**THIS BOOK IS ON HOLD UNTIL I'M DONE WRITING LOVE CONSEQUENCES** Linda Baxter's trust fund makes life easy, but she learned that things in pretty packages are not worth her time. By twenty-nine, she tried marriage, fabricated a fake relationship, a...
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The hallway has other students milling around, but none I recognize. Getting to know the group I'm competing against is on my agenda, but the sigh that escapes my lungs is one of relief.
A moment to myself would be even better.
I find the stairs and instead of going down where the vending machines are, and where I can hear laughter and voices, I take the steps up. The next floor is quieter with just one cluster of people. I climb to the last floor, grateful for the comfortable Valentino Garavani Rockstud wedges that my now unaffordable stylist sent me to prepare for summer.
With the admin staff gone for the day, the fourth floor has no students or staff. The lights are turned down, and the offices are empty. Might be a perfect hiding spot next time I need to cry, or puke, or both. I roll my shoulders and smile to myself. The first place today is mine. It has to be.
The certainty uplifts me, and my breaths come easier, my leisurely walk seducing me into the sense of rightness. I did it. I showed Merida I can be her star pupil, that my being in her class is not a mistake. I follow the line of closed doors to the far end, only for my illusion of alone time to disappear. A figure is leaning out of the window at the end of the hallway.
My stomach begins its ascend, as if I'm on one of the amusement park rides, and every time it comes down and I think the ride is over, it's just one of the many rounds before I can unstrap and leave, vowing to never get on one again. Until after a time, I do, thinking it wasn't that bad. And the circle repeats itself.
The soles of my platforms don't make much noise on the wooden planks, but Artem jerks his head my way. Although the lights are dim inside, outside the last pinks and oranges of a sunset fight with the surrounding darkness.
The colors are a perfect palette to paint the angry expression on his face, as if the sun tried hard to calm him down, but lost its battle, so the darkness is descending on my desk partner, and not the street outside. The words that come to my mind are stormy and stunning.
His eyes prickle at the sight of me. "Came to gloat?"
"Why does everyone think I'm a bitch?"
"Don't put the words in my mouth." His gaze is piercing.
