The movers arrived at the crack of dawn, and I had to scramble out of bed to pack my things before they came barging into my room and insisted on doing it for me. Now, I’m not one to care about random people seeing my underwear but having strangers in my space and touching all my things just feels wrong.
Mom gives me an encouraging smile as we look up at the big house we’re about to call home. It’s not massive like the mansion I’d been in last night, but it’s definitely a huge upgrade from the modest three-bedroom shack I’ve called home for the past six years.
The house is situated toward the end of a private road with others, nearly identical, lining the street around us. It’s not exactly a gated community, but it’s well on its way. Expensive BMWs, Mercedes, and Audis line the road, and I find my gaze settling back onto my old Honda Civic. She definitely doesn’t fit in here.
The houses up and down the road are huge, taking up as much of the property as possible and making it look as though they practically live on top of their neighbors. All the yards are perfectly landscaped, and I’d bet that every single property has a pool and an extravagant entertaining area out back.
This is rich man’s territory here, though it could be worse. Another five minutes down the road and we get into billionaire territory where the properties are simply insane. These McMansions lining the private road are the modest version of those; the homes that the billionaires turn their noses up to. Shit, I can only imagine what they’d think of the small, falling apart, three bedder that I just vacated.
Grabbing the box of my most important possessions from the passenger seat of my Civic, I walk toward Mom and meet her by the side of her car so that we can walk up to the front door together. The truck is just pulling up to the curb and we barely get another step before the door opens wide and the famous Orlando Channing, number one criminal lawyer in the state, appears before us.
He doesn’t look the tiniest bit pleased to see us as he stands fully decked out in a suit that cost more than my car. His graying hair is swept back, and there’s no doubt that he’s a bit of a silver fox, just my mother’s type.
Orlando’s gaze rakes over me before settling on my mother, who beams back at him, turning to mush at the sight of the man who’s made her all kinds of promises that I know he won’t be willing to keep. I just can’t figure out his angle here. He’s a smart man, a lawyer at the top of his game. Why would he be so reckless in inviting his new girlfriend and her daughter to live with him? Does he like it when women are dependent on him? Does alienating them from their independence get him hot? All I know is that I don’t like him, and I sure as hell don’t trust him.
“Ahh, Cara, truly a radiant sight as always,” he says, working her just right, though the words don’t quite match the lack of interest in his eyes. “I was starting to wonder if you’d changed your mind.”
“Not at all,” Mom says, leading us up the path to the front door, her cheeks glowing with a soft blush at his compliment. “Packing all of our things took a little longer than anticipated, but we’re here now.”
We step up to the door and Orlando’s gaze falls on me once again. “You remember my daughter, Brielle?” Mom continues. “She was thrilled to learn that we were going to be spending our time together.”
Orlando narrows his gaze on me, knowing damn well that’s not how the conversation went down. After all, he has a teenage son of his own, one who I’m sure has his own issues with authoritative figures making demands of him.
I give the guy a forced smile and he gives me an even faker one in return. “It’s a pleasure to have you stay with us,” he says. “I’m sure you and Jensen will get along just fine. I know he is looking forward to your arrival.”
I’m sure he is.
Orlando points to the box in my hands. “Here, let me take that for you and I’ll show you up to your room.”
I pull away from his grabby fingers. “No, it’s fine. I can—”
He takes the box right out of my hands, no questions asked, and turns his back before stalking into the house. Having no choice, I follow Mom and Orlando inside as the movers remain behind, opening the back of the truck and starting to pull out boxes of junk that Mom, Damien, and I have spent a lifetime collecting.
“This way,” Orlando says with Mom hurrying to keep up with his long strides, doing everything she can to appear like the perfect guest. I wonder if Orlando is the type of man who thinks women should be seen and not heard.
The house is immaculate and boring as fuck. White walls, white floors, white decor. I mean, there’s a slight gray to some of it, but for the most part, it’s all white. It’s the kind of place I’d be too scared to sneeze in on the off chance I accidentally shit myself in the process. When I say this isn’t the kind of place you want to be in when you get brought down by a gastro bug, I truly mean it. There will be no racing in and traipsing mud through the house, no grabbing pizza and taking it up to my room, no drinks other than water allowed anywhere within this house.
It’s boring. Fucking boring.
Reaching the top of the stairs, I glance around at the open living space. It’s way too formal for someone like me to be comfortable, though judging by how perfectly it was put together, I doubt anyone actually uses this area. It leads directly off from the stairs with large windows sending waves of sunlight dancing across the floors. It has a fully stocked library, probably filled with books that I’ve never even considered glancing at, and an off-white concrete-style coffee table with big couches on either side. There's a rug across the living room, almost the same off-putting white as the marble beneath it, and while I'm sure it would feel heavenly beneath my feet, I don't dare test it out. We’ll be out of here in only a matter of weeks, and I refuse to be the reason this place wasn’t left in pristine condition. A guy like Orlando would probably send us off with a bill for a cleaner.
We follow Orlando deeper into the upstairs living areas, and I commit each turn to memory as he leads us down a wide hallway. It doesn’t escape me that there’s shitty emo-screamo music coming from the end of the hallway, and I sigh realizing just how close my bedroom is going to be to his pervert son’s. I’m going to have to lock my door each night just to keep myself from being groped while I sleep.
Jensen’s bedroom door remains closed, and I take that as a bonus as Orlando turns into a room and waits just inside the open door, inviting us in.
Mom steps inside just a fraction before I do, and her pleased gasps sail through the big room. I quickly move in around her and take it all in.
It’s fucking huge. No, fucking huge is an understatement. This room is bigger than all three bedrooms at our old place combined.
A queen-sized bed sits directly to my left, with a private bathroom just beyond that. Everything is white, which is no surprise, and the closet is big enough to be considered a separate bedroom. Instead of a simple desk, there’s an entire space carved out to be an office. I guess Orlando is serious about education and good grades.
The whole room has been decorated perfectly for a teenage girl, and I can’t help but wonder if it was created specifically for me, or if it’s just always been like this.
“This will be your room,” Orlando tells me, shuffling in toward the bed and placing my box of precious items on the bedside table. “I hope everything is as you imagined. You should be very comfortable here. I’m not sure how much your mother has discussed your schooling with you, however you start at Bradford Private first thing in the morning. Your uniform is hanging in your closet and your textbooks are on your desk. Now, I know you will be busy unpacking today, but please set aside some time to go over your class schedule and the student handbook. School commences at 8:40 and not a moment after. You will need to arrive with plenty of time to visit the student office and meet your advisors. However, since you have your own transportation, there should be no issues there. Do you have any questions?”