The Campus Jock: A College Bad Boy Romance

by Serena Silver

  “Miss Sunderby,” George, one of the employees, greeted her. “What brings you back here?”

  She looked at him and shrugged. “Is the delivery here yet?”

  Christine wasn’t entirely rude to George, if only because she perceived he gave her the place in a hierarchy she believed was rightfully hers. She looked around in disdain. The loading dock was not exactly her scene and she hated even having to be out there. The fury directed at her parents increased by the second.

  George gave a nod forward and responded, “Just getting in now, Miss Sunderby. Did you need me to take inventory immediately?”

  “I have to take the stock before everything is unloaded,” Christine groaned, “And then I’m supposed to help move the merchandise.”

  “I see,” George said, trying to mask his shock.

  It didn’t matter that days had passed and he’d seen Christine wiping down counters or sweeping the floor. Each time she had to do something even more lowly than the last (or at least that’s how she thought of it), he was surprised. Christine felt even angrier and ashamed. She couldn’t believe her parents were putting her through the wringer to this degree for what she’d done. It wasn’t as if she’d burned down her ex-boyfriend’s house or destroyed electronics worth thousands of dollars. She wasn’t even sober when it happened, so clearly she hadn’t been in the right state of mind– not that she actually regretted what she’d done. He broke up with her out of nowhere and, honestly, who was he to break up with Christine Sunderby? It only made sense, in her mind, to take a little revenge. Breaking into his house and shredding his wardrobe hardly seemed that awful. Yet, her parents were behaving like she’d committed assault and battery or something. It was ludicrous.

  “Miss Sunderby,” George said rather loudly, “Miss Sunderby, the truck’s pulled in. You’re all set to take inventory.”

  Christine turned her head slowly and saw the clipboard he was holding out for her to take. She huffed and practically snatched it out of his hand before storming into the truck without so much as a glance in the direction of the driver. There were about a dozen paintings, each very carefully packaged. They were all spaced out, which made it easy for her to go through and check them off on the inventory list. That was when she noticed an additional column, one that was not usually there. She had to check them off as the packaging was removed to verify each painting sent in was actually the correct one. Although rare, errors did occur, and the biggest auction of the year was not the time for that go unnoticed.

  “I’ve checked off each package,” Christine announced as she emerged from the back of the truck, “Now we need to take these inside very carefully so I can inspect the actual paintings.”

  She handed the clipboard to Daisy, another employee, before guiding George and two assistants in moving each painting. She led the way and told them exactly where to set each item down, helping them open up the packaging to check the contents. It was a tedious process, and by the time they’d finished getting through those paintings, the final shipment had arrived. Christine sighed, pushing her hair back and feeling repulsed by the fact that a bit of sweat had formed along her hairline.

  “This next shipment is much smaller but-”

  “Much more valuable,” Christine cut George off. He gave a small no, and she said, “My parents drilled that fact into me like you wouldn’t believe. It’s like they think I’m incapable of remembering one detail.”

  George did not reply. Christine side-eyed Daisy because she could tell there was something on her mind. If there was one employee that irked Christine the most, it was the doe-eyed Daisy. She had copper hair that she always wore in a fish braid, large brown eyes, freckles across her nose and cheeks, pale skin, and what seemed to be a permanent smile. Everything about work excited her and nothing was ever a task. It was highly annoying. What pissed Christine off the most, however, was how Daisy seemed to question her. Where did she get off doing that?

  Christine stepped inside the truck and checked off the inventory’s first column before taking the first two paintings where they’d set down all the others. She took care of checking them carefully before heading back out to the loading bay.

  “This is the one I have to help with,” Christine muttered bitterly.

  She shoved the clipboard into Daisy’s chest. She walked forward with George and an assistant to help hoist up the large painting. Christine grunted under the weight of it as the three of them began to walk toward the service elevator. This one had to be placed exactly where it would be stored until the auction. First, she opened the packaging enough to check that it was the correct painting.

  It was a colossal, gothic-looking portrait with an ornate gold frame. It was wrapped in a special kind of plastic, which allowed her to check it but still kept the painting protected until it was time for the auction. Christine noted just how much more care this painting received and wondered why it was such a big deal. In her opinion, plenty of the other pieces she’d inspected were much more appealing.

  “Time to take it to the service elevator,” Christine announced.

  George and the assistant helped her move it over and they carefully set it down on a small cart, one of them holding the elevator door open. Once they moved the painting inside, a man emerged from the hallway off the loading dock. At once, George and the assistant made way for him, and he stepped inside the elevator. Christine shot him a look. She noticed he was quite tall with broad shoulders, tan skin, and a rather handsome face. As soon as he’d stepped inside, the powerful scent of his cologne had reached her. She regularly cringed when men wore too much but this was a pleasing scent, one that seemed vaguely familiar but she could not pinpoint why.

  The elevator doors slid shut, and Christine furrowed her brows. If George and the assistant were leaving her alone with this man and the painting, then it had to mean he was another manual laborer hired by her parents. She scoffed and thought, “What a waste.” He was attractive but such a bottom-feeder that his looks could not keep her from being at least a bit repelled by him. Once the elevator doors slid open, Christine hastily stepped forward. She wanted to get away from his overpowering scent because it was starting to get to her; in conjunction with his looks, she could feel some sort of magnetic draw to the man.

  “Would you care for some help?” the man asked in a deep voice, motioning toward the portrait.

  Christine laughed derisively, “I should think so.”

  He gave her a strange look, and her displeasure grew. She was in disbelief. The fact that he’d even asked if she wanted help was astonishing. She’d expect no less of him, after all, given that her parents were paying him to do such things. Even if Daisy was over-the-top and very obviously thought Christine could put forth more interest, she was never uncooperative and usually not tactless. This man, however, was both. Still, he moved forward and pushed the cart off the elevator with Christine guiding the way to its holding place. Just then, Christine’s work phone rang.

  “Mother,” Christine answered the call curtly. After about a minute she rolled her eyes and replied, “Fine. We’ll set it up on display.” Christine slipped the ancient cell phone back in her pocket and turned to look at the man. “Change of plans,” she told him brusquely.

  Christine snapped her fingers and pointed at the portrait. The man gave her a look and cleared his throat but said nothing, which greatly bothered Christine. He was unbelievably insubordinate in her eyes. He wasn’t proactive, moved rather slowly, and didn’t ask questions when he should. In fact, he showed very little interest in doing his job. She couldn’t blame him given that it was a terrible one but that was what he was supposed to do. She was just here by some horrible twist of fate. That didn’t place them on the same level.

  Christine cleared her throat and announced, “We are to place the painting on display at once. Do you think you can manage?”

  Her tone was incredibly condescending but, even then, the man said nothing. He just stepped forward and took hold of the cart to
help her move the painting to the main gallery space. She saw the wall space designated for it and once again found herself wondering why her mother was making such a big deal about this particular piece. The man, finally taking some initiative, helped her carefully place and secure the painting.

  She watched him step back to admire the painting. Christine looked at it and then back at the man. He was staring at it rather intensely and was clearly sucked into the picture. After a couple minutes, Christine realized the man had become completely oblivious to the world around him. He was far too absorbed in the painting, even stepping forward to scrutinize the details. It was only until his face was closer to the one in the painting that Christine noticed a strange similarity between the man’s features and those of the gentleman in the golden-framed portrait. “Did he notice the similarity too? That must be why he can’t stop staring at this thing,” Christine thought.

  She felt her work phone vibrate and checked it to see her mother had sent a message reminding her she now had to place up all the paintings in the gallery space. Christine grumbled loudly. She looked over at the man, who hadn’t been pulled out of his stupor even by the loud and unpleasant noise she’d just made. Christine rolled her eyes.

  “Excuse me,” she shouted indignantly, “There are plenty of other pieces that need bringing up for the auction.”

  The stranger looked at her and gave a curt nod. He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, leaving Christine flabbergasted.

  Chapter Two

  The following morning, Christine had wanted nothing more than to stretch out luxuriously before spending the day in bed to recover. She’d stayed late at the gallery the previous night, furious that the man had taken off without a word. She hadn’t even gotten a chance to get his name. She only wanted it to make sure her parents would fire him or, better yet, allow her the honor of doing so. She’d spent the rest of the time setting up all the paintings with the help of Daisy and George. Even one of the assistants had stayed to help despite only being contracted for the delivery and initial move of the pieces to take inventory.

  Unfortunately for Christine, there was still work to be done before the big auction that would be held later that night. She got out of bed and trudged into her bathroom to start getting ready for work. After showering, doing her hair and makeup, and getting dressed, Christine only had time for a quick and light breakfast. She had to dash down to the gallery to make sure everything was in order before opening it up to the few VIP buyers for a preview before the auction. She begrudgingly held a tray of white wine to pass out to the guests, feeling absolutely mortified when they recognized her as the sole Sunderby daughter.

  “How wonderful for you to help your parents,” one lady cooed, “Soon enough you’ll have taken over the auction house entirely.”

  “Even we’ve got to start at the bottom sometimes,” a plump man had told her with a hearty laugh before slurping down half the glass of wine in one go.

  Christine had watched him with disgust before taking off, slamming down the empty tray in the kitchen. The waitresses her parents had hired gave her a look of concern but did not dare approach her. Having had enough humiliation to last her a lifetime, Christine stormed to the small office her parents had opened up and pulled her cell phone out of the locked drawer of the desk.

  “They have me handing out wine, for crying out loud!”

  The sound of Stefanie’s shrill laugh came in through the receiver, forcing Christine to pull the phone away from her ear. She rolled her eyes and scowled even though her friend could not see her. She failed to see the humor in this situation and Christine was confident she’d never laugh at her friend were she in the same horrid situation.

  “There’s nothing funny about this,” Christine deadpanned.

  “Oh, Christie, lighten up. Your parents will probably get over this little phase once the auction is over and you’ll have your freedom back.”

  “Too bad it’ll be too late for the Freeman party,” Christine whined.

  Stefanie heaved a sigh, “That’s true. It is the party of the year, and I just cannot believe you’re going to miss it.”

  “You say that as if I have a choice in the matter.”

  “Oh, Christie, I know you don’t. It’s just so awful, isn’t it? I’d never have an invitation to the Freeman party if it weren’t for you but now you’re the one who’ll have to miss out on it.”

  Christine scoffed, “Well, you have fun at the party.”

  She ended the call and threw her phone back in the desk drawer. It was so unfair that her friend would be off at the best celebrity party of the year, working her way up as a socialite, even though she would have never even had a chance if it hadn’t been thanks to Christine. A part of her felt betrayed because she thought Stefanie should have foregone the party in favor of sitting through the auction. It was completely unreasonable, but Christine had a knack for being that way.

  She walked back out to the gallery only to find that her mother was now present. “Crap,” Christine thought miserably. The one moment she’d decided to step out, and now her mother would just go on and on about Christine’s lack of professionalism. There would be a lecture for sure, and her father would be a big part of it. It was always a toss-up, though, on which of the two parents would be the most tiresome.

  “Christine,” her mother whispered with a smile still plastered on her face, “Lovely of you to make an appearance.”

  “I’ve been here all along, mother. But even the lowest ranking employees get a break, right?”

  Her mother let out a false laugh and gripped Christine by the arm, dragging her to the back and out of sight from the guests. She immediately rounded on her, fury in her eyes.

  “Enough is enough,” Mrs. Sunderby said sternly, “You earned this. You must learn from it. Stop questioning authority. Behave like a proper young lady. Take this seriously. You know this is the biggest auction of the year, and even you must have an idea of its magnitude.”

  Christine’s jaw dropped. It was the first time in her life her mother had ever talked to her like this. Not even her father had ever been so harsh. It felt like she’d been hit hard enough to have the wind knocked out of her. Christine was in such a state of shock that she could not even muster up some sort of response.

  “Now, put a smile on your face and mingle. Remember, the gallery space is where clients truly make their decision and if tonight does not go well, your father and I will know who to blame.”

  “That’s unfair!”

  “Oh, Christine, you think everything that doesn’t go your way is unfair. You don’t want to lift a single finger. Life doesn’t work that way, not even for the fabulously privileged. It especially doesn’t work like that if someone is completely out of control.”

  “I am not out of control! You and dad are just-”

  “Enough back talk out of you, young lady. Smile, be pleasant and work for the rest of the preview time. Furthermore, I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight. Now, off you go.”

  Christine, whose jaw was still agape, turned slowly to make her way back out to the small gathering of people in the gallery. She was reeling. She had to stop for a moment and take in a deep breath before reappearing in the studio space to speak to the people out there. Every one of them had piles of money to spend, well-established connections, and a good amount of power. She figured that if she had to spend her time working, at the very least, she was rubbing elbows with people of her own caliber. Christine stepped out with a fake smile and a newfound determination to make it through this hellish ordeal. The plump man, Charles Carlyle, approached her at once. His face was red and his bald head shined under the ceiling lights.

  He slurped more wine loudly before asking, “So, why’d the ol’ parents decide to finally put you out on the floor?”

  Christine found the man incredibly obnoxious, and she just couldn’t believe her own bad luck that, of all the elites in attendance, it was the most disgusting one who kept st
riking up a conversation with her.

  “I’m being groomed in the family business,” she replied quietly.

  “It’s best to start young. Knowing the ins and outs,” the man paused to slurp more wine, “That ought to help in some capacity.”

  “My parents certainly think so,” Christine said tersely.

  She wanted nothing more than to walk away and never hear this man’s repugnant slurping noises but she knew that was not an option. Despite his lack of class and charm, he was easily one of the wealthiest and most powerful people in the room. It baffled Christine to know how much respect he commanded when he was so abhorrent. She knew that if she somehow botched the Sunderby’s relationship with Carlyle, her parents would never forgive her. He slurped down the last of his wine and handed her the empty glass, his sausage fingers grazing hers in the process. Christine shuddered involuntarily, and the man gave her a look of affront.

  “I’ll take this to the back for you, Mr. Carlyle,” Christine quickly said in a sickly sweet voice in hopes of remedying the situation.

  Christine rushed to the kitchen and fanned her face with a wad of napkins. She couldn’t help her reaction. She grimaced. The best thing for her to do now would be to go back out there and butter Carlyle up. She had to make him think she was not utterly repulsed by him or else he might not be as willing to spend hundreds of thousands, or even millions, at the Sunderby auction. Christine snatched up a glass of wine, downed it, and made her way back out to the gallery space. She spotted Charles Carlyle staring at the portrait with the gold frame.

  “What do you think of this piece, Mr. Carlyle?”

  “There’s something about it that really catches the eye,” he told her.

  Christine drew in a deep breath and bravely stepped a bit closer to the man as she replied, “It would seem so. I noticed a man observing it so intensely he no longer paid attention to the world outside the painting.”