“Here. To remember us. It’s Liam’s lucky penny. We took it to one of those machines that makes it flat.”
“But, this is only from Liam.”
“It’s okay. When you think of him, you’ll think of me too.”
“No, give me something from you, too, so I can add it on. What’s your good luck charm?”
“You.”
Throwing on my black suede riding boots, I take one last look in the mirror, letting my memories fade.
“Gossip Girl chic. I can do that. Shit—” I breathe out and run to the bathroom to grab my makeup bag. I’ll do it on the drive.
Leaving my bedroom door open, I rush out into the hallway toward the stairs. My boots are making my presence known as I hurry against the marble floor, only having to turn back to grab my shoulder bag and cell. A growl is produced from my fluster as I retrace my steps and back again. Jesus, I’m batting a thousand today.
By the time I make it to the ornately metal glass front door of my building, the driver is already standing at the curb, holding the car door open, seemingly annoyed. I get it, dude. Traffic in the city is a nightmare, and it takes at least a half hour to get to the posh all-girls’ estate that’s my new prison—I mean, my new school.
“Sorry,” I offer, batting my eyelashes and watching his stern expression relax.
He gives his head a shake, amusement growing on his lips, as I bite mine, innocently. Except not at all. God, it’s just so easy.
Opening my door for me, he steps back, and I mouth a thank you before I toss my bag inside, cutting the charm just as Victor calls out behind me. His voice bellows over a horn honking in the background.
“Miss—”
I cut him off, turning over my shoulder. “I know, Vic. Try not to be a whore. Mind my manners and don’t embarrass my father. I got it. At ease.”
His lips purse, making him seem more constipated than usual, and a smile erupts over my face, but I hide it, turning back to duck into my ride. The driver slides into the front seat, and we begin rolling, slowly joining the heavy traffic.
Here we go. From one war zone into another. Happy freaking Monday.
The drive isn’t too harrowing, but any chance of caking on the makeup wasn’t happening. Thank you, New York City potholes. The natural vibe has always been my favorite anyhow. Living on the coast of Spain all these years has instilled a much more bohemian beachy vibe into my style. I’m a shaggy-banged, early seventies throwback with high-waist button flies, bangles, and gloss stuffed inside a prep school uniform.
I lay the side of my head back against the cool black leather seat and stare out the window, watching the familiar buildings pass by. It’s weird. It looks the same but different. The last time I was here, I was twelve. Everything seemed so much bigger to me back then.
My necklace twists between my fingers as I think about that time. Two familiar faces pop into my mind again, causing the side of my lips to pull upward.
Grey and Liam. My best friends. My secret crushes.
I’d thought about reaching out when I got back, but it seemed strange. Five years have passed; they’re practically strangers to me now. Plus, I’m swearing off men—all of them. I’m trouble, and I’ve never met any guy who’s not all too willing to explore my brand of it. Therefore, a complete ban is needed.
Thankfully, the school will be a massive help in that department. Madison Prep is the perfect all-girls’ school. Full of Upper East Side bitches, all scrambling to climb the social ladder. They’ll be nice to me because of my name alone. My family is multimedia. Newspapers. News. Media. You name it. We own it.
Unfortunately for the world, my father is one of the few men in the one-percent who controls the narrative. He’s also a completely out of touch egotist who believes he’s earned his worth just by being born with his name. A name I share, much to his dismay.
The road begins to sound different under the tires, breaking me from my thoughts. My eyes refocus from staring out of the window to see rows of stately oak trees lining the sides as we drive past.
I reach forward, pressing a button to bring down the privacy window, so I can see out the front to admire the elegance of the grounds. Two white, ornate pillars connect a black iron sign that reads Hillcrest Preparatory Academy. It makes the kind of statement that would cause anyone to sit up a bit straighter, but that’s not what has my attention.
Motherfucker.
“Pretty remarkable, wouldn’t you say?” the driver remarks.
“Yeah. It’s definitely a statement and incredibly unexpected,” I answer, pulling my cell from my bag.
The building looks old and well-kept like the money that funds it. It’s stately and elegant, with bricks full of intimidation and history. There are only four schools that matter in a world like mine: Red Oak, Madison, Burr, and the almighty Hillcrest.
Almighty, because it’s housed at least fourteen presidents and every big CEO and leader of industry in the world. It’s not just a school; it’s a breeding ground for legacy and fortune. It’s also the one place I can’t blend in or hide. Too many people will know my family’s history and maybe even their secrets because, in a place like this, secrets are like fucking currency.
My heart is beating quicker than I’d like as I dial my dad. I listen to the ringing, growing angrier as he doesn’t pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.
“Make it fast. I’m busy.” Hallelujah.
“Hillcrest? I’d hoped you had a small amount of love for me.”
“Get over yourself, and stop being dramatic. Face your shit, then learn from it. Hillcrest is the best school. I won’t coddle you like your fucking mother.”
I almost laugh at the idea. Coddle? Is he kidding?
“I’m not sure either of you has ever known anything as nurturing as coddling.”
“Is there something important you need, Donovan?”
My teeth find the inside of my cheek as my eyes stay cast down. Staring at the pattern of my skirt, I don’t know what to say. But this is the most we’ve spoken in what seems like forever. Right now, my nerves are starting to rattle, and I wish he’d just, I don’t know, be my dad.
But I know better. Weakness is for the weak.
“Nope. Consider this conversation my suicide note. Then again, you’re the one throwing me to the wolves, so I guess it’s more like my murder.”
“Goodbye, Donovan.”
The line dies, and I drop the phone next to me, letting out a breath. I could’ve used a break, life. Thanks for nothing, you cruel bitch.
Our car slows to a stop, and I see what I presume is the dean standing and waiting for us at the curb. Jesus, this gets better and better. He’s going to schmooze me to ensure my father’s support. I’m of no help, buddy.
Gathering my things, I smooth my blazer, finally noticing the damn H in the logo, and roll my eyes, but another thought pops into my mind. What are the chances I see… No. But maybe. Doesn’t matter—there’s no turning back now. My door is opened, and I throw out a leg, steeling myself ready for what’s to come. If this is the test I’m forced to take to get my life back, then so be it.
Keep it coming, karma. You aren’t knocking this girl out for the count just yet.