Trinity High: High School Bully Romance

by Savannah Rose

  “Hear me out,” he says, seeing that I’m not exactly biting the bait he’s offering.

  He sits up straight as he pours himself some coffee and cream. No sugar. Sheldon’s heart problems advise against caffeine altogether, but the man is an addict, much like me. He thinks he can cheat the system if he thins his coffee with milk or cream. “All the people I’ve spoken to have said the same thing. Joe Fowler never had a history of depression. He was never prescribed any medication. He never even experienced panic attacks, okay? His mental health was ironclad. His wife suspects foul play, adamant that Joe would’ve never killed himself.”

  “From what I remember, Joe loved his daughter very much. I tend to agree with his wife’s assessment,” I reply. “He would’ve never left Janelle like this. But there was absolutely nothing in that Baltimore hotel room to point to any kind of foul play. Maybe he caved in. Maybe he knew the IRS audit would reveal something compromising. Enough to get the SEC Commission involved.”

  “But none of that ever happened. The audits revealed some mismanagement of funds, and that was it. Certainly not cause for a man as mentally healthy as Joe Fowler to commit suicide,” Sheldon insists. “That being said, I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.”

  Another grin slits across his face, and I’m about to ask Erica for some popcorn. I’ve always suspected that William Malone was a cold son of a bitch, cold enough to kill people in order to get what he wants. His feckless way of raising Kira after her mother died is proof enough. They have the most dysfunctional and hateful father-daughter relationship I have ever seen. And I’ve attended both public and private schools. I’ve seen everything there is to see on the familial spectrum.

  “Go on,” I mutter, somewhat irked by how Sheldon pauses, purely for dramatic effect.

  “Joe Fowler kept a mistress. A Tallulah Brown from Michigan. He brought her over to Trinity three years ago, put her up in a nice condo. They met once a week, usually on a Thursday or a Friday. They had the occasional escapade as well. When Mrs. Fowler thought he was traveling to Los Angeles, for example, he and Tallulah were checked in at a luxury resort in Napa Valley.”

  This is new information. Information that I would bet a kidney is about to lead somewhere very, very, intriguing. Plus, I know Sheldon enough to know that he would never bring it up unless he’s got as much of a full picture as possible. That’s the kind of man he is. He doesn’t deliver half-details, he comes with the full story or he keeps digging until he finds it.

  “They had a serious relationship going on. Tallulah’s not convinced that…” Sheldon pauses at my reaction.

  “You met her?”

  He nods. “Over lunch, a long walk in the Park, followed by dinner,” Sheldon says. “No one knew about her, not even the police or William, not to mention his wife or Janelle. Tallulah is, by far, Joe Fowler’s best kept secret.”

  “You spent a whole day together?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  “An entire day,” he confirms, a small smile ticking up his lips.

  “Tallulah is thirty. A cosmetician by day, a novelist by night. She has a sharp mind on her, too. And she’s got a lot of stories to tell. Tallulah represents a part of Joe Fowler’s life that no one ever knew about,” Sheldon says.

  “Given you spent a whole day together,” I reply, reiterating my earlier point, “should I assume she’s told you some of those stories?”

  His gray eyes light up. It’s the question he’s been waiting for. “Fowler often confided in her with regards to his business. He wasn’t at all concerned about the IRS audit, like William had told the authorities. He knew they’d only get a minor fine, at the very most. Fowler had absolutely no reason to commit suicide.”

  “She’s just the mistress,” I cut in, giving at least an attempt at discounting her words. But even I know better. Mistress, hooker, prostitute – men like Fowler are known to confide in the women they take to bed. Women who aren’t their wives. Women who are satisfied by their money and therefore easily paid for their silence.

  “They were talking about starting a family together, Elias. I think she was more than just his mistress.”

  “Whoa. Okay,” I breathe, genuinely surprised by the depth of research this whole thing had to have cost Sheldon. “How do we know he wasn’t just stringing Tallulah along, though? As far as I know, Fowler had a good marriage going.”

  Sheldon nods slowly. “He did. But he also loved Tallulah enough to start discussing these issues with a divorce lawyer. Tallulah kept his card. I know the guy, and he confirmed everything I’ve just told you. Joe Fowler was getting ready to start a new life.”

  For a moment, I wonder if the wife had found a way to kill Fowler, given that she obviously had the most to lose if that divorce came to happen. “What about Mrs. Fowler?”

  “I’m telling you, Elias, she had no idea. She was in Cabo with Janelle at the time of his death. Mother-daughter bonding time. It’s corroborated by hotel and restaurant receipts, CCTV, anything that I could get my hands on. I checked,” Sheldon says. “Technically speaking and as it stands right now, William Malone did not have motive to kill Fowler, but Fowler didn’t have a reason, or the mental state needed to kill himself. I’m positive that if we dig deeper into what happened to Fowler, it’ll eventually lead us to Malone. If there’s anyone who has dirt on Malone, it’s Fowler. Maybe Malone wasn’t comfortable with that; maybe Malone had secrets he wasn’t sure Fowler would protect forever. Or maybe Malone just wanted to take over the company, but Fowler wasn’t in any way interested in selling his shares.”

  I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I analyze the dangerous territory we’re about to go into. I trust Sheldon’s instincts, and I want to destroy William Malone… but if we don’t have compelling evidence against the guy, I risk everything—including my reputation and my company. It would bring about my own destruction.

  As if reading my mind, Sheldon smiles. “Tallulah has more stories to tell me, Elias. I’m meeting her again next week. She wasn’t exactly an open book the first time around, so I’ve got my work cut out. It’ll take some dinners and friendly conversations, maybe a cheque here and there… without Fowler’s financial support, she’s got a hard time keeping that condo and all the expenses it comes with.”

  I take a deep breath. On the one hand, this is just the kind of thing I wanted him to come to me with. Something big. Something that could really ruin Malone. And murder, well, you don’t get much better dirt than that.

  “What can I do? How can I help? William wants to meet with me, to discuss potential charity work between us and Fowler & Malone,” I say. “I know it’s just an angle. He’s planning something and he has a tendency to underestimate me, likely thinking I’m not as strong or as protected as my father.

  My assistant has tried to patch him through a couple of times, and I’ve rejected each call on account of being busy or in meetings or whatever else might work to keep him at arm’s length. I know he invited me to that house party of his talk about this stuff. Kira OD-ing kept me away from Malone, but I won’t be able to avoid him for much longer.

  Despite the longstanding hatred between our companies, both Malone and I keep up appearances in public. My dad used to do the same, in a bid to keep our clients and prospects out of the drama—not to mention the stock market. It’s a tedious game we’re playing, and I need something to cut Malone out of the business for good. This business may not be for the weak, but it shouldn’t be for murderers, either.

  “You should engage him in conversation,” Sheldon says. “See what he has to say. Hell, oblige him with whatever you can, but don’t let him get too close to the company. In the meantime, I’ll keep working on Tallulah, until she’s got something to give me regarding William Malone. I’m sure she’ll come through, Elias.”

  I exhale sharply, bracing myself for what will come next. “I’ll have to meet with him,” I reply without hiding my discontent. “Gah. Even being in the same room with him makes me want to hurl.
”

  “I sympathize with your distress,” Sheldon chuckles, which makes it sound like he doesn’t. “But we need Malone to be completely unsuspecting of any work we might be doing against him. Maybe you can try befriending his daughter again. Kira could have information.”

  I shake my head, blood already simmering through my veins. “We are not touching Kira. I told you. She’s not involved in the business. She never will be.”

  “But they live in the same house, and I know Malone takes a lot of meetings there, especially over the weekend,” Sheldon insists. “She might have seen something or someone that could help us tie Sheldon to Fowler’s death.”

  He’s right, and I know it, but every instinct warns me against getting Kira involved. She’s struggling enough as it is, and I honestly want to see her succeed as a ballet dancer—partly because she’s incredibly talented and almost hypnotic to watch on stage. But also because Kira becoming a dancer would certainly put a dent in that bastard’s succession plans.

  Getting closer to Kira would also bring Janelle into my orbit, since the two are virtually inseparable. If all this pans out, I’ll need Janelle on my side and willing to listen, once the evidence starts coming in.

  “Sheldon, you focus on Tallulah for now, and I’ll see what Malone wants from me. Let’s put a pin in Kira for the time being.”

  He watches me for a while, without saying anything. The shadow of a smile touches his face. “You’re more like your father than you’d care to admit. You have a strong sense of ethics, Elias. Don’t lose it, but don’t let it hold you back, either. I understand you care about Kira, despite your frequent brushes… Remember, though, that Malone will use anyone and anything to get into your head. Including his daughter.”

  This is the second time that Sheldon is telling me a most uncomfortable truth. I’ve reached my limit for such things, at least for today. I give him a faint smile, eyeing the door and hoping I’ll watch him walk through it soon enough.

  “Thank you, Sheldon. Your advice is excellent, as always. I’m taking all your suggestions under consideration.”

  He takes the hint and gets up, collecting his briefcase from the floor. “Before I forget, I’ll leave these with you,” he says, taking out a folder and placing it on the coffee table in front of me. “It’s the complete case file and assessment compiled by the police after Fowler’s suicide. It’s for your reference, mostly, but if you see something I might’ve missed, by all means, have at it.”

  He leaves, knowing I’ll definitely be mulling over everything he’s given me today—the case file, too. But all I can do, for the time being, is sink back into my chair and take deep breaths, trying to take my mind off Kira.

  If William Malone is as dirty and as deadly as Sheldon and I think he might be, the revelation will likely affect Kira in ways I’m not even able to anticipate right now. After seeing her in the hospital, I’m reminded of how fragile she can be, despite the strength she aims to project, especially in public. It might not look like it, but I fear she’ll be a direct casualty of this silent war between her father and me.

  11

  Elias

  A hot shower takes me through the rest of the thought process regarding Tallulah, Joe Fowler, and William Malone. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that Sheldon is on the right track here, and that I’m letting stifled emotions cloud my judgment. Kira could be useful. Hell, if I take her father down, at least she’ll be able to breathe and do whatever the hell she wants with her life.

  Dressler Corp. can take over Fowler & Malone. I could give Janelle a position within the new company format. Everyone would be better off, in the end. It sounds idealistic, if not idiotic, at this point in time, though. William Malone would rather die than lose his company. If I’m to go with the notion that Sheldon’s suspicions about him are true, Malone could be dangerous, too, and I have no intention of ending up like Joe Fowler.

  The doorbell rings, and I expect Erica to answer the door. A minute passes, and there’s nothing but silence. I don’t hear anything downstairs. Wrapping a towel around my waist, water still dripping from my hair, I listen carefully. There’s a second ring, and still no sign of Erica. She’s either in the garden out back, or she stepped out to buy some groceries, otherwise, she’d be here to handle this. So much for cutting half the staff because I couldn’t deal with a crowded house.

  Cursing under my breath, I rush down the stairs just as the third ring echoes through the house. I open the door and freeze, my brain refusing to function altogether. Given that I wasn’t expecting any company, I assumed my towel would send the right message. But Kira stands in front of me, and I’m suddenly and annoyingly self-aware.

  She stares at me, her lips parted and blue eyes popping like sapphire marbles. I suppose the sight of me half-naked was not what she was expecting. My synapses keep firing, but there is no response. Just like at the hospital, when I cupped her face in my hands, struggling like hell not to crash my lips against hers and suck every last drop of saliva from her tongue. I pull in a deep breath. Sometimes it fucking baffles me how even my hatred for her can’t dispel my attraction to her.

  “Elias. Hi,” Kira finally manages, her tongue trailing her plump lower lip. There’s nervousness in her eyes, but there’s something else entirely, too. Something that shouldn’t be there.

  I measure her from head to toe, my right hand firmly clasping the towel. “Kira.” That’s all I manage, inwardly cursing myself. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  “Can we talk?” she asks, trying to look me in the eyes. I’m guessing she hasn’t seen me without a shirt since that time in junior high when me and the boys messed around with the fire hydrant outside our school. It was one of the hottest months of August ever recorded. I don’t have a single regret about that day. Not even the fact that I’d pushed her against the brick wall so hard that her elbows were all bruised up by the time she managed to get free. That was the third time I’d come close to kissing her. That kiss, however, wouldn’t have been a good one. It would have been filled with anger and pain and would have also ended with a slap to my cheek.

  I pull my thoughts together and step aside, motioning for her to come in. “Sure.”

  Carefully, as though walking on needles, she steps inside the house, following my lead until we’re in the living room. There’s still coffee in the pot on the table, albeit at room temperature by now. “Would you like some coffee?” I ask, and watch as she shakes her head slowly.

  She’s wearing running tights and sneakers. The top brings out her athletic figure – the graceful muscles of a dancer. Her breasts, however, aren’t as bandaged as they usually are in her leotards and with no bra underneath what she’s wearing, it’s impossible to miss the peaks of her nipples. Her shoulders, her arms, her flat abdomen. Her strong thighs… the sinuous curves of her calves.

  I grip the towel tighter, feeling myself harder under the fabric. My cock jumps and I turn away, choosing to stand by one of the windows instead. I’m done trying to control myself, since I obviously can’t.

  “What do you want?” I mutter when she fails to say anything. As long as I don’t look at her, I feel like I’ve got a better hold over the situation.

  “Don’t you think it’s time we had a conversation about… you know, about what happened?” Kira replies, and I’m compelled to turn my head, her blue eyes finding mine with lightning speed. For a moment, I am breathless. What in the world is the matter with me?

  “What is there to talk about?” I say. “You OD’d, and I saved your ass. You’re welcome.” I sound like an ass. But it’s better that than losing control and trying to peel the fabric from her body. Because heaven knows, it’s inappropriate, wrong, forbidden, and it’s the only goddamn thing I feel like doing right now.

  Note to self: Don’t open the fucking door with only a towel wrapped around your waist.

  Again, I try to bring my thoughts to something less arousing. I remember how weak, how delicate she was as I held he
r in my arms and carried her to my car. I remember her shallow breathing and the fear that almost crippled me. Her breaking the way she did that day is the last thing I want to witness again. So, if I know what’s good for her, I’ll keep my goddamn hands to myself. Her and I are like a match and dynamite – and I’m not sure the kind of explosion we’d be looking at would be the good kind. A beautiful destruction, sure. But also, a beautiful hell.

  “Yes, you saved my life,” her voice so close to my ear startles me, and I quickly turn around. She’s inches away now, her perfume invading my senses and further fucking me up. I didn’t even hear her move. She’s like a cat – quick, graceful, and never to be trusted. “I never thanked you. Not while fully sober and aware of my surroundings, anyway. You left the hospital before I-” she pauses, her gaze fixed on my lips. Her distraction doesn’t seem intentional, but it doesn’t seem avoidable either.

  The kind of heat that fills the room is enough to make the towel I’m holding feel like it’s been lit on fire.

  My cock reacts again. This isn’t good.

  “Elias,” Kira whispers. She’s out of breath, her voice slick with a need for something I’m in no way qualified to supply. When she slowly lifts her heels and leans forward, I swear to all the Gods that exist and the ones that don’t that I haven’t got a fucking clue what’s happening here. Somehow, someway and for some reason that I will never fucking understand, her lips reach mine. My heart stops. And as she deliberately, but carefully pushes harder against me, it nearly boils over.

  She kisses me, and I can’t find the strength to push her away. She kisses me and every question I’ve never asked flood my mind. My body, however, takes over so quickly, I’m practically dazed. I react. My arms lock around her waist, and I almost crush her against me.