My timing is perfect. I reach the stage just as he says, “…so it’s with great pride that I announce that my son, Christian Pierce, has officially been named Senior Vice President in charge of Pierce Industries’ Entertainment Division.”
A thrilled smile is painted across my lips as I climb the short set of stairs to join my father on the podium, but below the surface, I’m jumping out of my skin and I can feel my heartbeat pulsing in my ears. I can never goddamn tell if my father does these things because he actually thinks I can handle the business or because he just wants more control. At least when he’s in control, he can still make sure I don’t fuck it up.
As if the fact that I spend most nights out on the town has any impact on my ability to manage my affairs at Pierce Industries. Harlan Pierce shouldn’t have any problem with that lifestyle. It’s the same one he’s been leading for years.
At least when this grandiose announcement is over, I can make a hasty exit and get on with my night. At the Swan maybe, or just back at my place. Maybe with Melody. I haven’t tapped her yet, and I’m in the mood for someone frisky tonight.
Onstage, in front of everyone else, he pulls me in for a hug, and I scan his eyes searching for a sign that this is genuine. Looks real enough to me, but you never know.
“Congratulations, son,” he says into my ear, and I clasp his arm above his elbow and grin back at him. Then it’s my turn to speak to the assembly.
I take the microphone from his hand. “Thank you,” I say easily, as if I was born to do this. “I’ll do my best to make you proud, Dad.” I wink at a woman standing near the stage in a dress with a plunging neckline as the crowd lets out a communal awwww. “With that said, don’t let us interrupt your evening. Let’s all get back to celebrating!”
The crowd bursts into another round of applause, and I turn to shake my father’s hand once again. In moments, we’re both making our way back through the crowd: my father heading to his table, and me to the nearest exit.
Chapter 3
Quinn
I’m soaked to the skin, my clothes so wet it doesn’t matter that it’s raining anymore. The real bitch of the situation is the giant suitcase I’m hauling. It gets heavier with every step, and I’m starting to wonder if I really needed all the shit I stuffed inside it back in Colorado. Most of my furniture went into a storage unit, while everything from Derek went directly into the dumpster. What’s in the suitcase is the cream of the crop.
Still, I’m starting to think it would be better just to set it down on the sidewalk and walk away, a case of finders, keepers. Everything in there, in some way or another, reminds me of Derek, of Colorado, of being so fucked over.
But I can’t just leave it. Best case scenario, someone picks through it and finds another use for what’s inside. Worst case scenario, my unidentified large black suitcase causes a terrorism panic. Not the best way to make my debut in New York City, if you ask me.
At least it’s a warm summer rain.
I stop at another intersection and squint up at the street sign. Three more blocks, and then I’ll be at the new place. Carolyn assured me that it was absolutely fine to stay as long as I wanted. Her old roommate, Jessica, went to Europe to be the queen or princess or something of some tiny country there. Lucky for me, Carolyn decided loneliness isn’t her style.
We’ll be great roommates. I’m looking forward to things being a little closer to how they were in college. Back then, life wasn’t nearly so complicated, and I hadn’t been taken for a ride by a jackass fiancé.
It would be a plus, however, if I could get there before it’s completely dark out. I’m not one hundred percent confident that drivers will notice me in my all-black clothing, what with the rain. Even if the sun were out, it would be hidden well below the buildings by now.
Since I have to travel at a goddamned snail’s pace, dragging the suitcase behind me, I’m getting to check out a lot of the local restaurants and shops. An outfit in a boutique catches my eye, and for half a second I consider going in to look more closely. Just in time I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window and realize I look more like a drowned rat than a PR specialist rising through the ranks at Holden Reputation Management, Inc., which is my profession when I’m not carting my belongings though the streets of New York in a rainstorm like an idiot who doesn’t know how to hail a cab.
I laugh out loud at the reflection. Well, what the fuck, that’s just how my day has gone.
Two and a half blocks to go.
For whatever reason, traffic is picking up. I thought I was doing myself a favor by flying in after rush hour, but it’s starting to look like it’s always rush hour in this city. It’s Thursday night, and people have places to go.