Crushing On The Billionaire (Part 3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

admitting it?
    “You know what, my work is great,” I finally announced. “My work is great, and I’m a great photographer.”
    Mere’s lips lifted in a smile. “There. Was that such a hard thing to say? I look forward to reviewing your entry.”
    I left the gallery feeling buoyant, joyful. It was as if saying out loud that I thought highly of my work and of my skills as a photographer really made me own everything. I was going to be a photographer. I didn’t need school or Mercedes or anyone else to tell me that. I knew what I wanted to do with my life, and I didn’t need best friends or lovers or anyone else to make me who I was.
    I returned to campus immediately, dashing off to the library to use a computer to examine just what I’d captured on my camera these last few weeks. I recognized some of my classmates from my studio class giving me weird looks, but I ignored them. I figured it was simply fallout from the meltdown I’d suffered when Mercedes pushed me too hard.
    I examined the contest rules on the postcard that Mere had given me. There were too many photos that could apply to the specifications. I decided to print out the ones I thought were best and examine them at home. There were more than two hundred, but I had the balance to do it.
    I gathered up my printouts and was ready to be on my way when I noticed that one fellow photography major hadn’t stopped staring at me.
    “What is it?” I snapped, tucking the sheaf of papers into my bag as neatly as I could.
    “It’s just…I thought you dropped out,” he said, shrugging. “Just surprised to see you, I guess.”
    I snorted at him and strode out. Dropped out? The idea was ludicrous. I used to be the one who was early to almost every class, more prepared and eager to learn than anyone else there.
    I wasn’t that anymore, I realized, slowing my pace as I trekked toward my apartment. I was one of the worst students now. I was behind in the senior project, behind on all other assignments, and lacking clear direction—besides the contest for the gallery, which had precious little to do with my education.
    Maybe I should drop out. It didn’t really make sense for me to pretend to attend the institute if I wasn’t actually doing the work or showing up for classes. I could jettison this place easily and make a life for myself somewhere else. All I had to do was stay behind a camera and I knew I would be okay.
    I was kneeling on the floor of my apartment, spreading out my printouts, when there was a knock on my door. I paused for a second, wondering who it might be, and continued examining my photos. I wasn’t expecting anyone. There was no one in the world who could possibly have any reason for coming to my door, unannounced, after dark. And if there was such a person, I wasn’t interested in seeing what he or she wanted. I had a mission, and my mission was to figure out which photos to submit for the contest.
    The knocking came again, and I expelled an exasperated sigh. Why wouldn’t they take a hint? The lights were on inside, sure, but that didn’t mean that they were welcome, whoever they were. I was busy. I was going to do great things, and I needed to figure out how to move on with my life in order to get these things done.
    The third time my mystery caller knocked, I pushed myself up off the floor and stalked to the door.
    “What?” I demanded, ripping open the door, my rage instantly faltering when I realized it was Patrick who stood there. How long had it been since I’d seen him, fragile in that hospital bed, a machine acting as a metronome for his heartbeat?
    “You haven’t been answering my calls,” he said. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
    I swallowed. My mouth was inexplicably dry. “I’m just fine. I know you have the resources to figure that out without coming all the way over here.”
    “That’s probably true.” His tone was even, reasonable, friendly. “But I wanted to see for myself.”
    He was