I can almost hear Maverick’s jaw hit the floor and I’d laugh if I weren’t so pissed.
“All that crap you just listed wasn’t for some run of the mill high school party. This is my life we’re talking about, and sure, Maverick, my existence means nothing to you beyond my citizenship in the same way that yours means nothing to me besides your money, but my life has value and meaning to me. So, if you can just acknowledge that then we’ll be off to a better start. You keep referring to Maverick as your client as if you somehow don’t realize that I’m about to become your client too.”
“Beth-”
“Don’t speak to me, Maverick!” I snap.
Da’Souza clears his throat and straightens his tie. I can tell I’ve caught him off-guard, but there’s a slight smirk in his eye that says he’s amused which only irritates me more.
“I’m not going to say or do anything to compromise his citizenship even though I would love for him to pack his shit, and get the hell out of here and back to his Queen. If I go through with this, I’m stuck with him for two whole years of my life. So don’t talk to me about “your client”. Talk to me about the piece of shit that I’m going to be calling husband and do it as if I’m already your client because trust me Collin, I am.”
“Well…” He stands up and walks around the table to his plush leather swivel armchair.
“It appears I’ve offended your fiancé.” He smirks toward Maverick who is scowling so deeply I’m sure his face is going to break in half.
“Beth, the law doesn’t quite work like tha-”
I stand and grab my backpack. The leather seats have telltale dents of my presence in the room.
“I may not be a law school grad, but here’s what I do know.” I pause for effect, watching as their eyes shift to me. “This entire arrangement does not constitute a legally binding agreement. You cannot force me to marry you nor can you stop me from returning your fucking money.” I point at Maverick who is now glaring at me.
“If I want to walk out of this entire arrangement, I can and so help me God, I will!” Maverick is on his feet and crossing the room towards me. “Stop! Don’t you freaking touch me! I’m so sick of all you rich people and your self-absorbed shit!” My tears surprise me, and I roughly wipe my eyes so I can see, but I’m not done yet. “I don’t owe you anything that can’t be returned with the press of a button, Maverick, and it would do you well to remember that!”
I storm out of the office, slamming the door behind me.
10
Suzanna’s long toned legs dangle out of my new deep red Aventador, adding the final stroke to my ego. After Beth’s stunt at Collin’s yesterday, I was inspired to get a new ride. Burning money cures all ills, not that Beth would know anything about that, but she surely made me sick.
That impoverished brunette is nothing short of ungrateful and I plan to bend her arm until she cries uncle.
“This is a hot ride, Maverick.” Suzanna fawns over the interior, slowly trailing her bony fingers along the Lamborghini dashboard.
“Yeah. She is a beauty,” I drawl, opening the wings and getting out in time to see Beth shuffling toward the building, wearing what appears to be a clean uniform. By my count, that may well be the last one.
When I glance over at Suzanna, there’s a wicked smile on her face as she watches Beth head for the steps.
“Is it going to be a good day, baby face?” I ask and she blushes like a puppy being told it’s a good girl.
Suzanna is anything but good, and I find that spunk entertaining, to say the very least.
“Do more than just the uniform today. She can always get a new one at the office welfare,” I instruct, and she beams.
“I love it when you go dark.” Suzanna grins, taking my arm as we stroll by the other students who willingly move out of our way.
I can see Beth fumbling with the padlock on her locker, making no effort to respect the social order of things. I recall her stunt from yesterday and my jaw tightens.
“What do we have for her today?” I ask, keeping my head straight, despite seeing Beth cast a sideways glance at Suzanna’s skirt.
“Something colorful,” she smirks, flipping her glossy hair over her shoulder.
“Looking forward to it.”
“Remember to pick me up after school so I can come by later. Putting snooty outcasts in their place makes me hot and very bothered.”
I stop at my locker and Suzanna lingers. “I can’t later.”
“Why not?” She asks, but I shut her down with a stare.
She pouts, but thankfully remains quiet. She wants an excuse, and though I know I don’t need to, I bend a little, just to appease her.
“Don’t pout,” I whisper playfully into her ear, “it’ll ruin your makeup.”
“Maverick!”
I’ve spent months doing push-ups to the bellowing of that voice. I turn around to meet Coach’s stern stare beneath his ball cap.
“Gotta go, sweat pea. Don’t touch the mutt without me being there.” I wink at her playfully and watch as she struts away to go meet her friends. Girls like her are the worst kind of girls. They’re needy, impulsive, and way too damn easy to please. Still, I’d take all of that over Beth’s stubbornness any damn day of the week.
Suzanna and I part ways and I follow Coach’s path all the way to the already opened door. His office is as musky and cluttered as it usually is. There are hockey sticks lining the wall and jerseys in a pile behind the door.
“Sit down,” he commands.
I do as I’m told, taking my time to slouch down in the one available seat across from his packed desk and fixate on the trophy perched on the shelf behind him.
“How is your...umm...immigration status?” he asks, and I ball my fists and roll my eyes in response.
“You left out a ton of details man. Collin filled us in, and she walked out after bitching about illegality and a two-year period. I don’t think I can do this with her.”
Coach rocks back into his green stiff leather squeaking monstrosity of a chair and clasps both hands in his lap. His eyes disappear behind his heavy lids for a moment and he nods.
“Maverick,” his voice is low and grating, “I got a call from Coach Byron this morning.”
My ears perk up immediately. Coach Byron is an elite recruiter with all the right teams and expert connections.
“Can you guess where he was calling from?” I press my lips together, knowing better than to answer a rhetorical question. “Madison Square Garden,” he continues, enunciating the words with the reverence they deserve.
“What did he want?” I ask, trying to play it cool. I’d bloody well love to be a Ranger, but I’m not about to grovel to get in.
Coach’s eyes open slowly. “He wanted to come to one of our upcoming games with a few of his friends to check out the local talent.”
“That’s great! He wants to see me.” I grin. Local talent is my pseudonym.
“Your name was not on the list.” Coach grunts with a sarcastic chuckle.
“What the hell do you mean my name wasn’t on the list?” I lean forward, moving a directory on his desk out of the way.