Chapter Two
WHILE THE REST of his fraternity enjoyed a beautiful May afternoon in a nearby park, Skylar sat at his desk in his room at Delta Eta Sigma, staring out the window at the gleaming white brick and glass of Gama Auditorium, trying to figure out what he should submit for his senior project.
He wanted it to shine in a particular way, and he hadn’t sorted out how to make that happen yet. His senior project was a practicum, essentially: take what we’ve taught you all these years and show you know how to apply it. It didn’t have to be something actually implemented, but it certainly looked better on a resume if that’s what happened. He needed to find someone—an individual, an entity, or a business—to let him play guinea pig with their brand. To showcase and market them.
The choice he made would define him. Hardcore business? That was what his father would expect, and that would fit with the place in the law firm waiting for him. Except…going that route felt like a trap. It was the obvious choice, which made it wrong as far as Skylar was concerned. His instinct was to find a mom and pop store on Main Street and give them a corporate polish. That still didn’t feel quite right, but it felt closer to the mark than anything else he’d come up with so far.
This project was his last chance to showcase himself as the package of Skylar Stone. After this, he’d be lost to the dull halls of law school, fighting the urge to be turned into a drone. This was where he staked his claim on his individuality, his artistry. To show he wasn’t going to be just any corporate lawyer. He’d be Skylar Stone.
Whoever that was.
Of course, the other project he had to focus on this summer was his LSAT study. He was slated to take the test in September and had a tutor he was supposed to check in with regularly. As of yet he hadn’t been able to get the practice score he’d need for Yale Law, which was more than something of a problem.
He tried to find a perfect project so he could send in the form, get that ball rolling, and get back to his LSAT prep. But all he could do was stare at the ruined mural and think about Xander Fairchild and his angry scowl and how he’d refused to let Skylar pay for the painting.
He managed to get in a good hour of studying, but when he glanced up and saw it was almost two, he closed his book and picked up his phone. His father’s secretary answered on the third ring.
“Good afternoon, Skylar. How’s your studying going?”
“Very well, thank you for asking, Ellen.” Skylar drummed his fingers on his desk, smiling as he thought of the woman on the other end of the line. “How are the girls?”
“They’re doing fine, thank you for asking.”
“Are Chris and Marie stressing about their finals?”
Ellen chuckled. “They are, but they loved the survival package you sent them. You’re ever the thoughtful one, Skylar.”
He smiled, feeling warm and soothed under her praise, as he always did. “Well, you’re the one who raised me.
“I should think some of the credit goes to your nannies.”
“Yes, but you’re their mother.”
She laughed again, the rich, low envelope of sound that always made Skylar wish she’d been his mother, and not simply the woman who had organized most of his life. She hadn’t always been his father’s executive assistant—in fact, for much of Skylar’s youth she was a low-ranking secretary who got stuck managing the care of the Stone child. Sometimes she hired nannies and babysitters. Sometimes she did the work herself. When her own children were old enough, though, she installed them in the positions of caring for Skylar. Meanwhile, Ellen continued to climb her way up the ranks of the office pool, until her patience, curried favors, and wit landed her a job at the right hand of Leighton Stone himself.
Skylar loved Ellen. He loved her family too—her children Sandy, Rosie, and Erin had been his nannies, but so had her sisters Tiffany and Sarah. Ellen’s youngest children, Chris and Marie, were Skylar’s age, and they had been his playmates. He’d considered them sisters when he was young, and he’d been upset when he couldn’t go home with them or that they couldn’t stay longer to play with him.
In so many ways, Ellen’s family had raised Skylar. Yet he was also aware they were not his family, that he did not belong with them. Of course, he was equally conscious of how little his actual family wanted anything to do with him, and so Skylar kept trying to find ways to attract their attention and show them he could in fact be a Stone after all.
Which was what he was doing right now, in fact.
“Ellen,” he began, “I wondered if you happened to know when might be a good time to reach my father.” His cheeks heated. “I’ve…been having trouble reaching him.” Again.
There was a beat, slightly uncomfortable, before she said, “He’s not in at the moment, unfortunately. But let me check his schedule and when might be a good time to try again.”
Skylar pushed his smile wider, so his disappointment didn’t telegraph through. “I have some information for him he might find illuminating. Maybe…tell him that.”
Ellen’s voice took on a whip-like quality that said, Don’t you worry, hon, shit is about to happen. “I’ll see to it your father has some time in his schedule to make a phone call as soon as possible. All right?”
Skylar’s smile eased into something no longer forced. “All right. Thanks, Ellen.”
“Of course, sweetie. Take care of yourself. Good luck studying for that test.”
Skylar hung up and stared out the window. Ellen’s voice rang in his ear, lifting his spirit, but it faded all too quickly. He wondered how long it would take his father to call.
Beside him on the desk, his phone beeped. Glancing down, he saw a bubble preview notification, and he couldn’t help it, he hoped it might be from his father. But it was only Carolyn from Tau Alpha Kappa.
Could use your company tonight.
Ah. Raising his eyebrows, Skylar opened his phone and checked his calendar. Technically he was free, outside of wanting to get his project turned in. With a sigh, he decided to hear her out. I might be free. What are you thinking?
My family’s having a fundraiser for the new senate candidate, and I was hoping you’d be my date.
Skylar’s heart skipped a beat. Senate fundraiser. Oh, Carolyn knew how to sway him. I can give you a few hours. Shall I pick you up at six?
Great. Thank you so much. You’re the best, Sky.
Skylar turned his phone over and tried to focus once more on his application. He got nowhere fast, however, so he gave up and went downstairs.
Despite most of the brothers having gone to the park to play Frisbee, the main living room still hummed with activity. Many of the guys were getting ready to move out for the summer, and some had already left for internships and opportunities abroad. Skylar felt a pang thinking of how the house would be empty soon, because he would miss the commotion when his brothers were absent.
Thankfully, they weren’t all leaving. Jeff Turner, better known as Unc, was one of the Delta Eta Sigma members who was staying. Unc could be an acquired taste, but Skylar didn’t mind him. Unc sat with headphones on, curled up in a corner of the sofa, decked in his usual well-worn sweats and sporting messy hair—the top section bleached blond over his dark-brown undercut that matched his close-cut beard.
He was nibbling absently on the end of a highlighter while he stared intently at the pages of his econ textbook, but when he saw Skylar, he grinned and waved him over.
“Hey, you.” Unc pulled the band to his Beats back with a lusty sigh and shut the textbook. “I hate econ. Like, I hate econ.”
“You’re nearly through it.” Skylar plunked down beside him. “Let me know if you need to borrow my notes. I think they’re still in my closet.”
“I will take those notes, gladly.” Unc tipped his head back and shut his eyes, sighing again, even more dramatically than the first time, but he also opened one eye and focused it on Skylar. “So. Did Donovan break it to you about the Delta Sig Executive Council yet?”
Skylar sat up straight. “No, he didn’t. What happened?”
Unc sat up too, grimacing. “We’re getting fined for the vandalism. The council is pissed.”
Skylar had been afraid of this. “We need a meeting. You or Donovan need to call one. I wish you’d have said something to me sooner. We need to be out kissing administrative and art department ass. Right now.”
“You need to kiss their ass.”
Skylar considered pointing out he was a risk management officer and that his term was up in a matter of days, but despite his insistence he wasn’t running for office his senior year, everyone assumed he was president-elect. He was always in charge, even when he wasn’t.
Unc held up a hand. “I know, I know. I should handle this. Hear me out, though.” He leaned forward on his elbows, his silver hoop earring swaying gently. “I seriously thought about going over and talking to the Interfraternity Council and the whole deal. But you know how I get. I thought about taking Donovan with me, in case I put people off. Except.” He raised his eyebrows and gave Skylar a knowing look, inviting him to finish the thought.
Skylar sighed. “Except I know how he gets too. Goddamn it, Unc. I’m serious, I’m not running.”
“I know, and I don’t think you should. I’m not either. I’m going to be on the Interfraternity Council, and that’s enough.”
Skylar’s heart sank. “Jesus, if you don’t run, and I don’t run—”
“Then someone else will have to run.”
Skylar looked around the room. “What kind of leadership will we have, then?”
“I don’t know. But here’s the deal, Sky. Both of us have law school to prep for. I’ve got more prep to do than you, since I’m pretty much a fuckup. Someone else can fill the gap.”
No one else was going to fill the gap, though. Not anyone who wasn’t going to fulfill every stereotype Xander had just lobbed at Skylar. “You’re not a fuckup.”
Unc snorted and waggled his eyebrows. “Come on now. You know better than that.” He put an arm around Skylar. “Stop worrying. Here’s what I’ve cooked up. You go smooth things over with the IF, and tonight I take us out. Anywhere you want to go. All the booze is on me.”
Skylar pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know I don’t drink.”
“You do, sometimes. The way you’ve been grinding your nose against those books, I figure you’re overdue.” He leaned in closer, pitching his voice low. “I’ll get us dates too. For decoration or function.”
Skylar untangled himself from Unc and stood, pursing his lips against the warning signs of a headache. “Forward me the email from the council. I’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll tell Donovan. You just let me know when we’re going out—”
“I have to study.” He remembered he’d agreed to meet Carolyn. “And I have somewhere to go at six. But if you’re here when I get back, I’ll have a beer with you.”
“How about when you get back you have a beer with me and a couple of girls?” When Skylar only arched an eyebrow, Unc threw up his hands. “Dude, this is why you get those migraines.”
“This is why your dad tells you to apply yourself.”
“I do apply myself. Just not to the things he wants me to.” Unc splayed his arms over the back of the couch and grinned at Skylar. “Thanks, man. I owe you big. Don’t you worry. I’ll make sure I pay you back.”
Skylar was, to be honest, more worried about the payback than the favor.
He didn’t have time to dwell on that, however, so he focused instead on hunting down the phone number of the president of the Delta Sig Executive Council and apologizing, promising he’d take care of this right away and report back as soon as he had news. He sent out an email to the chapter loop. Then he took a shower, shaved, put on his suit and tie, and began the trek to the student union.
He didn’t have an appointment, but he understood the Director of Fraternity and Sorority Life well enough to know how to handle her. Though it wasn’t even remotely on his way, he stopped by the Java House and picked up a blueberries-and-cream latte and the biggest chocolate muffin in the display. He stopped at a flower cart and picked up a bouquet. Once he wound his way down the hill to the student union, he stopped in the men’s room to tidy his hair, and apply his secret weapon: a spritz of L’Homme Libre cologne.
When he breezed into Leslie’s office, she was on the phone, but she brightened and waved him over, making a silent fuss of oh, you shouldn’t have as she accepted the muffin, coffee, and flowers without missing a beat of her conversation. Shortly she ended the call, but before she could speak, Skylar held up his hands. “I’m not going to bother you—I’ll send an email to make an appointment, but I couldn’t wait that long to apologize for the headache we’re giving you, especially this close to commencement.”
She all but melted. “Oh, Skylar—don’t worry for a minute about it. Here, sit down—I’ve got some time. Let’s discuss everything now.”
Since he’d known this was exactly what she’d say, Skylar sat and dove headlong into his fraternity’s fracas. “Let me make it simple. We’re obviously expelling the members.” He hadn’t cleared that with the board, but if they were going to turf everything to him like this, they could live with his fiat. “We’ll pay for whatever damages need paying for. My concern is the reputation of Delta Eta Sigma and the Greek community. As much as you’re comfortable with, I want us involved personally in cleanup, and I’d like to do something for the art department if we can.” He recalled his conversation with Xander Fairchild. “I understand there’s not much we can do to save the mural, and it might not be our place to do any painting or cleaning. But we’re largely business majors, and we all have arms and legs. We can help them administratively. In any capacity.”
Leslie looked thoughtful as she sipped her coffee. “That’s good. Really good. It’s true, the liberal arts aren’t as represented overall in fraternity and sorority life, where most of you major in business.”
Skylar nodded, processing this as quickly as he could through his knowledge of Benten history and its current demographics. “Which is such a tragedy, if you think of it. Since the college was founded primarily as a haven for artists, it’s a shame to see us so divided.”
“You know, you’re right. This effort could be bridge-building. I’ll call the department head and ask what they need.”
The idea formed in the air between them, so crystalline and perfect Skylar wished he could close his eyes and breathe it in for a few moments. “Tell me what you think of this, Leslie. I’m working on my proposal for my senior project right now. I’ve been unable to land on anything I like, and I think it’s because I was waiting for this opportunity. What if my senior project was to help the art department? They have exhibits and such. They could use public relations or marketing or all kinds of things that fall into the purview of my project. What if that was part of our offer?”
Leslie beamed like a sun. “That is brilliant. Only you would think of such a thing, Sky. And nobody could do anything quite as amazing as you would. I’m calling over there right now. In fact, I’ll go over.”
“Perfect. I’ll walk you, as it’s on my way. Unless you’d like me to come along? Do you think that would be appropriate?”
“I think it’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. Let’s go.” Leslie rose, then stopped and winked. “But let me put these beautiful flowers in some water first.”
“Absolutely,” Skylar replied, winking back.
XANDER CUT HIS hand on the way into the art building, which felt like an ominous sign.
He was trying to duck around a group of freshmen he knew were going to ask him for advice on their projects, and when he misjudged the width of a doorway, he reached out to brace himself against a piece of metal sculpture and earned himself a gash along his palm. It wasn’t deep, and thankfully it wasn’t on his left hand, but it required him to stop at the office and get a bandage and a lecture from the secretary about tetanus shots, and in the end he got jumped by the freshmen anyway. He stood in the corner of the office, cradling his throbbing hand, explaining the best way to arrange still-life composition and lighting, wondering the whole time why they wanted to talk to him when all he was doing was telegraphing how much he didn’t want to engage with anyone.
They talked so damn much he was late for his appointment with his advisor, so when he arrived at Peterson’s door, he felt more awkward and unsettled than usual.
“Come in,” Dr. Peterson called when Xander knocked. Xander opened the door enough to tentatively lean into the room, and Peterson gave Xander the first smile he remembered seeing on his advisor’s face. “Fairchild, what excellent timing.” He gestured to the part of the room blocked by the door. “I have someone I want you to meet.”
Xander pushed the door open wide enough to step inside. He cast a glance in the direction Peterson indicated and flinched in a brief shock of unease when he recognized Skylar Stone. Suit, smile, and all.
“We’ve met before, in fact.” Skylar strode forward, smile widening, and held out his hand. “Good to see you again, Xander.”
Xander extended his hand toward Skylar, realized this hand had a big goobery bandage on it, and withdrew it. He tried to extend his left hand instead, but that made his backpack slide down his arm, so in the end he tucked both hands against his body and glared at Skylar before glancing dubiously at his advisor. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is I was about to return your BFA exhibit paperwork to have you redo your marketing plan, but before I could do that, this charming young man arrived.” Peterson clapped a hand on Skylar’s shoulder. “His fraternity is making the art department part of their service work this coming year, but he is making us his senior project. He’s helping any art student needing assistance with promotion for their work, but he needs one student to serve as a centerpiece. The department looked over all the BFA exhibit applications, and we’ve decided that student is you.”
Xander took a step backward. “What? No. No.”
Peterson’s smile faded to the glower he usually reserved for Xander. “Don’t be an idiot. You need his help. Your proposal was a disaster.”
Skylar’s megawatt smile mellowed to comforting. “I promise I’m advisory only. I won’t get in the way of your work. I’ll simply help you draft a marketing plan.”
This was a nightmare. Xander wanted to object, heartily, but he didn’t know how. It didn’t seem to matter, though, because Peterson and Skylar carried on as if Xander wasn’t even there.
“I’ve given you all the paperwork you need, but let us know if you need anything further.” Peterson indicated Skylar with a nod.
Megawatt returned. “I’m sure we’ll be able to manage.” He aimed his smile-beam at Xander. “Would you like to set up a time to discuss?”
“Discuss now.” Peterson patted his abdomen. “I’m nipping out for lunch. Feel free to use my office.”
This wasn’t a nightmare, Xander decided. It was a circle of hell.
He tried to slump into the chair by the wall, but as soon as Peterson left, Skylar pulled the professor’s comfortable desk chair around the corner and urged Xander into it. “We’ll cover the basics for now and meet up again as soon as I’ve gone more thoroughly over the application and you’ve had more time to decide what you want from me.” He frowned at Xander’s injured hand. “Are you all right? Will you be able to paint?”
“It’s fine. It’s my right hand, anyway, so it doesn’t matter. I’m left-handed.” Xander hunched hesitantly in Peterson’s chair. “Whatever will get the department off my back. They’re the ones who care about how the show is promoted, not me.”
“But you’re a studio arts major, yes? And I understand you’re applying for your MFA as well?” Skylar perched at the edge of the plastic seat Xander had intended to take, looking like a magazine ad for business professional. He fucking smelled like a magazine too. “You’ll have no end of shows to learn how to advertise for. What I’m proposing for you isn’t simply a quick plan for this exhibit. I want to design a marketing portfolio for your brand. I want to give you a toolkit you can use this year and for years to come, one you can customize over and over again.”
It was a dazzling, too-good-to-be-true proposition, which made it highly suspect in Xander’s book. “Why are you doing this? I get they picked me because I’m a hot mess, but why are you here?”
He expected more marketing snow job, but Skylar surprised him by dimming the megawatt and morphing into something much less packaged. “Because the incident with the mural has done damage to the college, to the art department, to you, and it’s tainted Delta Sig’s reputation. I’m not having my fraternity sullied like that. We’re a service organization. We’re leaders. We’re not drunken fools who vandalize. I can say that all day long, but now we need to show that’s who we are.”
The guy was dazzling—handsome, yes, but charisma leached out of him like radiation. Xander fought to keep it at bay. “So you’re the president of the frat or something?”
Ting. There was the smile again. “No. Risk manager. Very low on the totem pole.” When Xander huffed dubiously, the smile ratcheted from charming to lethal. “My fraternity is important to me. For how it reflects on me but also what it means to my house brothers and to the national organization. For the idea of what Greek life means to the college.”
Was this guy real? “I assume you’re a poli-sci major.”
Goddamn, but the soft chuckle was worse than the smile. “Double major in economics and marketing with an English minor. I’ll be taking the LSAT this fall.”
Business, and he was going to be a lawyer. Which meant he was going to be a business lawyer. Xander stifled a grimace. He supposed that made sense with the stuff on the back of the business card. “So you’re helping me as part of your senior project?”
“No. You are my senior project.”
This time Xander couldn’t step on his horrified reaction. “Your grade depends on how well my show goes?”
“First of all, your show will go well. That’s become my job, to ensure that happens. What my advisors will look for is how well did I understand and serve my client. If this were the real world and you hired me, the whole purpose would be for you to focus on your art while I helped draw attention to it. It will be the same general principle here, with more attention paid to your review board instead of sales made. Using your connections, your personal networks, and of course at core your art, this could be a brilliant exhibit.”
That would have been funny, except the acknowledgment of what a farce this was only made Xander more sour. “I hate to break it to you, but I think you’ve been punked by the art department. I have no network. No connections. I go to class, I paint, I talk to my cats. I don’t even have friends.”
“You have more of a network than you think, and I can help you identify it. Classmates. Peers. Students interested in your work.”
Holy shit was this guy in for a rude awakening. “Nobody is interested in my work.”
Skylar’s smile was close-lipped and tilting, and Xander kind of wished for the ridiculous megawatt back. “If you recall, at least one person is interested. I can find you more. I will find you more.” He leaned forward, blue-green eyes glinting. “In fact, above and beyond any paperwork, senior project, or application—I promise you, here and now, that whatever list of professional goals you write out for me, I will make happen. That’s what I want you to have by our next meeting, and I want it to be big. I want you to try to stump me.”
“You have no idea how impossible your job is going to be.”
“You have no idea how much I love overturning impossible.”
The smile was getting on Xander’s nerves. Under his skin. Into the soft places in his belly. Hardening that weakness, Xander lifted his chin. “Fine. If you want to look like an idiot, I’m not going to stop you.”
Skylar winked and reached into his suit coat. He passed over another card.
Xander took it and tucked it angrily into the vest pocket of his shirt.