harrison back. “Shit, Annie, I’m sorry—I don’t mean to act like you’re a deer in the headlights or something. I think it’s great you’re working on this, and I love how cute you are when you’re passionate about something.” He leaned toward me and gave me a lingering kiss, which helped disperse the irritation.
“My parents are in Europe till December, and they told me there’s a lot of street art in places like Paris and Barcelona, so, I dunno, maybe you have a point about this stuff,” Harrison said, before returning to his iPad, signaling an end to the conversation.
I was almost disappointed that it hadn’t led to a fiery debate, as I was longing to have a deeper conversation about art. But it seemed like the only person who was capable of hashing it out with me was Chase Adams. I chewed my fingernails, trying to snuff last night out of my memory. I felt guilty even thinking about it, since I was here with Harrison right now. But while being with Harrison felt comfortable, my heart jumped in sweet anticipation every time I thought of Chase . . . of his intense eyes . . . of his hand encircling my waist and pressing into the small of my back, almost protectively. I could shy away from it as much as I wanted to, but the fire between Chase and me was tangible.
Almost on impulse, I took Harrison’s iPad out of his hands.
“Hey!” he said, smiling. “What’s up?”
I didn’t know what had come over me. I just knew that I needed to do whatever I could to get Chase Adams out of my mind.
I reached across Harrison and set his iPad down on the nightstand, then climbed atop him so I was straddling him. “Enough studying,” I said, feigning my most seductive voice. “It’s time to take a break.” I lowered myself until our faces were level. He didn’t protest; he simply put his hands on my ass and started to kiss me. His kisses were soft at first, but I responded with fervor, sucking him in, biting his lips, moving my tongue into his mouth. I could tell he was surprised but also enjoying it. I was, too, although I was frustrated that the fire I was hoping to experience didn’t fill my veins. As I closed my eyes and grinded my hips into Harrison’s, all I could see and sense was Chase—perfect, desirable, and totally out of reach.
Chapter Nineteen
“Okay, Annie, what is going on with this whole Chase thing? You haven’t given us any meaningful updates on where you are in the process.”
I shifted in my seat as Claudia and the rest of the committee stared at me. It seemed like the rest of them had made headway on their projects in very tangible ways already. Elsie’s artist was making some kind of short film to supplement his large-scale installation. Hayden’s artist was working on some super-elaborate lighting scheme for the architectural piece. Shawn and his artist were actually collaborating with some big shots in Silicon Valley to ship out some materials that were apparently modeled on the principles of nanotechnology, which I didn’t really understand, but, as Shawn had explained, “It’s like you have little guys in your body communicating with each other in real time and fixing all the areas of your body and mind that are deficient. No surgeons or NYU courses necessary!”
Claudia continued to chide me. “As you can see, we’re still waiting on you to tell us exactly what Chase Adams has in mind. I would get in touch with him myself, but does he even have an email address?”
“I understand, Claudia, but Chase doesn’t really . . . plan ahead,” I said, palms upward in a gesture of helplessness.
Claudia frowned and started typing furiously on her keypad. “Well, that’s not going to wash down well with Quentin. Also, I don’t buy that crazy-making ideology that says that in order for a work to be inspired, the artist has to fly by the seat of his pants. There’s a considerable stipend involved here, and we want to ensure that Chase understands the responsibility he is being tasked with.”
“Yes, I know. And trust me, he does. I can’t think of anyone who loves this city more than Chase Adams, and I know we can count on him!” I insisted, but my tone felt like I was almost imploring Claudia. I didn’t really know what else to say, though. It was true that Chase loved New York, but part of me was in disbelief that he’d even said yes to the whole thing.
Claudia snapped her laptop shut and pursed her lips, like she was trying to control her anger. “Let’s get this straight, Annie—there are still a ton of college kids who would love to be in your position. I need to know you are taking this job very seriously, and so does Quentin. We cannot afford to have any flubs or mistakes. We are at a very critical juncture in our process, and everything needs to be moving like iPads down a conveyor belt from this point forward. Do you get me?”
I nodded emphatically. “Yes, Claudia, I do. And while Chase may have an unconventional method of working, I can assure you that he’s a professional.”
“Well, I guess we’ll see about that,” she said tartly.
The meeting was adjourned, at which point—predictably enough—Elsie came out with the snark and claws.
“It’s officially clear to all of us now that you’re in way over your head,” she said, one hand on her model hip, which was hugged by a long skirt.
“Excuse me?”
“Everyone knows Chase Adams is the worst kind of flake. I mean, we all know why he said he’d do it in the first place,” Elsie gloated.
“What are you talking about?”
She exhaled dramatically. “Jesus, does anything get through that gaping shithole you call a brain? Chase Adams is just about the skeeviest guy in New York City, the kind who’s only in anything to get something in return. And from where I’m standing, it’s plain to see you’re pretty much serving your ass up to him on a giant platter.”
I practically guffawed at the idea that Chase had decided to do the show just so he could get in my pants. I wasn’t naive about the way most guys worked, but Chase could have just about any woman he wanted without going to great pains to do so. I knew he had his own motives, but it wasn’t entirely clear what they were. Yet.
“Seriously, Blondie, quit thinking with your twat an
d get a clue,” Elsie said uncouthly. “A lot is riding on this, and I don’t want you to make me look bad.”
“Excuse me for forgetting this was all about you,” I said, rolling my eyes and pushing past her. But even when Elsie was way out of range, her words continued to clang and echo in my head. The idea that Chase was doing all of this for me—to have me—was strangely arousing.
I shook my head, refusing to fall prey to Chase’s animal magnetism. Because it didn’t change the fact that I was, appallingly, miles wide of my target: a project that I could truly depend on, from an artist who was 100 percent reliable.
I groaned. I’d mistakenly believed that getting Chase to agree to do the show had magically solved all my problems, when it was abundantly clear that perhaps this just wasn’t the case. What had I gotten myself into?
Chapter Twenty
I was definitely not looking forward to skulking back to Chase, especially after the awkwardness of my little subway exit the last time we’d been around each other. I was guessing he wouldn’t take too well to being cajoled into making my deadline, but then again, Chase was an unpredictable guy, so who knew how he’d react?
After hours of my sending him texts (which quickly went from the casual and polite “How’s it going” type to “Call or text me now—it’s important” ones), Chase finally responded with a tacit “Meet me at Hunts Point, Drake Street, south of Spofford @ 8 pm.”
I frowned. I didn’t recognize the intersection he’d mentioned. “Is that Manhattan?” I texted back.
After a few seconds, he replied: “The Bronx, baby.”
I closed my eyes. I really had very little interest in heading back to the Bronx after dark, so I was annoyed by Chase’s insistence on post-sundown meetings. “Can we do earlier?” I shot back.
Several minutes passed, and there was no response. Uh-oh, he thinks I’m a giant square, and now he won’t do anything for me, I worried to myself. But just at that moment, he sent me a text: “Nope, gotta bomb cuz it’s a full moon tonite, Gldlks.”
So Damn Beautiful (A New Adult Romance) Page 16
