Chapter 3
ATHENA
Fingering the hem of my cardigan, I study my agenda for the day. I have to reread it twice to capture the meaning of the words. My mind is scattered today, and I tell myself it’s because I sent in my submission for the contest, but I’m well aware there’s something else, too.
There’s Christopher Webber. There’s the minute we stood together, and his curious glances and his kind words.
A man over twice my age, yes—I checked—but a handsome man with the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen, and someone who, before he learned who I was, thought I was interesting, too.
The thought of never seeing him again and never having that special moment with anyone else hurts in a way I never thought possible.
It’s not about what happened, but about what could have happened and never did.
I shake myself back to reality. That’s a dream.
A pretty dream that won’t ever come true.
My name won’t ever change—I’ll forever be a Menken, and people will forever think I don’t deserve what I have because of my mother.
It doesn’t matter. I’ll work twice as hard as everyone else, and I’ll be an amazing architect even so.
Setting my jaw, I check the time. My next panel is at one-thirty, after lunch.
I have an hour ahead of me. An ancient kind of embarrassment coils in my stomach as I walk toward the lunch hall.
Though we’re all adults here, there’s a cafeteria that’s being used for our lunch hour.
It’s more of a hall, with a large, expensive buffet set out for us.
People sit in their little groups, and for the last two days, I have had to deal with nasty looks in my direction.
I halt next to a vending machine. Today, I don’t feel like facing those people again, sitting by myself, being left alone at a table while everyone else glances at me.
They don’t care about whispering anymore.
I can hear their judgments loud and clear.
The part that upsets me the most is how wrong they all are.
I didn’t make it to architecture because of Mom. My straight A’s weren’t because of our last name, and the several approved projects for small firms were because of my talent. And that’s what I’ll keep pursuing, even by myself. Usually, I wouldn’t care this much.
But today? Today I just don’t want to deal with people.
Turning toward the vending machine, I study its contents for a moment before settling on a sandwich and an iced macchiato.
I hope it’s good. With a sigh, I buy the items and prop them in the crook of my arm.
Now that I think of it, my plan has a terrible flaw.
Okay, I won’t eat in the lunch hall. But where am I going to eat?
Back in my room? That’s a possibility. I could sit outside.
The sky is bright blue today, and this hotel has a pretty garden, full of trees...
But it’s a bit too warm, and I’ll sweat buckets with this cardigan, even if it’s lightweight.
At the same time, I can’t take it off and risk people seeing the marks on my arm...
I twist my lips, then pop the coffee open. Better go upstairs and put the air conditioner on. It’ll take me some ten minutes to get back to the lobby and up to the rooms, so I better start sooner than later. Plastering my best resting bitch face on, I walk up the corridor on my way to my room.
Voices boom from the corridor to my right.
I clench my jaw, hoping there’s no one there who will make fun of me.
I take the turn into the corridor, the coffee bottle angled toward my lips, and someone crashes into me.
Eyes slamming shut, the cold liquid splatters down my face and neck, soaking into my shirt.
The person steps away with a hoarse “sorry,” hands coming around my shoulders to stop me from falling back.
“Oh, no,” I hear and open my eyes to find Christopher standing in front of me. His gray eyes are so wide I see his entire irises, his full lips half-open as he gapes at me. “Oh, God, Athena. I’m so sorry.”
I glance down at myself, the coffee sinking into my cardigan, dripping into my cleavage.
His hands on me. Heat starts inside my body, climbing my throat, spreading across my cheeks.
His hands are on me. He’s touching me. “It’s okay,” I stutter out.
“Actually, it’s my fault. I should have paid more... ”
“No, it was my fault,” he says, cutting me in as his brows drop in a worried expression. “I was so careless, and I was walking too fast. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
His hand slips over my shoulder to press between my shoulder blades for a moment, then it slips down to the small of my back.
Christopher urges me on, and I cling to my half-empty bottle and my pathetic sandwich as he guides me down the corridor.
We pass a few people who stare at us, but they say nothing.
Christopher takes another turn and opens a door into a unisex bathroom.
He immediately goes for the paper towels.
“Fuck, where’s my head at?” he complains under his breath, dabbing the towels onto my shoulder, letting them absorb some of the liquid. “I’m so sorry, Athena.” He clicks his tongue. “Ms. Menken,” he corrects himself.
I shake my head, putting the sandwich and the coffee down on the marble counter. “Just Athena, please.”
He arches an eyebrow, glancing at my face. “You don’t enjoy being a Menken?”
I don’t hide my surprise. “How did you guess?”
His lips curl into a knowing smile. “It must be heavy, the weight of your mother’s name. People don’t believe in your talent. They might think things come easy to you just because of your family.”
I nod. “Yeah. People never understand I couldn’t have gone through college with only my name, right? What sort of college would that be if my last name made me get good grades?”
He grabs new paper towels and dabs them onto my chin. “You’re an MIT kid, too?”
I shake my head. “Harvard. And with a scholarship.”
Something glints in his eyes as he smiles at me. “You and I are the same, Athena. Because of what I look like, people never expected much of me. They thought I wouldn’t be smart enough, trustworthy, or a hard worker. It takes time, but we always prove them wrong in the end.”
A knot tightens in my throat. Of course, as a man with dark skin, he must have been through way worse things than I could ever imagine.
And here I am, complaining about my first-world problems. Even as my cheeks go bright red in my reflection, I can’t come up with words.
I glance at myself again, my dark hair loose behind me, the light pink cardigan ruined. Christopher’s hand on my neck.
A shiver races through me. I think he notices it at the same time.
Our gazes lock. It’s impossible to look away from him.
He stops, hand hovering over my neck, the wet paper between his fingers.
He’s so big. Broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and he absolutely towers above anyone else.
Even being such a big man, he looks dashing and elegant in a black suit, paired with dark jeans that hug his form.
I try to swallow again. He’s so close. Does he have any idea what he’s doing to me?
I flare my nostrils and inhale his addictive scent.
His fingers slide down my neck to rest right above the hollow of my throat.
My heart thunders. I tilt my chin up, his warm skin eliciting delicious shivers. Does he feel the same as I do?
Christopher licks his lips, then swallows.
His eyes fasten on my face in a second, then on my lips the next.
He releases a breath, then inhales sharply.
I quiver at the sound of a soft grunt coming from deep within his chest. He closes his hand, his knuckles on my collarbones, brushing.
Skin to skin. My heart threatens to escape my chest. I lean forward. He bends another inch closer to me.
The door flings open. I jump out of my skin, stepping away so fast I bump into the sink. The woman is on the phone and proceeds to ignore us as she enters a stall and locks herself inside. What were we doing? I shake my head, trying to clear the fog.
Christopher’s still locked in the same position. He lets his arm drop, then straightens his spine, his eyes intense on me. “The damage is done,” he says, and I narrow my eyes at him in confusion. He points to my cardigan. “Your coat. Why don’t you take it off?”
Apprehension makes me choke. “Mm, I don’t—” I’ve always hated explaining why I’m always in long sleeves. Not that I tell the truth to anyone.
Christopher raises a hand, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s okay. You don’t feel comfortable without it. I understand.” And without another word, he shrugs off his suit and hands it to me. “Here. Change out of your cardigan. I’ll be waiting outside.”
“I don’t—” I try to stop him, try to tell him I don’t need his jacket, but he leaves without waiting for my objections. My heart still beats so hard it’s all I can hear. I make my way into a stall and shed my cardigan, avoiding looking at the marks on my arm as I put his suit on.
A glance at my reflection tells me I look ridiculous.
His suit is gigantic on me, reaching to my knees.
I can’t help but feel the most comfortable I’ve ever been in my life.
Pinching the collar, I bring it closer to my face and sniff at it.
Christopher’s scent washes over me, both alluring and soothing. I could spend the rest of my life here.
The woman in the other stall leaves. She’s still chatting on the phone, but she glances in my direction, and that makes me even more self-conscious. I grab the coffee and sandwich and rush out of the bathroom, hoping she hasn’t recognized me. I’m so done with people talking about me.
As promised, Christopher is waiting outside. His eyes darken when he takes me in, and his jaw clenches so hard a muscle flutters there. “I’ll walk you to your room after lunch so you can change into something more comfortable.”
I don’t tell him this is the best thing I’ve ever worn. “Sure. Thanks, Mr. Webber.”
“Christopher.” And he motions for the way I came from. “Shall we?”
“Mm,” I start, hesitating to follow him. “I was thinking about having lunch in my room.”
His jaw relaxes, his gaze growing soft. “Don’t let them stop you from living, Athena. Come on. Let’s have lunch together, and you’ll tell me more about the project that won you the scholarship.” And he presses his hand to the small of my back again.
I don’t stop him. On the contrary, I lean closer to him and let him lead me into the lunch hall.
Christopher listens to me and asks questions, and in his eyes, I can see genuine interest in everything I say.
For the first time in my life, I forget to check what the others are thinking. I don’t care about them at all.