The Billionaire’s Second Chance by Kimberly Krey Page 0,13
nodded. “Bingo. Anyway, a few key members in the frat had deep ties to the group that hosted the Stanger Awards.”
“Stanger?” Perry said. “Never heard of them.”
“They’re fairly prestigious. They’re recognized nationwide, in fact. My dad got one once. My grandpa too. So imagine my surprise when I get nominated for one and Zander doesn’t.”
He caught the ball once more, then sat up and grabbed the phone where it lay on the chaise lounge. Sparks of adrenaline rushed through him at the memory alone.
“You’ve got to understand. This was a huge deal. I’d never had that type of recognition in my life. Everyone was too busy giving Zander all the awards and praise. Photo ops with Grandpa Benton and Dad.”
“Okay,” Perry replied. “You are going to bring Ms. Tripoli into the picture at some point, aren’t you?”
Duke sank back onto the chase lounge. “It’s a long story. We were dating at the time, and there was a dance coming up. I thought I could take whomever I wanted, but this secret organization had a few rules. One of them said I had to take a girl from the private sorority lined up with ours. I had no intention to honor that one.
“I figured it couldn’t affect my status at the frat house. I was the most popular guy there.” He chuckled wryly. “That probably sounds conceited, but I knew my place. Making friends had always been easy for me.”
“Okay,” Perry said. “There’s a dumb rule about who you can and can’t take to the dance but you didn’t really care. So what went wrong?”
Pricks of guilt settled over him as he looked for the words. “I wasn’t worried about losing my image on campus, but I did worry about losing the award.
“I’d just been notified that my status had shifted from finalist to winner. The committee sent a rep onto the campus to take my picture and everything. And that’s where I found out that there were strings attached.”
“What kind of strings?” Perry said through a cough. He coughed again. “Sorry,” he rasped. “Wrong pipe. I’m drinking this horrible cleansing drink. Continue…”
“Not only did they know about the secret fraternity, the committee insisted that I honor it. It wasn’t enough to simply not go, which is what I figured I’d do if worst came to worst, but they had a specific girl they wanted me to take. One who’d be awarded the same honor in the woman’s category.”
“That’s shady,” Perry said.
“Yeah, it was. Her name’s Sylvia Sampson.” Duke shook off the chill that came over him. “I wish I’d have just told them to screw off, but I didn’t. I cowered. I told myself that Vivi didn’t want to go anyway. Heck, she’d barely budged the night I’d tried to talk her into it.”
“You tried to talk her into it?” The incredulous tone of Perry’s voice made him cringe.
“Before I knew I couldn’t take her.”
“Well, wouldn’t take her. You chose an award over—”
“I know what I did, Perry, sheesh.” Duke squeezed his hand around the ball, harnessing enough frustration to hurl the thing at the nearest window. He imagined enjoying the satisfying crack as it hit the glass. It wasn’t like it could break clear through an aircraft window.
“I just…really wanted that moment at the ceremony—standing before my family, receiving an honor like that.” Duke’s stomach twisted as he considered how much the moment had cost him.
“No wonder she’s ticked off at you,” Perry said.
Without effort, his mind reached back to the night he’d tried to warm Vivi up to going with him. Before he’d known it was an issue.
They were cuddled up on a porch swing behind the sorority house. It was late, past curfew, and he’d recently discovered how very much he liked holding hands with her. The sensation of her silky smooth fingers gliding through his. Back and forth. He liked watching the action too, noting the difference in size, shape, and tone of her olive skin. Her slender fingers always looked so delicate next to his.
Why don’t you want to go? he’d asked her that night. Music rang from their shared headphones, one in his ear, one in hers. A silly love song he hadn’t liked until Viv came along.
“Because they don’t mean anything.” Viv recited one of her proverbs in Italian—he loved when she did that. This time it was the not-all-that-glitters-is-gold one. “They’re all for show,” she continued. “Who’s wearing what. Who they’re with. How much he spent and how much weight she lost