Connor nodded. “Thanks, Bradford.”
“Don’t call me for this shit again.”
Fair enough. “How about deep-sea fishing? Grant has a hundred-foot yacht he doesn’t use. I promised I wouldn’t party on it, but he never said I couldn’t fish off it. It has its own crew. All we’d have to do is bring poles, some bait, and a cooler. I hear there are thousand-pound bluefin tuna off the coast of Nova Scotia. Imagine the size of the sandwich we could make with that much fucking tuna.”
Bradford laughed and finished his beer. “Tell me when you go. I’m in.”
Connor picked up another slice. “I might need to modify Grant’s yacht. I’m sure he won’t mind.”
Bradford only smiled and shook his head.
Just before biting into his pizza, Connor paused. “The Fetters are nice people. Is anyone still messing with them?”
“Not recently.”
“Back home I would have found the address of whoever was, and we would have had a good talk. It may or may not have involved using my fist. I don’t know the rules around here, and since my name is linked to the Barringtons, I can no longer do whatever I want to. I have to stop and think things through.”
“They’ve got you on a short leash, don’t they?”
Connor frowned for real this time. “It’s not like that. They’ve been good to my family. I don’t want to cause trouble for any of them.”
His nod said he understood. “Things are different in the city. Don’t try to talk to these guys. You’ll get yourself shot. Or arrested. Or both.”
Suddenly not hungry, Connor sighed and sat back. “So, what do people do—nothing? That doesn’t seem right.”
“A lot of people would prefer to look away than get their hands dirty.”
“Isn’t that worse?”
Bradford took a moment to answer. “In my book it is, but I’ve got nothing to lose.”
A heavy silence hung in the air. “That’s not true. You have people who care about you. The Barringtons would practically adopt you if you let them. I know Sophie is disappointed you won’t stay with her and Dale.”
“I do better on my own.”
Sad. “Everyone feels like that until—”
“Do you ever shut up?”
Yep. Connor bit into his pizza.
The silence that followed would have made many people uncomfortable, but Connor used it as a chance to perfect his technique. Square shoulders. Steady, dead eyes. No hint of humor or patience.
Reemsly Preparatory Academy, don’t fuck with this badass.
Being called into the office of the headmaster was rarely a good thing. Angelina Kroll sat with her back straight in a chair in front of his desk, wondering if this was how the students felt when they were asked to do the same. Mr. Svete hadn’t looked up since she entered. He was reading the screen of his computer and frowning.
She would announce her arrival, but she was reasonably certain he knew she was there. This was a power play. He wanted to unsettle her. She retained her composure as well as her confidence. People she cared a lot more about had tried to tear her down with no success. She never missed a day of work, and she had the numbers to back up the quality of her job performance. If he had an issue with something she’d done, she’d deal with it and keep moving forward.
That was her secret to survival—keep moving forward. Don’t look back.
Don’t waste a moment on regret.
“Miss Kroll,” Mr. Svete finally said as he removed his glasses and laid them on his desk. “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”
“Of course. Not a problem.”
He picked up a paper from his desk, looked at it, then raised his eyes to her. “Reemsly took a chance on you. Fresh from college. Your most persuasive qualifications I’m sure were your aunt’s endorsement, her generosity as an alum, and your prior attendance at the school as well as your son’s current enrollment.”
Ouch. So it wasn’t that I graduated summa cum laude with a business degree from Rutgers? Since there wasn’t much she could say in response, Angelina held her tongue and waited. She wasn’t about to defend herself before she knew what his concern was.
Mr. Svete stood and moved to the side of his desk. “We all miss your aunt.”
“Thank you,” Angelina answered, although she was sure they missed her for different reasons. When nothing in the world had made sense to Angelina, Aunt Rudi had brought order back from chaos. Strict, but loving, she hadn’t judged Angelina for getting pregnant at sixteen, but she had required that she stay in school and had enrolled her at Reemsly. She said there were two things no one could take away from a person: a good education and their dignity. Both were personal commitments that were an individual’s responsibility to maintain.
Angelina could still hear some of their conversations echoing in her head.
“I messed up, Aunt Rudi. You don’t know the horrible things people say about me—to me.”
“If you respect yourself it doesn’t matter what anyone else says. Mistakes don’t define a person. How they handle themselves through them does. Go home and cry to your parents, or stay and prove everyone back there wrong.”
“I miss her every day,” Angelina added. Even after two years she sometimes went to call her aunt only to remember she was gone. “So much.”
Mr. Svete cleared his throat. “I spoke with Whitney’s teachers. Your son is having a difficult year.”
Breathe. “Nothing he can’t handle.”
“Not every flower blooms in every soil.”
“What are you saying, Mr. Svete?” Her aunt had paid Whitney’s tuition, but Whitney had been on an employee scholarship since her death. Although Angelina had been named in Aunt Rudi’s will, it hadn’t been a large sum. Aunt Rudi had been so generous with her money while living that there hadn’t been much of an estate to leave anyone. Isn’t that how it should be? She’d often said gifts are best given from a warm hand.
Mr. Svete moved to sit on the edge of his desk. “Nothing yet. Just expressing a concern. Are you prepared for Connor Sutton’s visit?”
Don’t overthink this. Stay focused. “Absolutely.”
Leaning forward, closer to her face, close enough for his breath to nearly gag Angelina, Mr. Svete said, “I cannot stress enough how important it is that he leave with a good impression of our school. I don’t need to tell you that, although endowments are up again this year, there are areas of need we can’t yet afford to address.”
She met his gaze directly. “Our revenue from annual donors is solid. Outreach to alumni is ongoing and the response remains positive. If you have time to look over our latest capital campaign you’ll see we exceeded our goal. The new computer building will be fully funded next year.”
“I fear your background limits you to seeking short-term solutions and not cultivating the relationships that will ensure Reemsly’s future for generations to come.”
Angelina almost said, “My background?” but she held her temper in check even though she had a pretty good idea what he was referring to. Her job not only paid her bills, it also allowed her son to attend one of the most prestigious prep schools in the country. The instant gratification she’d glean from telling Mr. Svete off was outweighed by how much she loved her son. “I understand.”