Broken Wings (An Angel Eyes Novel) - By Shannon Dittemore Page 0,3

“Come on. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

The woman Dad steers me toward is dressed in a designer pencil skirt and a starched white blouse. A red belt cinches everything together over an impossibly small waist. She’s older than I am, by a decade probably, but she’s got that racially ambiguous beauty thing going for her, all olive skin and caramel eyes.

Standing here in our community center she looks far too . . . expensive. Her black heels alone retail for seven hundred and fifty dollars. I know that because my ankles were featured in the ad campaign for them last summer. They place her a good three inches taller than I am, which bothers me for some reason. The euphoric state I’ve been reveling in fades as we step closer. My toes squirm in my ballet slippers.

My repulsion surprises me.

Am I intimidated by her?

I don’t think so. I’ve done the model thing dozens of times, been surrounded by hundreds of gorgeous women. I know what intimidation is, and this feels different. Maybe it’s the haughty look on her face, or the way her eyes keep flitting to my father.

I scratch at my empty wrist, wishing with everything in me that I could see this woman with celestial eyes.

“Sorry, Keith. No beer,” she says, handing Dad a glass of punch.

“Of course there isn’t,” he says, yanking at his collar. The sloppy motion pulls my attention off the woman and back to Dad. I’m irritated that he wasn’t kinder to Jake, but I have to admit that he looks rather dashing in his suit—or would if he’d stop trying to crawl out of it. “Baby, this is Olivia Holt.”

Ah, Olivia. The Olivia.

“Liv is fine,” she says.

“I’m Brielle,” I say, extending my hand to the stranger. Her grip is cold, clammy. A startling contrast to the collected demeanor she exudes. “How did you two meet?”

“Just met her. Turns out Liv here is the one who saved the day. Swooped in at the witching hour.”

Somehow that’s not too hard to believe. I release her hand and resist the urge to wipe mine on my tights. “I’ve heard about you, of course. Kaylee’s convinced you hung the moon.”

“I’m impressed with your friend Kaylee,” Olivia says. “She’s done a noteworthy job here.”

Olivia Holt’s not wrong. With the Peace Corps taking forever to get back to Kaylee on her application, she decided she needed a project to take her mind off the wait. The Stratus Community Center was nothing but a rental hall before Kaylee petitioned the city council and gained permission to organize programs and seek out volunteers. And she did it all while juggling graduation and final exams and everything else that comes with the last semester of high school.

But there was little money, and the center was falling apart.

Enter Olivia Holt and the Ingenui Foundation.

“Kay’s awesome,” I say.

Olivia turns her attention back to Dad, closing me out of the circle. I bristle at the snub, but I’m more intrigued by the fact that Dad hardly notices. Olivia asks about his job and the state of the economy here in Stratus. He tells her things are rough, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his suit jacket. Classy.

“The foundation could lift some of the strain, Keith. We have resources,” she says, placing a freshly manicured hand on Dad’s bicep.

Is she flirting? With my dad?

My head spins at the thought, and I lose track of the conversation. Dad’s dated here and there, but always women I knew. Always women from town and never anything serious.

“Brielle’s getting ready to head off to college, right, baby? Dance scholarship.”

My stomach clenches. I avoid his gaze and smile as sweetly as I can at Olivia.

“Oh, congratulations. I do envy you.” Her eyes drift off. “College was one of the happier times in my life.”

There’s a break in the crowd, and I catch sight of Miss Macy. Talk about saving the day. She winks at me and tilts her chin toward the stage.

“Excuse me. I’ve got a little thing to do.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” Olivia says, waving my dismissal. “Your dad and I can figure out how to pass the time. I’m sure of it.”

They laugh, Dad’s face turning fire-truck red. “Break a leg, baby.”

Anybody’s leg? The thought flies through my head unchecked. Dad’s voice carries across the gym floor as I make for the stage. He’s stammering a bit, bragging on me. To Olivia. He tells her about all the colleges I’ve been accepted to. About the