Read Online A Twist of Hate by Crystal Hubbard - Free Book Online Page A

Mr. Curran smiled at Camden’s flustered expression. “It’s nice to finally have a face to go with the name I’ve heard so often over the past several weeks.”
                  Siobhan’s face knotted into an expression that silently screamed, Shut up, Daddy! She was grateful Chrissie and Bitsy had left and Courtney was on a court with Corin.
                  “Camden is an unusual name,” Mr. Curran remarked. He plucked a few green grapes from the fruit bowl centered on the table.
                  “It’s a family name.” Camden grabbed a big cluster of the same grapes. “It goes back to William Camden. He was an English writer. We read him in Mrs. Dunlop’s AP Literature and Composition class last semester, right Siobhan?”
                  “I can’t recall.” She impatiently tapped her foot.
                  Camden turned back to Siobhan’s father. “He wrote Brittania , a guide to the counties of Britain, in 1586,” Camden said.
                  “And it was riveting,” Siobhan remarked dully.
                  “So you do remember,” Camden grinned.
                  “Siobhan has mentioned that you’re interested in pursuing architecture in college,” Mr. Curran said.
                  “That’s right.” Camden smiled broadly at Siobhan, thrilled that his career ambitions had been a topic of conversation in the Curran household. “I’ve done a lot of studying on my own, but I’ve never had any practical experience.”
                  “Are you going away next week for spring break?” Mr. Curran asked.
                  “He’s going to Aspen with Brian,” Siobhan hastily volunteered.
                  “Nothing’s set in stone,” Camden corrected.
                  “Would you be interested in spending the week at my offices?” asked Mr. Curran. “You would work with my other interns. You would be exposed to every aspect of what we do at Curran Developments. When’s a good time for you to come by The Janus this week to work out the details?”
                  Camden could have backflipped with joy. “I have a free period before lunch tomorrow. I could be there by eleven. I don’t know how to thank you, sir.”
                  “Start by not calling me ‘Sir.’” Mr. Curran took a sip of iced tea, glancing at Siobhan over the frames of his glass. He smiled, showing off the deep dimples framing his neatly trimmed moustache. “So tell me, Camden. Have you enjoyed working with my daughter?”
                  Meeting Siobhan’s dark gaze straight on, Camden said, “There aren’t words to describe the experience.”
                  “Good answer,” laughed Mr. Curran.
     
    ***
     
                  The terms of Camden’s spring break internship were settled over lunch at The Rise, the posh restaurant on the thirty-ninth floor of The Janus, four floors above Curran Developments, Inc. Mr. Curran and Camden sat at Mr. Curran’s usual table, which offered a panoramic view of the St. Louis skyline featuring the stainless steel gleam of the Gateway Arch, the bone white austerity of the Old Courthouse, and the showy red of Busch Stadium.
                  “Do you think you’ll join Twin Lakes?” Camden asked, picking yellow grape tomatoes out of his mesclun salad.
                  “Twin Lakes is beautiful and the facilities are excellent,” Mr. Curran began, “but I taught Siobhan to play tennis on public courts. St. Louis is rife with public courts. Larson in Rock Hill has year ‘round grass courts. I don’t think we don’t need Twin Lakes.”
                  “My dad said the membership committee is sending your invitation out tomorrow,” Camden told him. “Should they even bother?”
                  “I haven’t made a