My stomach lurches again, this time for a completely different reason, but I don’t miss a beat. “Meh, he was fun for formal, but I’ve got too much to focus on this semester. Elections are coming up soon.”
“Mmm,” Jess says with a nod. “You ready to take your Big’s place as president? Continue the family tradition?”
I wink. “Born ready.”
“I figured. I swear it’s actually in your blood. If you do half of what you did as recruitment chair as president, our sorority is going to be unstoppable.”
“That’s the plan.”
Jess watches me for a minute, smiling. “I’m really proud of you, Ex. Seriously.”
My heart warms, and I reach for her hand, squeezing it gently in response.
For a while we just sit and drink our coffee, but my eyes keep wandering to Landon and his brothers, all still crowded around the new car. But I’m not glaring or huffing — no, I’m smiling. Because where I was stumped on how to exact my revenge before, the answer now is crystal clear, thanks to what I would bet money on is a gift from Mommy and Daddy.
Suddenly, I have a plan, one I know will hit him where it hurts.
Now, the only question is — when?
“OUCH!” I YELP, HOPPING on one foot as the other throbs from me slamming it against the corner of my dresser. “Fuck. Shit. Fuck.”
I hop over to my bed, stripping my clothes off and leaving them on the floor before crawling under the sheets. The slight cold front that blew in last week is definitely gone, evidenced by the sweat glossing my lower back, so I kick the sheets off and lie staring up at my ceiling, watching the tiles turn like the hands of a clock.
I’m drunk.
It’s been a while since I could say that, and now that the multiple shots of Fireball are swimming in my stomach as the room spins, I forget why I wanted this in the first place.
I’ve been stressed since the semester started. Between my new role as president, the concert, and Omega Chi being suspended, I’ve had my hands full with everything from philanthropy work and nationals relations to keg parties and now, hosting the biggest Halloween bash PSU has ever seen. We’ve rented out twenty boats with captains to take us out to the sand bar, all drinks included, and every Greek student on campus is stoked.
Except me.
It’s not that I’m not excited everyone is buzzing about Alpha Sigma, or that we’re going to throw a killer party, but balancing all of it has been more of a struggle than I thought.
So, Jeremy made me take a night off, dragged me to Ralph’s, and got me completely shit-faced. You need a break, he’d said. But what he couldn’t have known is that every time I drink, I do forget about the presidency for a while, but I never forget about her.
Being busy helps me keep my mind off Cassie. It’s one of the reasons I try not to take a break or slow down, even when the stress is high. It’s easier to pretend what I told her last semester about being busy with the presidency is true than to admit to myself that it’s not.
I never would have been too busy for her, but now it doesn’t matter. I lost my chance.
Sober me knows that.
Drunk me begs to differ.
There isn’t even one small part of me that tries to argue or reason with my drunk logic as I blindly reach for my phone on the bedside table. It’s just past one in the morning, but that doesn’t stop me either. I thumb through my contacts and find hers easily, a picture of us from Spring Break last year filling the screen as I switch to speaker phone.
The rings fill my room, and I close my eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning for just one second. This is stupid. I know that. But all I can do is hope she answers.
When the ringing stops, my eyes flutter open again.
“Hello?” she whispers.
I smile at the sound of her voice, placing the phone on my chest and resting my hands under my head. “What was your favorite game to play as a kid?”
There’s a pause on the other end, then the slight sound of papers shuffling.
“Adam, it’s one o’ clock in the morning.”
“And you’re awake.”
She laughs. “Well, yes. I’m studying. But why are you calling me to ask me about my childhood at one in the morning?”
“I’ve just been thinking about it. When I was a kid, I used to love to ride my bike. I’d get on it the second I got off the school bus and ride it until the street lights came on. I also used to play this game with my grandpa, before he passed, where he would name a country and I’d have to figure out the capitol, the native language, and the political makeup. Then he’d teach me common phrases in that language. I know how to say hello, goodbye, thank you, please, and do you speak English? in fourteen different languages.”
“You’re drunk,” Cassie answers simply.
“Maybe. Humor me, anyway.”
She sighs, more shuffling noises coming from her end. “Hold on. Let me go outside.”
I listen as she packs up her bag, imagining her bright red hair piled on top of her head, her flashcards spread out on the table at the Greek library. After a moment, I hear the soft sound of a door closing, and then the familiar quiet rush from the fountain in the background.
“Operation,” she says finally.
“Like the board game with the guy and the big red nose and all the open body parts?”
She laughs. “That’s the one. Even back then, I knew I wanted to be a doctor. My mom said I used to write letters to Hasbro telling them their game was broken, because I absolutely did not touch the metal sides but I was buzzed. And I went on to tell them how frustrating that is for a steady surgeon hand and that the surgery room should be free of such awful noises. I suggested they use something softer, like a cat meowing or a bird chirp to indicate the sides had been touched.”
A laugh barrels out of me. “Why am I not surprised?”
“So, how do you say hello in Portuguese?”
“Olá,” I answer. “Or oi, or alô.”
“At least you got some useful information out of your favorite game. I only learned how to curse at a young age. Stupid Hasbro.”
I chuckle, but then silence falls over both of us. I got her to answer, but now that I have her on the phone, the sharp ache in my stomach is rolling strong. Because I don’t really have her, but I want her so bad it hurts.
“Here’s another one in Portuguese. Desculpe.”
“And what does that mean?” she asks.
I swallow, inching up to lean against my headboard and balancing my phone in one hand. “I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t respond, so I continue.
“I really was just making a joke at the dodgeball tournament, but I also knew what I was doing. I wanted to get under Grayson’s skin, and I was gloating off the win. I was an asshole, and you didn’t deserve to be stuck in the middle of that.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, then she sighs. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have had dinner with you the night he bailed on me. We’re a couple, we’re going to have fights, and I shouldn’t have found comfort in you when he let me down. That’s not fair to him.” She pauses. “Or to you.”
The knife in my side twists in a little deeper, and I shift at the pain.
“But I want to be there for you… I always have been. We’re friends.”
“I know,” she answers quickly.
“But he doesn’t want us to be, does he?” I finish for her.
“Can you blame him?”
I can’t, but I hate it all the same, so I don’t answer her question.
“Have you slept with him?”
She scoffs. “Wow. That is none of your business, Adam.”
“I’m sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, don’t hang up.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to shake my way through the drunken fog clouding my head. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about you. Not since that night on Spring Break. And I know you’re with Grayson, and I know you care about him, but it doesn’t change the fact that I want you.�
�
She inhales a stiff breath. “Adam…”
“I want to know everything about you, Cassie. Everything. Your fears, your secrets, your hopes, and your dreams. I want to know how many kids you want or if you even want any at all. Do you want to travel the world or stay in the same small town forever? And who are you when no one is around, when it’s just you and your favorite playlist? What’s playing, who’s singing to you when you’re sad, and who do you dance to when you’re happy?”
There’s a sniff on the other end, but I can’t stop.
“I want to know all of that and more. Does he? Does he know the real you? Does he want to?”
I hear her sniff again and my heart clenches. Sitting up straighter in bed, I close my eyes, trying to reach for her across the airwaves. Does she feel me? Is she reaching for me, too?
My answer comes in the form of a soft click, and then the sniffling is gone, and the fountain is muted, and it’s just me alone in my bed again. In the morning, I’ll be hungover.
In more ways than one.
MY SISTERS AND I used to play a game with our pencils when we were younger.
We’d grab them by the eraser and wiggle them slightly in the air, pencil held horizontally, and it’d give the illusion that the pencil was made of rubber. We’d watch that pencil for hours, giggling and pretending like we were magicians.
I’m playing that game right now, though not by choice, because Mr. Church just asked me to stay back after an all-staff meeting. As the room clears, everyone casting eyes back in my direction, the pencil in my hand is just as rubbery as my knees taking shaky steps toward where he’s seated at the head of the long board table. I tuck it inside my notebook as I take the seat next to him.
It’s been six weeks since the Alpha Sigma concert. Six weeks since the CEO of the event agency I intern for “bought” me for a date at a Greek function at a school he’s ten years too old to go to. Six weeks with no explanation as to why, with no mention of it at all — with not a single word said to me period.
But that six-week silence was just broken.
In front of the entire agency.
I force a steady breath as the last person exits, the door shutting behind them with a soft click as Mr. Church turns to face me. It’s hard to keep my eyes trained on his, to not notice the hard edges of his jaw or the perfect slope of his nose as he smiles easily, as if the two of us being alone in the same room doesn’t faze him in the least bit.
“I know you probably have some work to wrap up before you get out of here for the weekend, so I’ll try to make this quick,” he starts, his posture relaxed as he kicks back a little in his chair, unfastening the two buttons on his cobalt blue suit jacket. It falls open, exposing his crisp white dress shirt beneath it as he steeples his fingers, eyes still locked on me. “You did a great job at the event pitch meeting with Bare•ly last week.”
I swallow, ankles crossed and hands holding tight to the portfolio notebook balanced in my lap. “Thank you, Mr. Church. That means a lot to me.”
His eyes spark a little when I say his name. “I wasn’t the only one impressed. Mrs. Delure spoke with your manager earlier this week to get more of the details hammered out for the event, including the lead event planner, and she asked specifically for you.”
My mouth falls slack. “She… are you serious?”
“I am.”
For a second I just stare at him, but then I laugh, covering my wide smile with my hand as I shake my head. “I can’t believe that.”
Mr. Church chuckles, too. “Neither could your manager, which is why she came to me to ask if it was even possible. We’ve never had an intern in such an influential role before. She’s worried you might not be prepared to do the job effectively.”
My smile falters. “Oh…”
“I, however, am not.”
My eyes find his then, and they’re like lasers piercing straight through me. It’s as if every secret I’ve ever hidden, every dark thought I’ve ever had is easily accessible to him. But he doesn’t look away. He leans in closer.
“You made an impression on me in that elevator, Miss Daniels, and every day since. You can do this. And that’s why I told your manager to make you the lead event planner. You’ll have a team of three — two associates and one other intern. We’ve never done this before, and you’re going to be met with resistance. I know you can handle it, but before I announce it to the staff, I need to know you know it, too.”
I tighten my grip around my notebook, knuckles white from the force as my heart thumps like a kick drum under my ribs. I think of the other associates on the project, of how they’ve already turned their noses up at me when I’ve excelled. My manager said they’re just threatened, but with this news, I know I’d have a new, larger target on my back.
But I didn’t come here to make friends. I came here to learn, to prove myself, and to stand out.
I want to be the best, and I won’t get there without taking risks.
“I’m ready. I can do this, Mr. Church.”
He smiles, kicking back in his chair again. “That’s what I hoped you’d say. I’ll send the email on Monday. I’m going to have to explain why we’re letting an intern take the lead event planner role, but with Mrs. Delure asking for you by name, it should be easy to do. And if anyone gives you a problem over it, just come to me.”
I blush, tucking my hair behind one ear. “No offense, Mr. Church, but running to tattle to the CEO probably won’t earn me any respect points. I’ll be okay. I’m no stranger to gossip or bullying,” I add with a laugh. “I’ve got pretty thick skin.”
He watches me, tapping his steepled index fingers together. “I don’t doubt that.”
I’ve never been so pinned by a gaze before. I physically can’t move, can’t speak, can’t do anything other than stare back at him, wishing I could read his mind.
“Do you have plans tomorrow?”
At that I laugh. “Honestly? Don’t judge me, but I plan on staying in bed all day. We finally have a Saturday without a sorority event and I have two months’ worth of sleep to catch up on.”
Mr. Church smiles. “Would you consider getting out of bed around two if I promised to have you home in time to get a full eight-hour rest?”
Wait.
Did he just say have me home? As in, he would be taking me somewhere?
I just stare at him, finally blinking after what I’m sure is a full minute.
He cocks an eyebrow. “The auto racing date? I do believe I was the highest bidder.”
I’m still staring. What am I even supposed to say? I want to ask him why he did it, why he hasn’t mentioned it until now, and more than anything, I want to know how it’s even remotely appropriate for him to spend a Saturday with an intern.
Because I know it’s not.
And maybe I should say no. Maybe I should politely decline, thank him for his donation and hand him his tickets to the auto racing place, insisting he ask someone else to accompany him.
But I don’t do any of that.
“Okay.”
His other eyebrow shoots up to join the first before a grin breaks on his stunning face. “Okay, then. May I pick you up?”
I just nod, the room suddenly too hot, and I stand to end our meeting. But when I do, the pencil I’d tucked into my notebook spills onto the floor. We both bend down at the same time to retrieve it, our noses just inches apart as our fingers brush.
We both pause, his hand on the pencil and mine still over his. When he looks up at me, I meet his gaze, holding it there with unanswered questions until his eyes flick to my lips and back again.
Clearing his throat, he hands me the pencil and stands, helping me up. “Tomorrow at noon. Kappa Kappa Beta house, correct?”
Something between an uh-huh and a squeak leaves my lips and I dash out the door, trying to calm my walk as I make my way through the office with multiple pairs of eyes watching the entire way. I can’t catch my breath, my heart threatening to sprint right ou
t of my chest and across the office. I just agreed to a date with my CEO. Tomorrow.
In what world is that ever a good idea?
Just as promised, Mr. Church pulls up at twelve on the dot in his Acura NSX. I’m thankful for the mid-seventies, not-a-cloud-in-the-sky weather, because all of my sisters are at the beach getting their tans ready for Halloween. If they were home, they’d all be lined up at the windows as soon as they heard that engine purr.
I’m still questioning my decision the entire walk down the sidewalk to his car, one thumb hooked into the strap of my purse to keep me from playing with my hair. I spent the entire morning figuring out what to wear, curling my hair to perfection, and applying my makeup to look natural but flawless. I tried on more outfits than I care to admit before I landed on my favorite black body suit, slim cut with thin spaghetti straps and a deep v-neck. Paired with a bleach-washed pair of ripped-up shorts and my white Keds, I feel sexy without being obvious. I topped it off with a thin, gold headband and reflective aviator glasses, which I’m thankful for when Mr. Church steps out of the car.
He rounds the car, opening my door and waiting with one hand still on the handle as I take in his casual attire. I’m so used to seeing him in a full-on suit ensemble that I almost don’t believe it’s him in the fitted light jeans and simple white t-shirt, covered only by an unbuttoned red and blue flannel shirt cuffed at his forearms.
I stop when I reach him, swallowing past the sticky knot in my throat. “Hi.”
“Glad to see you were able to get out of your pajamas,” he teases, holding his hand for mine to help me inside the car. When I’m safely in, he shuts the door behind me, jogging around to his side.
I marvel at the white and black leather interior, the stitching wide and bold, the entire world muted inside his car that costs more than my entire tuition. I let my eyes wander the dashboard and middle console controls, anything to keep from noticing how ridiculously sexy he looks kicked back in the driver seat with one hand on the wheel and the other resting easy on his thigh as he turns to me.
“Ready?”
I laugh out a shaky breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be, Mr. Church.”
Palm South University: Season 3 Box Set Page 13
