Broken At Love (Whitman University) by Payne Lyla

Author:Payne, Lyla [Payne, Lyla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-03-07T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Quinn

The student art show and the dedication of Whitman’s new museum were today, Friday. I hadn’t seen Emilie since I’d left her on the street late Monday afternoon, but she would be here tonight, and I sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be a scene. My father hated scenes almost as much as he hated me. Almost as much as I hated myself.

I’d gone straight back to the beach house and washed the smell of her body away from mine. She didn’t call or text, didn’t show up out of the blue to yell at me for sleeping with her and bolting. It bothered me and relieved me at the same time. Maybe she’d taken my advice at the eighties prom party to heart and refused to let me break her.

Of all the things I wanted, that would never be one of them.

I’d wanted to break the others. Every time Alexandria took a step forward in her career I’d promised to be at home taking out my vengeance on another woman, but it was different this time. I didn’t know why or how, but that girl had gotten under my skin.

It was done. We needed to get through this opening tonight and then Emilie Swanson and I never had to see one another again.

The museum had turned out beautifully, though the sloped, all-glass facade that reached several stories into the air was a bit modern for my taste. It let great sunlight in during the day, illuminating the pieces that could weather it and hiding the rest in artificially lit expansive rooms and alcoves. The building also housed two concert halls and a full bar.

People in formalwear milled in the lobby, drinks swirling in their cut-glass tumblers, the murmur of their voices muted by the expensive but flawless acoustic design. The building had cost Rowland Communications several million dollars. I tugged at the collar of my tux, hot and uncomfortable for some reason even though I’d basically been born in one. I felt more comfortable in a shirt and tie than anything else except tennis clothes.

I grabbed a drink and swallowed quickly. My nerves numbed and settled, but when my father appeared at the opposite end of the room, shaking hands and smiling in a way he refused to in private, I popped a mint in my mouth.

Teddy didn’t disapprove of drinking, but I’d rather not give him any ammunition. Our eyes met and he gave me a quick jerk of the head, beckoning me to his side. When I got there he grinned a big fake one and patted me on the back, then turned to the group of donors and advertisers. “This is my son, Quinn. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

I smiled, too, and shook their hands. The chorus of nice to meet you, heard so much about you, and sorry about the knee melted into a giant soup of chatter. Together, Teddy and I worked the room for another half an hour before I excused myself, expressing a desire to peruse some of the art for sale by my classmates.

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