The Seven Boxed Set

by Sarah M. Cradit

  “I do want it, but that’s not what I had in mind.”

  “Do you want back in or not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  Colin reached into his wallet and pulled out a five. He threw it on the table and stood. “Then I’m telling you, this is the only way to do it. The only thing more powerful than your money is your honor, Charles.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Colin checked his watch. “I’ll get to class early, I suppose.”

  “I have a better idea,” Charles replied. He replaced Colin’s cash with his own, ignoring Colin’s sigh. “Come with me.”

  Colin’s arms crossed again. “I’m not doing this for you.”

  “No, but I want you there to celebrate with me when I prove all the assholes wrong about me.”

  Colin sighed, nodded, and followed.

  * * *

  Charles had rarely been so furious that his vision blurred, but as he stormed through the hall, toward the bright light shining beyond the double doors, he could hardly see anything. His heartbeat pounded through the back of his eyes, and the ringing in his ears made everything around him muted and distant.

  He shoved the doors open with his fists and waited for them to fly open before marching out into the fall sunshine. He didn’t immediately see Colin, and was relieved, because he couldn’t deal with his friend’s self-righteous I-told-you-sos, not when this whole fucking fiasco had been his brilliant idea.

  And that fucking dean, with his receding hairline and liver spots. Fucking useless, sad sack of shit.

  Charles, I appreciate what it took for you to come see me. I know it wasn’t easy for you.

  Sure, sure. Is it too late for me to get in for fall term?

  The old man folded his gnarled hands together, as if preparing to lead them in prayer. He cleared his throat. As I said, I appreciate the gesture. But Tulane will not be accepting you back into any of our programs, not now or ever.

  Why the fuck not? Do you know how much money my family has given over the years in… gifts, or whatever the fuck they’re called?

  Endowments. And yes, I’m exceptionally well aware, as that money has helped us to do many important things. Grow our research facility, for one. But we do not exchange donations for favors, as your mother knows. She has continued to support us in spite of that.

  Checks from my fucking money!

  A choice, then, that you’ll have to make. My decision stands.

  Could he really be faulted for assailing the room with the contents of the dean’s desk? A paperweight shaped like an apple shattered the glass window behind the old man. A shower of pens, pencils, paper, folders, and other useless shit littered the floor.

  No need to call security, you useless fuck, said Charles as the man, wide-eyed and trembling, reached for the phone. You couldn’t pay me to spend another minute in this fucking place.

  Colin jogged over from where he’d been waiting on the bench. “That was quick. How did it go?”

  “Fuck this place,” Charles said and blew past him. “Let’s see how these pricks operate without my millions.”

  “That answers that,” Colin muttered as he struggled to keep pace. “What happened?”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “I gather he said no, but what did you do?”

  Charles came to an abrupt halt in the grass. He spun on Colin. “Why do you always assume the problem is me?”

  “I wonder if it’s anything to do with how much you are the problem?” Colin started to roll his eyes, then thought better of it. “Your temper gets the best of you all the time. Too often.”

  “Why should I have to bend over for the world?”

  Colin glanced around the courtyard. Probably wondering if others were looking, if they were drawing attention, because he was always concerned about stupid things like that. “That you would even ask the question in that way is part of the problem, Charles.”

  “I guess it would be better to be more like you, is that it? To be a fucking robot who can’t even hold onto his girl because he’s so much better than everyone else?”

  Colin paled in an instant. His entire demeanor changed. “You know nothing about that. About her.” He rolled his wrist to check his watch, but his eyes were elsewhere, distant. “Why do you even ask me what I think?”

  Charles sputtered a few attempts at an answer. “You’re right, asking you never fucking works out for me.”

  “That’s not—”

  Charles pulled the pack of smokes from his shirt, lit one, and inhaled a long drag. “No, no, you’re on to something, my friend. There’s a pattern of me coming to you for advice, and the advice you give being fucking terrible. You told me to forget about my own daughter.”

  “That’s not what—”

  Charles took another heavy drag. “Oh yes, and the many times you encouraged me not to cheat on a test, and then I failed anyway.”

  Colin was flabbergasted. “Because you never studied!”

  “Does the reason matter?”

  “Yes!”

  “And now, you tell me to go in there, be a man, own up to my actions.” Two streams of smoke poured from his nose. “I nearly get thrown out by security.”

  Colin’s head shook in disbelief. “I don’t even know how to argue with your twisted logic.”

  Charles pointed the cigarette at him. “Because I’m right.”

  “No!” Colin screamed the word, and people gathered around in the grass looked over. “No, you’re not right! You’re never right! And I’m sick and tired of trying to be the sane one in this relationship, and of having my friendship thrown back in my face when things don’t turn out the way you want them, which, of course, is because you are constantly screwing your life up!”

  Charles blew out his laugh through his smoke.

  Colin threw his hands in the air. “I’m done! I’m not going to babysit you anymore, because even if I wanted to spend the effort, you’re beyond help!”

  “You always say shit like that.”

  “Yeah?” This time, Colin did note the time from his watch. “Be careful, one day I’ll mean it.”

  He hoisted his bookbag over one shoulder and took off across the quad.

  * * *

  Charles didn’t start the day intending to end it the way he now intended, but Colin had no one but himself to blame.

  He jogged over to a payphone and reached into his wallet. He knew the number by heart, but small deceptions helped form the bigger ones. If he didn’t know her number by heart, he could pretend he’d never thought about making this call.

  Cat answered on the second ring. “Huck!” she cried, and his knees buckled. “We never talk during the day. Everything okay?”

  “Are you alone?”

  She breathed in and paused. “Until Monday. Jeannie is ditching classes to go to Destin with Harry, even though I told her it’s a terrible idea.”

  “How terrible of an idea? More terrible than me coming over?”

  “Huck…”

  “Tell me not to.”

  She sighed, and he could swear he heard her smiling. “I can’t tell you no.”

  “You can’t or won’t?”

  A small sound on her end made his heart skip. “Is there really a difference?”

  “I don’t want you to regret anything.” This, here, was why he’d called instead of landing on her doorstep uninvited.

  She laughed. “You mean the way I threw myself at you this summer, and you pretended to have to babysit?”

  “I did it for you.”

  “Oh, how very noble.”

  God, he wanted her. So, so bad. “So ask me again.”

  “Ask you what?”

  “Ask me to come over.”

  “Aren’t you the one who called me, asking if I was alone?”

  “Ask me, Cat. If you still want it, ask me.”

  Another laugh from her, and then her voice was low, a kittenish purr. “Come over?”

  Charles left the ph
one dangling against the booth.

  * * *

  Charles’ lips burned against the inside of her thighs. Every soft moan coming from her beautiful mouth tested his iron resistance.

  His tongue entered her. He wanted to be gentle, to tease the orgasm from her until she was begging him for it, but the shock of how wet she was… how delicious her nectar tasted… propelled him to bring her higher, higher, and higher, until she shuddered so hard her thighs almost snapped his neck.

  She sounded so surprised as she came, and he knew he’d been right all along, that no man had never brought her to this point before. He slipped a finger inside her, to feel the intensity, and was not disappointed.

  Charles looked down at Catherine, nude, legs spread but relaxed against the fabric of the couch, cheeks flushed. She gave him a lazy smile that somehow, at the same time, made his dick and his heart throb.

  She snaked her hand forward and grasped him, and he grew harder in her touch. “I want it dirty,” she whispered. Her tongue flitted across her lips. “The first time. The second time, I want to look at you.”

  A strange flutter passed through him. His breath was heavy, ragged, but he didn’t hesitate. His hands gripped her hips and flipped her over, taking her surprised gasp as an encouragement.

  His thumbs parted her from behind. Ah, how he wanted to eat more of her, to taste her desire, but if he didn’t come soon, he would pass out. When he drove into her, she screamed in ecstasy and turned her head to look at him, biting her lips, eyes wild.

  He filled her in seconds, and if she were anyone else, he’d be overcome with shame, but this was Catherine, and all he could think about was what came next, of looking into her eyes and seeing through to what was behind them when he spilled more of himself into her.

  She turned, her breasts heaving with her gasping breath. “This means something to you,” she said, sweet, husky, exhausted.

  “You mean something to me,” he said and entered her once more. He moved slowly, no longer shackled by his need to release. Her eyes closed for only a second before she left them open with a dreamy but intense look.

  Her fingers pressed against the flesh of his bottom as she guided him in, out, slowly, perfectly. “We understand each other, don’t we?”

  Charles nodded. His eyes rolled back, but he forced himself to focus. On her. On her beautiful, welcoming, loving face. On seeing her, as she saw him.

  Catherine lowered his face to her breast and he took it in his mouth, tenderly, as she caressed his face with both her hands, moaning with every current of their lovemaking.

  He didn’t leave her apartment for two days.

  Thirteen

  The Mighty Steed

  Augustus argued with a contractor in the other room. They’d told him they were behind on sub-contracting the painting of the walls, which they assured him had to be done before the flooring and furniture could be brought in.

  His staff was only eleven—twelve, if you counted Evangeline, but she didn’t think she counted when she was adamant about not taking a paycheck—but they were eager to move in and begin work assembling Volume One of Deschanel Magazine. It was supposed to be out in two weeks, but with the office buildout over six weeks behind, that date was unlikely.

  Augustus was furious. She’d noted, as she began to know her brother better, that where he was easygoing about many things, he was quite exacting about others. Not everything in his life had, or deserved, a set standard, but when it did, he didn’t respond well to disappointment.

  Evangeline made the mistake of asking him why he didn’t just let the staff writers do their work from home and have the editor come in and just work through the mess. Being flexible was key to the success of any big initiative. This was backed by science. Instead of thanking her for the helpful suggestion, he’d glared at her as if she’d grown a second, and then a third, head.

  He’d been more short with her as of late, and she thought this might be because she’d been spending so much more time at the office. After that terrible end to her summer and that… that thing that had happened, that she could never, ever talk about, or think about, she’d thrown herself into whatever odd task Augustus had for her. She didn’t even grumble about cleaning toilets anymore. Anything was better than having time to think.

  His cheeks were flushed when he entered the breakroom. She was stacking cups in the cupboard, for the eventual employees upon their eventual arrival.

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing but excuses,” Augustus grumbled and stomped over to the sink. He took the glass she had in her hand and turned the faucet, filling it with water. “At least the damn water is on.”

  “When are the painters coming in?”

  “Next fall at this rate.” He emptied the glass in one sip and set it down. He leaned into the counter with both hands. “The hurricane was almost two months ago, and there was hardly any lasting damage. How is that a reason for a delay? And how are we no longer at the top of the list?”

  Evangeline didn’t tell him that repainting schools so children could return was probably a reasonable excuse. “We’ll get Volume One out soon. Don’t sweat it so much.”

  Augustus looked up. “Why aren’t you in school?”

  Evangeline was taken aback. “I haven’t registered for classes. You know that. I’m taking time off.”

  “You already took a year off.”

  She shrugged. She hoped it looked nonchalant, for she certainly didn’t feel that way. “I guess I’m taking two.”

  He sighed. “Evie…”

  “You don’t want me around? Is that it?”

  Augustus shook his head. “No, that’s not it at all. But the smartest one in the family shouldn’t be wasting her time cleaning sinks and carrying out garbage.”

  “I don’t mind it.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  She didn’t want to have this discussion. She had no words for him, no explanation or rational way of articulating the paralysis shackling her from moving forward. How even the thought of doing something unusual and different sent her heartrate soaring so high the sensation left her dizzy and reeling.

  And there was no way in the world she would ever tell him what happened to her. She wouldn’t do that to him. He might not survive this time.

  “Okay,” he said, leaning back, in a more welcoming stance. “Tell me, if you could go to school anywhere in the world, no limitations, where would you go?”

  “Massachusetts Institute of Technology,” Evangeline said with no hesitation.

  Augustus laughed. “That was easy. Have you applied?”

  Evangeline shook her head.

  “Any reason why not?”

  “I told you, I’m taking—”

  “Another year off. Right.” Augustus wiped his hands over the shadow of stubble that appeared overnight, aging him. He was a man now, in so many ways, and she remembered chasing him around the yard; how he’d humored her by being her mighty steed as she, Joan of Arc, Savior of France, rode in to face the evil English, north of Orléans.

  “Besides, Mama would freak.”

  “Would she?” Augustus asked. “Colleen sent off to colleges across the country for med school. One in Scotland, too.”

  “Scotland?” Evangeline’s head shot up. Was this true? She hated that Augustus knew this—Augustus, who was always the last to know—and she hadn’t heard even a whisper.

  “Mama thinks it would be good for her, too.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Colleen told me,” he said. “When I found her mail.”

  Evangeline relaxed a little. Of course Colleen would have to explain herself if Augustus learned her secret. “Bully for her, I guess.”

  “So, MIT.”

  She shrugged. “Just a thought. I’d be happy here, too.”

  Augustus glanced at the clock. “I’m leaving early tonight. You have a ride home? Want to take my car?”

  “Leaving early? You?” She laughed. “Why?” />
  His eyes cast to the side. “It’s nothing. I’m meeting Carolina for dinner. But it’s nothing. She asked and I couldn’t keep saying no.”

  Evangeline’s grin spread. “You could say no. You’ve been saying no.”

  “You know how she is.”

  “You like her!”

  Augustus flushed scarlet. “I didn’t say that. She’s nice, and I don’t want to keep hurting her feelings.”

  “So you’re gonna string her along and break her heart later? Or is your plan to marry her to avoid all that?”

  Augustus rolled his eyes. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Do you need my car, or do you have other plans?”

  “I don’t have other plans,” Evangeline said quickly. “If I take your car, how will you get home?” Her mouth dropped open. “Aggie!”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter,” he hissed. “Charles is coming home tonight. I phoned him earlier and he said to swing by Cat’s if one of us needed a ride back to Vacherie.”

  “Cat? Who’s Cat?”

  “His girlfriend,” Augustus said. He cleared his throat. “Secret girlfriend. No one’s supposed to know.”

  “Why would Charles suddenly care what anyone thinks? Is she hideous?”

  “Quite the opposite.” Augustus draped his sport coat over his arm. “But she happens to be Colin Sullivan’s ex.”

  Evangeline gaped in amazement. That Catherine. That took balls, even for Charles. “Say no more. Where are your keys?”

  Augustus dug them from his pocket and lobbed them across the room at her. She caught them with ease and dangled the key from her finger. “Not even a mile over the speed limit, Evie.”

  The 1963 Aston Martin DB5 had been a gift from his mother when he graduated high school, and though he was not prone to the indulgence one would normally possess in driving such a car, because it was his he treated it with meticulous attention.

  “Speedometers are imperfect technology,” Evangeline said, grinning as his scowl deepened. “But I’ll obey insofar as I’m not accountable for any shortcomings your car had before I slipped behind the wheel.”