King of Denial : An Academy Bully Romance (Boys of Almadale Book 3)

by Jacie Lennon

  “Where are we?” I ask as we pull into some shady-looking warehouse district.

  Dad doesn’t answer, just sends a text message. Suddenly, the large unloading dock door in front of us is rolling up, and Dad drives in. We stop on the other side, and the door lowers behind us, shutting with a bang as we climb out of the car.

  A man steps out from behind a false wall erected in the middle of the warehouse. On the other side, I see lights flickering.

  “Chester,” he says, walking toward us, a large smile on his face.

  “Derek,” Dad says, shaking his hand and then pulling him into a hug.

  Derek?

  “How have you been? Haven’t been down here in a while,” Dad says.

  Derek laughs. “Good. Doing what I do, you know. This your kid?”

  “Bodhi,” I say, sticking my hand out.

  “Ah, the one who’s been harassing me. Well, until I blocked you.” Derek laughs again, a loud booming noise coming out of his massive frame.

  He’s tall; he has to be over six-five and at least two hundred and fifty pounds. If he wasn’t smiling at us, I’d be scared. I have no issues with admitting that. This guy could crush me by sitting on top of me.

  “Maybe I can convince you,” Dad says.

  “That depends on what you need,” Derek says, motioning us over to the wall.

  We step around it, greeted by four different computer screens and a lot of techy-looking stuff that looks too complicated to me.

  “Three family names—we want you to look into them. Dig anything up that’s fishy and connected,” Dad says. “Northcutt, Hastings, and Soltorre.”

  “Yeah,” Derek says, shaking his head, “I already told your kid, I’m out on the Soltorres.”

  “We’ll pay extra,” I say, stepping forward.

  Dad raises an eyebrow. “Will we?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess we can pay extra then,” he says, turning back to Derek.

  Derek stares at both of us, narrowing his eyes, and then nods. “I’ll search and see what I can find on the first two, but I’m not agreeing on the Soltorres yet.”

  “Okay. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but also, to be fair, you are a private investigator,” Dad says.

  Sneaky.

  I grin behind him, and Derek narrows his eyes at us.

  “That doesn’t mean I want to be in the crosshairs of the Mafia. They’ve killed for less.”

  “We don’t want you to out them to the officials—”

  “Which wouldn’t work because you know they have them in their pockets.” Derek sighs.

  We are wearing him down.

  “Exactly, so what would they do to you for looking into them?”

  “Um, encase my feet in concrete and throw me in the ocean?”

  “Dramatic,” I say with a chuckle. “Don’t get caught, and you won’t have any issues.”

  “Shut your mouth, kid. I’m starting to like your brother better.”

  “What? No one likes Brock better than me.”

  Derek pins me with a look, and I mime locking my mouth and throwing away the key.

  “Sit there and shut up, both of you,” Derek says, motioning to some empty chairs as he sits in front of his screens.

  His fingers fly across the keyboard, and words whirl across the monitors. Nothing makes sense, but I assume he knows what he’s doing.

  Dad is on his phone, looking at Google Maps for some odd reason, and I lean over, trying to figure out what he’s doing.

  “Are you creeping on people’s houses?” I ask after watching for a second.

  Dad side-eyes me and shakes his head. “No, I’m looking at new property.”

  “You are going into residential real estate?”

  “No, these are slated for demolition, and I’m thinking of buying the land.”

  “Ah. Do people still live there?”

  Dad swivels a little and puts his phone down. He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment, and I grimace. I don’t like it when he looks like that. Usually means I’m going to have to do something.

  “What?” I prompt, wanting him to say it.

  “Have you given any more thought to interning for me over the summer?”

  I think about it, shutting my eyes and scooting down to lean my head back on the top of the swivel chair. I know Dad wants me to intern for him. Brock and Corbin will be working for him, and even Peyton is helping in the finance department once she’s off maternity leave, but I hate being tied down to something.

  The only thing I like to do is draw, and where does that fit into rental properties? Managing large buildings and the like?

  “I don’t know,” I say with a shrug, and Dad sighs.

  “I don’t want you to hate it and detest your entire summer, but you need some sort of direction. You’re a free spirit who despises being told what to do, but sometimes, I’m afraid you’ll coast by, never making any plans, and you’ll find yourself feeling stuck while the rest of your friends are busy with their lives and moving on.”

  He has a point. I haven’t thought much past my high school career. Whenever I consider the internship or college, I try to put it out of my mind. I like to draw, but unlike Landry, who lives and breathes art, I don’t want to go to school for it. I think that would kill my creativity.

  “I have the rest of my life to decide, right? I prefer to focus on today.”

  “And I love that you like to live in the moment, son. But sometimes, the moments pass without any new steps taken, and then what do you have?”

  “Memories?” I reply sarcastically, and he sighs again, running a hand down his face. “Look, Dad, I get that everyone has someone but me, and they’ve all picked a future but me. I’m figuring it out as I go along.”

  “I don’t have someone,” he points out, and I open my mouth to reply and then shut it.

  “You are married to your business,” I say.

  “It doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. I have two failed marriages at this point. You don’t think I have days where I think about what I could have done differently?”

  “Do you?”

  “All the time, and I don’t want that for you. That’s why I encourage you to fight for what you want. In the end, if it’s still the same, at least you can say that you gave it your all. But you can’t live, aimlessly drifting about in the real world. Reality will hit you in the face when you least expect it, and it’s good to have a plan. If you don’t want to work for me, I won’t force you, but I want to know you have goals of some sort.”

  “I have goals.” I realize I’m being defensive, and I’m not sure why.

  He’s right; I don’t usually make plans past what I’m doing right now, and what am I left with at the moment? Nothing.

  “What are your goals?” he prompts, and I work my jaw back and forth as I think. “If you have to take this long to decide what they are, they aren’t your goals.”

  “Right now, my goal is to fight for Trixie, like you said. I don’t want to decide anything until after that.”

  “Okay, and that’s valiant. But then, what do you have to offer?”

  “Why do I need to offer anything?” I’m getting surly now.

  “Because you are a member of society, and I won’t let you sit around with your feet up, leeching off of me. My father didn’t let me, and I won’t have entitled brats living under my roof.”

  “Wow, tell me how you really feel.”

  “Just did. Like I said, you need to get a plan together. Doesn’t have to be what I want, but you aren’t someone who sits around. You need to put your energy to good use and make something of yourself that you can be proud of.”

  His words sound strangely like what Trixie told me. I replay the scene in my head.

  “So? Do we need a high school degree?”

  “Yes, silly. It’s required for most jobs, and I know you’ll want to work eventually. You have too much pent-up energy to get out.”

  “I want one more opportuni
ty to have you to myself.”

  And this is it—my opportunity. I glance over to where Derek is still typing away and moving from computer to computer. He’s writing some stuff down, and some papers spit out of the printer. Still, he doesn’t stop.

  “Okay, yeah, you are right. I’ll give you an answer once all this is over with. One thing at a time.”

  “It’s all I ask,” Dad says, smiling at me.

  I feel the ice around my heart thaw a little more. I’m beginning to hope that a future I never dared to dream of might come true.

  Might, I remind myself.

  “Hey, come look at this,” Derek says.

  Dad looks at me, raising his eyebrows. We launch out of our chairs and bend over to see what Derek is looking at.

  My eyes widen, and a smile takes over my face.

  Now, it all makes sense.

  32

  Trixie

  I’m on house arrest until I am safely married and in the clutches of the Hastings. Then, I’ll be on house arrest again for the rest of my life. Seth putting a tracker on my phone proves that.

  How did I never consider the possibility that he would keep track of everything in my life?

  I’m a fool.

  Leo is always outside my door and my constant shadow as I wander around my house. I’m not even allowed outside. It’s like I’m in a posh maximum-security prison, and I don’t even get yard time or a phone. I can watch TV downstairs in the family room, which is a joke because we aren’t a family. It’s not the family room. My parents never join me to watch reality TV. So, I make Leo watch with me. He’s a douche bag though, and he won’t interact with me, except on the rare occasion and it’s mostly to say something snarky.

  I am never out of anyone’s sight unless I’m in my room, sleeping, and even then, I think they might have cameras on me. I can’t be sure.

  I spend a lot of time reading and consulting with Mom when she asks my opinion on wedding things. Apparently, the answer I couldn’t give two shits isn’t the correct one, and she always punishes me for it, taking hours to go over flowers, decorations, materials, guest lists, food options, and everything else I don’t care about.

  Dad brushes past me as I’m lounging on the couch, watching some baking show and sucking on a sucker I found in the bottom of my purse earlier. It’s old, but whatever. That’s my motto these days—whatever.

  “Beatrice, get your feet off the couch,” he reprimands, glancing up from his stack of papers to glare at me. I lower them off the side, and he shakes his head. “You need to start acting like a mature young lady. Quit this sulking. It’s not attractive.”

  “Selling your daughter isn’t attractive,” I shoot back, and his nostrils flare. Look out now. I’ve angered the beast. “Actually, why don’t you come sit beside me and tell me the entire reason that I’m marrying the Hastings asshat?” I say, sitting up and patting the couch beside me.

  Dad’s face is turning red, and I want to laugh.

  “The language you have spewing from your mouth these days is unbecoming.”

  “So, what? Women should be seen and not heard?” I mouth back, and his jaw works back and forth.

  “I will be glad when you are Seth’s problem and not mine,” he says.

  Oof. I didn’t expect that to hurt, but it does.

  I smile. “I’ll be glad when I don’t have to see your bastard face every day.”

  Dad advances on me, and I raise one eyebrow, almost wanting to laugh. He can’t do anything to me now. He throws the papers on the coffee table in front of the couch and then bends over me, his fingers wrapping around my cheeks. He squeezes in, his hand cutting into the muscles on either side of my jaw, and I squeak.

  Leo comes up behind him, eyes narrowed. Dad throws up a hand, and Leo stops.

  “You will not disrespect me again.” Dad seethes, spittle landing on his lips. It makes me think back to when he said the same exact thing outside his office all those years ago when I signed my life away in a contract.

  A contract I hadn’t read. I was only fifteen. I didn’t know what was happening to me, and it wasn’t like I had any control over it at that point.

  “You have been impertinent and dramatic, and I won’t have it anymore. Start acting like a young woman and not the little brat you’ve been. You will not embarrass this family.” As Dad is talking, his hand is getting tighter, and my mouth has popped open, his fingers digging into the flesh between my teeth.

  I feel like an animal, and I hate myself when tears spring to my eyes from the pain.

  “Sir,” Leo says, clearing his throat behind us.

  Dad eases his hand off my face. He straightens and smooths his suit jacket down before giving me one last cursory glance. Leo hands him the papers he set down and then looks at me briefly. I want to melt into the couch. I hate that he had to see that vulnerable scene. I’m not sure why he stopped Dad, but I’m thankful he did.

  “I’m going out. I won’t be back for dinner,” Dad tells me as if I care, and I turn my head as his footsteps retreat.

  The only thing on my mind right now is that contract and what it involves.

  What trouble is my dad in that he had to sell flesh and blood to fix it?

  That’s what I am, obviously—an object he’s traded for goods.

  I open and close my mouth a few times, working the soreness out of my cheeks. My mind is spinning.

  Why is this so important?

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” I say, my plan in place as I stand from the couch and saunter out into the hallway, as if I didn’t have a care in the world.

  There’s a bathroom located right next to Dad’s study, which also has a door into the study, and I open the door as Leo positions himself right outside. I step through and turn the handle to the study entrance, a little surprised that it’s not locked, but I guess Dad uses this bathroom a lot.

  I glance behind me to make sure that Leo hasn’t realized what I’m doing, but there’s no sound outside. I have to make this quick.

  I cross the room to Dad’s desk and pull out drawers, but they are full of pens and office supplies. Not what I need. I come to a larger drawer further down and pull, but it doesn’t budge, no matter how much I tug on it.

  A key. There has to be one around here somewhere. My dad is lazy and wouldn’t try hard to hide it. I sift back through the office supply drawers and pick up loose papers. I pull pens out of the holder on top of the desk, and then I stand, hands on my hips as I think.

  I check the back of his computer and underneath the keyboard. I run my fingers under the lip of the desk, and finally, my hand snags on something. I pull, unraveling tape, and one small key lands in my hand.

  I smile and then pause, listening for sounds. Hearing none, I crouch to open the drawer. Once I pull it out, I blanch when I realize none of it is labeled. There are a million papers in here, and I don’t have time to sift through them all. Damn him and his laziness. I pull the first chunk out and then notice a few folders stuffed at the back. I pull them as well before stuffing the first set of papers back inside, and then I quickly open each folder.

  “Come on, come on,” I murmur as my shaky fingers rifle through the papers. Finally, I get to the ones I’ve been searching for and breathe a sigh of relief. There it is, exactly like I remembered it. I pull the papers out, stuff them in the waistband of my sweatpants, and send up a thank-you that I put on a baggy shirt today.

  There’s a knock on the door, and I hear Leo murmuring through the bathroom. I shove the rest of the papers back into the drawer, close it, and then lock it. I try to put the key back how I found it, but I’m not sure it will stay. I run back into the bathroom as Leo knocks again.

  “One moment,” I yell and flush the toilet before running some water over my hands. I throw the bathroom door open to a pissy-looking Leo, who glances behind me, as if I could have escaped out of a nonexistent window in the interior bathroom.

  “Had to shit,” I tell him with a shrug, and he screws hi
s face up in disgust. “What? You don’t think that girls poop?”

  “Don’t like to think about it,” he says.

  I brush past him, walking straight so the papers don’t crinkle as I rush up the stairs to my room, my shadow following behind me, eyes no doubt on my ass.

  I spread the contract papers out on my bed, my eyes roving over the unfamiliar language. I don’t know what all the legal jargon means, but I do understand some of it. The parts where it states that Bertrand Soltorre will pay off my dad’s large debt, incurred by illegal means, if he does one tiny favor for him. Get Seth Sr. in good with Dad’s political connections and strengthen the Hastings name with an alliance.

  With me.

  Dad is marrying me to their incorrigible son because he lost or maybe stole a ton of money from his political campaigners, and it will all be swept under the rug once I marry Seth. Once I bring our families together in the eyes of society. Hastings gets prestige, Soltorre gets politicians in his back pocket, and Dad gets off the hook.

  The sick motherfucker.

  I was right. I’m being sold, and I agreed to it.

  My signature is right there on the last page. Beatrice Lucinda Northcutt.

  I want to throw up. It’s one thing to think it, but to actually know that the contract is selling me for my dad’s gain sends a huge flash of despair through me. There’s a lot of money involved in this transaction, millions of dollars. I guess you can put a price on your own child.

  I am worth exactly ten million dollars.

  “What the hell were you doing, Dad, to lose ten million dollars that wasn’t yours?” I ask the empty room.

  It doesn’t matter now. He’s going to get away with it. The good always die young, and I’m no exception. Trixie Northcutt will cease to live after the wedding. I’ll be Beatrice Hastings, Stepford wife who should be seen and never heard. Sold like a broodmare and cash cow for the price of ten million dollars.