My eyes narrowed. “You don’t know me or my life,” I interrupted. The clothes I wore today were hand-me-downs from my mother. My manicure was paid for with a spa gift card she’d given me for Christmas.”
“That’s right, Piper. I don’t,” He leaned forward. “I’m judging you on what I see and what you’ve shared in my class, in your reports, and in our meetings over the past two years. As I said before, your research and writing are stellar. You’re hardworking, and with your good looks, you could easily get a job in broadcasting news.”
The expression on my face must have been vicious because he held up his hand. “I didn’t mean that in a sexist way. My mug isn’t meant for TV, not like you and Matt possibly, but straight reporting is not Matt’s passion.” He grinned in admiration.
“Global Journalism is not you, Piper. It’s for the wild ones. The leaders. Those willing to take risks and go against the grain. They don’t just take the report, they are involved, and their passion fills the pages. You’re safe.” The word safe came out sounding dirty, and it may as well have been. All of his insults stung, but being called safe hurt me the most.
I shook my head, took out a handkerchief from my leather handbag, and dried my face. Maybe if he had to be the adult in the house all his life, he wouldn’t be so quick to judge responsibility. “You’re wrong. I want to be a global journalist. I want this more than anything else.”
He blew out a long breath. “Like I always said, you don’t need courses, degrees, or even me. If you truly want something, you go for it.”
“As if I can now that you’ve stopped my advanced coursework,” I snipped.
“No, Piper. You have a choice. You can accept the fate I laid out for you, or you can set out and prove me wrong.”
My face lit up. “You might reconsider if I prove you wrong?”
He rose from his desk with a groan and started packing up his things. “You’re still seeking the defined and easy path. You’re still looking to avoid risk. I must say; this was the last thing I expected from Star and Wheeler’s daughter.” He held up his hand to stop me from speaking. “But being that you are and—”
“And I never asked for special treatment,” I cut in. “I never even mentioned you knew my parents. You did.”
“You could have tried, but you didn’t, and that’s something I admire. Combined with the little rebellion in your essay, I’m willing to give you another chance. One chance to wow me and prove me wrong,” he added, tampering the jovial look on my face. “We’ll talk again later this summer. You can leave.”
I placed my handbag on my shoulder and followed him outside. Pausing at the end of the hall, he turned to me and said, “This will have to really wow me. I need to know who you are and be able to find the passion in your work.”
I was ready to promise him as much, but he held up his hand before I could say anything.
“If not, Piper, I won’t be approving your advanced courses in global journalism. If you don’t make it into the program, take care of yourself, but we both know you will.” And with those parting words, he strolled down the hallway, carrying away my dreams if I let him.
I BRISTLED AGAINST the chilly May wind as I walked out of the Emerson Hall, keeping a distance between Prof. Gilmore and me just in case he decided to change his mind.
Was that being safe?
I sighed. Probably. The crosswalk at the end of the street was red. So I decided to check the messages on my phone. Two voice messages had come in while I had the sound turned off. One from Jorge and one from Mom. I grumbled, this being her third call this morning. Still, I played her message first.
“I’ll be picking you up from the dorm. Make sure you’re packed and ready. I don’t have time to wait.”
I ran my hands down the buttons along the front of my silk blouse and stared down at the polished leather of my heels. I already knew! I pressed down on the delete button hard with the tip of my index finger and moved on to Jorge’s message.
“Celebratory drinks tonight at the warehouse? We can share a taxi.”
I swallowed hard and responded by text message:
Sure. Warning: Mom’s still coming.
He quickly texted back:
Way ahead of you. Don’t worry. I’ll get your bag from your dorm and wait with her.
My shoulders dropped, and I wrote back.
Thank you.
The sun blazed hot through the passing clouds, making me sweat the rest of the way down Leon Street. The sun and my meeting with Professor Gilmore. Who knew insulting my professor would be the only thing saving me from being completely excluded from his courses? Glimpsing my watch, I crossed over to Forsyth footpath, increasing my pace as I moved between the buildings to East Village residential hall. The last thing I needed now was to have to deal with my mother’s attitude for making her wait with Jorge.
As I increased my pace, I couldn’t help but dwell on my meeting with Professor Gilmore. He was my favorite professor. I had been a self-proclaimed Gilmore groupie. And like all the others, I stayed up until midnight on open-enrollment day to get a place in one of his courses. I exceeded my book budget to purchase his “overpriced books,” as he called them, from the campus bookstore. I did all of this, even though he started every class by saying journalism was dead and we were wasting our lives getting this degree. For him that was true, but I was a Rowe, and I needed the help or else I would be as my father used to say, a few missteps away from accomplishing anything. Though that was his problem, accepting defeat and giving up on his dreams. My dreams were my own, and I could make it if given the chance.
I sighed and shuddered when I caught sight of my stepfather Royce’s car in front of the residence hall. Mom was early. I eased through the glass-front doors and into the large common area that was packed with suitcases and students in various states of moving out.
“Piper!” I moved in the direction of the voice and located my best friend, Jorge Cruz, who looked like a clean-cut teen idol dressed in a pressed white shirt and gray slacks. His wide lips formed a bright smile though he was standing stoically next to my mother. She was wearing Anne Klein casual today, a light blue blouse with a linen skirt. Her cellphone as usual glued to her ear. I shifted my attention to her, and our pale blue eyes connected. She waved her manicured hand in a “hurry up” gesture for me to move faster, but I petulantly slowed down so I could assess her physically to see what plastic surgery she’d had since last I saw her. Was it Christmas break? My father used to say to me that I was the spitting image of her when she was younger. Pre-Royce, I would agree. My mom’s curves were gone due to her insane diet making her appearance frail. We both had long blonde wavy hair, but she dyed hers now and kept it styled in a tight chignon. Her skin was smooth and tanned like mine though hers was from a bottle because she avoided direct sunlight to keep from wrinkling. She didn’t need to enhance her defined cheekbones, but she had added some collagen to her already full lips, giving her a guppy pout. I sighed and glanced at Jorge.
My mother paused her phone call enough to say, “You’re late.” She gave me the impression she was frowning, though come to think of it, her skin wasn’t moving. She’s back to Botox.
“You’re early,” I said quietly and rolled my eyes. Jorge smiled.
He pushed his hand through his short dark curls and asked, “How did your meeting with Gilmore go?”
I turned the corners of my mouth down. “I’ll tell you later.”
He frowned, and I shook my head glancing towards my mother. He gave my shoulder a squeeze.
“I don’t know why you insist on living here,” she said, putting her iPhone away.
I didn’t answer. She knew the reason. It was what I could afford. More than she could afford before marrying Royce.
“I’ve got your bags over here,” Jorge spoke up.
I grinned. “Thanks.”
“Would you be a dear and take Piper’s suitcase to our Jaguar out front?” she asked him like he was some freaking valet.
I bit the inside of my cheek. My mother had gone from an old lady in a small apartment to nouveau riche snob in less than two years. She found every opportunity to mention her newfound wealth, even if it was to those who knew us before—like Jorge. He was a lovable relic from our old life in California. The life we last spent with my father and his motorcycle club before the end of their relationship. And while I was happy for her not to work two jobs to make ends meet anymore, I wasn’t about to let her mistreat him on my watch.
“Jorge isn’t a doorman, Mom. I can do it myself.” I stomped over to my suitcase, but when I tried to lift it, I immediately had to put it back down. What did I have in there?
“Your desktop and laptop computers are in that one. I’ll take it for you,” Jorge said, giving one of his infectious laughs. He picked up the trolley bag with ease, and we trooped out of the door flanked by my mother, tripping in her designer heels.
“Where is the rest of your stuff?” my mother asked.
“In free storage,” I replied. “I can leave it there for a semester.” If I came back.
“I suppose that’s fine,” she said absently.
Yep. It was going to be a long weekend before I left for Aunt Luna’s tree farm. Or not. I needed a “wow” story to impress Professor Gilmore.
“I need you to drop me off at the dealer to pick up my new Escalade,” she announced.
I suppressed a giggle as I imagined her behind the wheel of such a large vehicle. She would look like a little kid pretending to drive. “It’s only you and Royce at home. Why on earth would you need that?”
“I don’t have to explain myself to my daughter,” she said. Clouds had rolled in though the heat of the sun was still in the air as we walked out of the building where she’d parked illegally in front. And not a clean park at that, she was out from the sidewalk. I watched in shame as cars had to go over a part of the curb to get around in the narrow lane. My mother, on the other hand, approached the car with oblivion and unlocked the trunk.
“Mom, Jorge got a law internship at Harvard Law School for the summer,” I said as Jorge and I moved over with my bags.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh. That’s . . . nice.” She glanced his way before getting in the car.
I slammed the trunk. “Sorry about that.”
He looked down, and my anger surged as he responded. “She has her reasons.”
I folded my arms. I hated seeing him sad. Her reasons had nothing to do with him and more to do with his parents, Kat and Hatchet. “You have nothing to do with them, and she knows it. I’ll have a talk with her.”
“Don’t bother. You’re leaving anyway. I’m going to miss you this summer,” he said. This was the first time he wasn’t flying to California to spend time with his mother. All because his father was out of jail again.
“I’m going to miss you too, but we’ll email, text, call, blog, send smoke signals, and hey! We’re going out tonight,” I said with a bounce on the balls of my feet.
“You still want to?” he asked searching my face. Going out at the end of the semester had become our tradition. It was our one night to blow off steam after burying ourselves under our coursework.
“It’s either go or spend the evening with Royce and Mom,” I said and shuddered.
“Your mom isn’t that bad,” Jorge said. I squeezed his hand. His family made mine look like Pleasantville. Truly, my old mom was great. I just wasn’t fond of the new one with Royce. The car horn blared, making me jump. I grimaced while Jorge chuckled. “You better get going.”
We hugged each other. “I’ll give you a call later,” I said and got in the car. Before I could roll down the window to say anything else, she practically peeled out of the parking space.
“I don’t know why you insist on living in that horrible dorm.”
I smirked. Horrible? It was brand new and nicer than anywhere we lived growing up.
“Royce would give you one of his homes in his new development close to campus.”
My mother was tempting me, but I’d never take it. “No thanks.”
“Why on earth not?” she asked.
I wanted to tell her because he was a creep, and I didn’t want to be in his debt like she was. Instead, I looked out the window and gave my standard response. “It’s better to be close to everything happening on campus. I want to get the whole experience.”
She clicked her nails against the steering wheel as we stopped at a light. “The experience being Jorge?” she replied and snorted. “You can do better.”
I lowered my brows. I should be so lucky to have a handsome, sweet, loving man as Jorge, but he was like an older sibling or parent. More so than they were at times. “Jorge is my best friend, Mom.”
“You’re always with him and never dating. I can’t help but wonder,” she said.
“He’s like a brother to me,” I answered.
“He’s not your brother. Anyway, I don’t want to argue.” She glanced at me, and I knew what was coming next. “Chad Fitzsimmons is home from college. Did you know he is pre-med? He’s going to be a surgeon like his father.”
“Good for Brad,” I said, hiding my smile by keeping my eyes on the window.
“It’s Chad. You know that,” she said with a bit of bass in her voice. “The Fitzsimmons are having a party tonight, and I want you to come along. He asked about you. Maybe you can get him to pick you up? I gave him your number.”
“You did what?” I said, my voice raising She had my full attention now. “I’m not going out with Chad. I’m going out with Jorge tonight.”
She lifted her head and focused on the road. “If you want something from us, you’ll need to be more compliant. I’m still trying to see if we can help out with the funds you’ll need for school next year.”
My heart constricted. My father passed away last year and his veteran scholarship had run out, leaving me with a deficit for next year, and since I was listed on their tax return as a dependent, I needed more than I would make at the tree farm. Maybe I could get a second job in Los Gatos.
“I’m only here for a couple of days,” I mumbled.
I heard a rumble and saw bikes pull up behind us. “Is it a club out on a run?” I quizzed my mother. She had been dad’s old lady for ten years when he was in the MC.
She cursed. “A run? They’re probably high on meth or something. Just like your father.” She pulled off fast like she was in some crazy drag race, but the bikes were faster and moved off in front of her.
“Dad wasn’t a druggie,” I said in annoyance, eyeing the bikes passing around us. Harleys. Indians. I noticed one biker had on a bright pink helmet and leather cat suit. Biking wasn’t solely for men, but, of course, that wasn’t what my mother experienced when Dad joined a motorcycle club. I stared at the young woman on the bike. I could see the ends of her bright pink hair flapping in the wind. I imagined me riding my own bike without my father. He had a 1942 Harley Davidson Knucklehead. Motorcycles were one of the things my father and I used to share, besides his love of writing.
She cursed as we watched another one cut in front of her. This one wasn’t a Harley. It was a Ducati Diavel with black and silver etching on it. The helmet was beautifully etched to match. The man looked damned good from the back on such an imposing machine.
“Your father wasn’t just riding bikes. He was addicted to sex and tried to keep me as his slut, passing me around like a party favor.” Her voice faltered.
I patted her knee. I didn’t know her version of Dad, but I sympathized with her pain.
“What are you doing?” she asked and smiled. “I’m okay. We’re okay now.” Her tone hushed.
She moved to the right, and I looked out of the side mirror and saw the Diavel move behind us. She turned into a gas station and explained, “Royce doesn’t like his tank below half.”
As luck would have it, the biker came up behind us. Even though I understood my mother’s warning, it didn’t stop me from wondering what he looked like without his hel
met. I took another peek in the mirror as he pulled it off. Jackpot. Whoa, was he smoking hot.
“Piper, are you listening?” my mother said interrupting my gawking.
“Yes?” I lied.
She let out a loud sigh. “I said Aunt Luna called and told me she can’t hire you for the whole summer. She’s off to meet her new online boyfriend in Santa Fe.”
“What?! She never. . . .” I stumbled.
My mother made what looked like a smirk though it was hard to tell. “I told you not to trust her. Don’t worry, I told her off good on the phone for building your dreams up and crushing them just like your fa—”
“I’ll pump,” I announced, cutting her off. I pushed the door open with more force than I intended and heard a thump before I got out
“Watch it!” a deep voice grumbled.
Oh no. I closed it back quickly and stared down at the dark boots in front of me.
“I’m sorry. That must’ve hurt,” I said pathetically. God. Why did I say that? Of course it did!
“It did,” he confirmed.
My eyes moved away from the boots and up to the dark, denim-encased legs of the man I’d almost maimed with the car door. Once my gaze leveled on the leather jacket, my heart sped up. This had to be the biker. His jaw line was square and peppered with stubble. His dark hair fell across his forehead in waves, and his face was perfectly symmetrical—straight brows and nose. His cheekbones, high and sharp, gave him a hard look that contrasted with his smooth, tan skin. His lips parted—exquisitely shaped luscious lips. I could only dream he was in the same state of gawk, but when I met his large silver-gray eyes, I wasn’t assured. They were clouded, like a blanketed sky, with a touch of soft mystery, and they were gazing down at me. Down on me, actually. I was five seven, and I would have guessed his height at over six feet when he crowded in front of me. Of what I was assured: he was breathtaking.
Piper Dreams: Dream it, Seize it, Live it. (Dreams Series Book 1) Page 2