Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)(9)

Mr. Hale’s eyebrows arch as if he is surprised by my little rant but his eyes soften.

“I will not pull the funding, Miss Snow. There’s no reason for your concern. But at the moment I’m focusing on your invention. Surely, you need assistance with the last stage?”

I smile as I realize his frustration may actually be kindness. But unfortunately, his investment in my project would not keep me here. Only my own investment of a million dollars to an existing American business would.

“Professor Denton and I will continue to collaborate. Someday it will be finished, Mr. Hale. You have my word.”

He smiles at the last sentence. “What are your plans after you graduate?” he asks, tenting his long fingers.

“No plans at the moment.”

Immediately, his eyes harden, no doubt because of my secretive answer. There is something sentient about them, as though they have thoughts and feelings of their own.

“You may have your reasons for guarding this supplement closely, Miss Snow. However, I would advise you to think practically. You could profit from this.” His words are careful, almost a warning. As though he is telling me I have my priorities wrong. But priorities imply options, and I only have one.

“Well, if you want to buy it for a million dollars net of taxes, I would sell it to you today,” I offer because I already know the answer.

He chuckles. “A million dollars for an unfinished invention? That’s a steep price, considering that I do nothing with science. No offense to your accomplishments, of course.”

“None taken, Mr. Hale. How much would you sell your dreams for?”

He stops smiling. “I’m a venture capitalist, Miss Snow. I don’t have dreams. I have goals.”

Life without dreams… “That sounds very safe, Mr. Hale.” Maybe I should have followed that philosophy. If I had, perhaps this end would not hurt so much. “Are there any other questions I can answer for you?” I smile.

Daniel smiles too. “I don’t think so, Miss Snow. Your materials are very clear and I have this handy packet, which I’ll study in detail. I do thank you for making time for this when you’re wrapping up your final year here.”

I nod and look down at my hands. He has no idea how literal his words are.

Daniel stands, and so does Denton. Mr. Hale doesn’t stand until Daniel shakes my hand and walks with Denton to the door. The tension in Mr. Hale’s posture remains palpable. I reach for his hand, half-scared, half-curious to see if the same electricity will jolt through me again. It does, the instant our hands touch.

“Thank you for your support of the department, Mr. Hale.”

“My pleasure, Miss Snow. I’m very impressed with your project,” he says politely.

I feel suddenly giddy at his praise, like I did when I got my very first A. I thank him, cursing the bloody blush again. Mr. Hale looks slightly amused and sweeps out of the door last.

I stand there, staring after him even when the door closes. What better way to illustrate what I’ll be missing than sending an impossibly handsome man who can mess with my head just by blinking. Something warm—like an ember—heats up between my lungs as if his electrical charge nested there. I watch my skin, mesmerized. There’s no physical evidence of change but something inside feels…new.





Chapter Eight





La Virgen


I rush through Feign Art as fast as I can. In the few seconds it takes me to dash through reception, I notice my painting is gone. The mere idea that it’s already in Mr. Hale’s home makes me trip twice.

Javier is in the back as always. He stares blankly out of the window but when he sees me, he smiles.

“How did your presentation go?” he asks as I change behind the screen.

“I didn’t throw up once, so that means it went fine. And you’ll never guess whom it was for. The same bloke who bought all your paintings.” I peek around the screen to look at his expression. He’s gaping.

“Same guy? That’s a coincidence.”

“Yes, I know. Aiden Hale.” Ridiculously, as I say his name out loud, I shiver. “Apparently, he’s a major donor for Reed.”

“Hmm, small world. Good thing he has no clue you’re the muse for his art.”

I laugh my first laugh in days. Only Javier would call me a muse. “More like a dummy than a muse, I think. But that’s okay. It helps you. Although I think you should ask Feign for more money. It’s robbery, Javier.”

He snorts. “Yeah, and then he’ll turn me over to ICE for being an illegal alien.”

“No, he won’t. Because you can expose his fraud,” I insist, resisting the urge to stomp my foot. He never agrees with me here. To his defense, Immigration and Customs Enforcement is the dread behind most immigrants’ nightmares.

“Isa, please, we’ve talked about this. He can do it anonymously. And even if he did it under his real name, no one will believe the illegal immigrant over the established artist.”

“Sure they would. Just give Feign a paintbrush and ask him to paint a smiley face. The truth will be out in seconds.”

“Stop this, please. We have so little time left.” Javier’s voice is muted and almost staccato. I secure the last clothespin on my sheet and come out. I want to comfort him but what is there to say? Plus, I can’t touch him when I’m wrapped up in a sheet.