Beautiful Disaster (The Bet)

by Francette Phal

  Beautiful Disaster

  By Francette Phal

  Copyright 2012 Francette Phal

  Smashwords Edition

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Prologue

  Nicholas Grayson wasn’t a nice person. In fact one could call him an asshole and he wouldn’t dispute it. He was as jaded as they come, eighteen years old, with a moral compass fixed permanently on diabolical. He was an emotional cripple with the personality of a cactus. He understood his faults and embraced each one with gusto.

  His goals in life were to piss off his parents, break a few laws and generally screw his way through life. He was a good looking kid, born with movie star looks, a little James Dean with Brando’s swagger thrown into the mix to make the female populace of John Edgar High swoon.

  He was fully aware of his power over the fairer sex and he used that knowledge for his own selfish end.

  It was a game his group of friends played and Nicholas excelled at it. He’d slept with nearly every girl on campus, seduced each and every one with practiced ease that had become second nature, like breathing.

  The sex was initially meant to stave off the boredom; another vice to add to the growing list of evils he’d accumulated over the years. But then, like all things in his life, sex had become nauseatingly easy to obtain.

  “Nicky.” The breathy call of his name had Nicholas peering over his shoulder where Maddie Tate, “Fatty Maddie”, as she was known by many in his circle, looked at him with sickening adoration.

  Lounging across his king sized mattress in post-coital bliss, she looked every bit the sated lover with her tousled cinnamon red hair, flushed face, and gleaming azure eyes. It would be so simple, he thought, returning his gaze to the tripod in front of him. She was in love with him. Had been for quite some time now and would undoubtedly do anything he asked of her.

  It would take nothing to manipulate her and bend her to his will. Nicholas was sure that she would follow him. Fortunately for her, he wasn’t in a position to acquire a sycophant, although undying adoration did have its perks.

  Her seduction hadn’t presented much of a challenge, just as he knew it wouldn’t. She was just another notch in this game he’s come to master. Another pawn to use and discard when he was finished.

  He wasn’t attracted to her in the least and the fact that she practically panted after him made her less appealing. The fact is Nicholas had been feeling charitable at the time. Therefore the seduction of Maddie Tate hadn’t taken much doing. He’d made a video of all their sordid acts just as he always had done and stood to win five hundred dollars for his troubles. Chump change as far as he was concerned, but a win nevertheless.

  “N--Nicholas…”, the voice was little hesitant this time. he heard the rustling of sheets as she rose.

  “Get out.” This was the part he relished the most. Sadist that he was, he caught the hitch of her breath and reveled in it.

  “I—um---did I do something wrong?”

  He took a moment tinkering with the camera before turning to give her his undivided attention, mouth curling into a bastardized version of a smile. “Well,” he moved with effortless grace, swagger unmatched, open and welcoming in contrast to the calculated, almost predatory look in his diamond grey eyes. “You didn’t bore me completely.”

  Her face crumpled. The ensuing expression nearly heartbreaking as tears welled. If he cared he would’ve felt something other than this deep rooted annoyance and sudden need to see her out of his bedroom. “Now, please get your shit and get out.” It didn’t take long after that. Shoving him aside with surprising strength she gathered her things and was out like a shot.

  Now, Nicholas figured, she’d grow to hate him like so many of the others who’d come before her.

  It was what he did best. Fuck ‘em and leave ‘em. He lived by those words, using a slightly different variation out of the bedroom.

  He was his father’s child after all; he had learned about screwing people from the master himself. A deprecating smile tugged at his lips and Nicholas knew his demons were not far. He could hear the menacing gait of their hooved feet making a steady trek to the forefront of his mind, carrying with them memories he would sooner forget.

  Grabbing the half emptied bottle of whiskey from his dresser Nicholas made his way to the balcony in his bedroom. He took a mouthful, and then another, feeling decidedly better as each swig burned a warm path down his throat. Maneuvering himself over the balcony’s ledge he sat precariously over the edge, legs dangling four stories over the gleaming pool below.

  Shit, he was feeling maudlin. Why? He hadn’t the slightest idea. Only that the memories refused to be quelled, refused to be inundated by the liquor as per usual. The sudden image of his father fleeted across his vision and Nicholas gave a humorless laugh. Well wasn’t that just a kick in the teeth? Even at his lowest he continued to be haunted by the immoral bastard.

  Charles Grayson, CEO and founder of one of the nation’s largest real estate firms was the devil incarnate and Nicholas could attest to that. He’d been ten years old when the first lesson had been imparted. There’d been an incident in school involving him and another student. Nicholas couldn’t remember exactly what it was he’d done, but he remembered he’d been mean and had been fittingly reprimanded for it by his teacher. Charles had somehow gotten word of it and swiftly rectified the situation. The teacher was terminated, credentials ruined and she’d been unable to find work in the states again. This action was quite extreme and cruel for something so little, but then Charles had never been the sentimental sort.

  He was a ruthless man whose underhanded business tactics had gained him his empire. Therefore when it came to his son, Charles was merciless. He’d taken the ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child’ ideology quite seriously and the scars of those lessons were now imprinted on Nicholas’s soul.

  Nicholas took another swig from the bottle while raking a hand through his overlong hair. He was agitated and dear old Jack wasn’t doing it for him tonight. Needing a distraction that was something quite possibly stronger, he headed back to his bedroom and finished off the last of the amber liquid before tossing it aside.

  He needed out and having just the place, he threw on some clothes and hastened out the bedroom. Somewhere in the vast cavernous mansion a clock tolled midnight but there would be no one to stop him from trekking out the front door. No parental guidance. He found his sport bike in the driveway and jumped on the leather seat. Nicholas revved the engine and gunned down the silent streets.

  The infamous Matthew Bates and his revels of depravity were in full swing when Nicholas pulled into the graveled driveway a half hour later. Located in the cloistered parts of Belmont Heights, the Bates mansion stoo
d among the rest of the Georgian houses in all its grand glory. The surrounding of trees gave each home the illusion of privacy and none was needed more than around the Bates mansion.

  With purposeful strides Nicholas waded through the milling throng of inebriated teens, the dark expression on his face curtailing anyone from halting his progress. The further he went into the house, the louder the music became. It rumbled in his bones, a throbbing dark seduction of African drums and ripping electric guitars.

  Beneath the canopy of multihued disco balls and freakish psychedelic laser shows, the masses danced, their sweat stained bodies gyrating to the cultish beats rumbling through the floor. This was a Matthew Bates party. This was a world within a world where the young and prurient youths of Cedar Falls escaped to play, mingled and danced to their hearts’ content. They overlooked social mores and class and instead enemies danced with mutual abandon, friends became lovers, and a kiss or a hug, was as natural as breathing air.

  Under the spell, beneath the wicked, shadowed web of the potent atmosphere, everyone was sexy and beautiful. The alcohol and drugs flowed in abundance and with the scent of marijuana weighing heavily in the air, Nicholas knew he’d found his best friend.

  Seated at a poker table with a gaggle of people he didn’t recognize, Nicholas watched from the kitchen threshold as his friend took a hit from the blunt he held between his fingers before passing it along to someone on his left.

  “Read ‘em and weep, bitches, straight flush!” The group of guys at the table groaned as Matt stood to collect his winnings. It didn’t take long for him to spot Nicholas; the toothy grin on his lips was far too contagious. “Well, if it isn’t the devil himself! Where the hell have you been all summer, Grayson?” He grabbed two beer bottles from the cooler on the floor, tossing one to Nicholas as he approached him. They came together in embrace, Matt clapping Nicholas on the back before pulling away.

  “I could ask you the same.” Nicholas said with grin. “Keepin’ it busy I see.”

  Matt returned the grin as he lead Nicholas out of the dining room they headed up the spiral staircase, dodging more than a few drunken advances. “What can I say, Nicky, I aim to please. Who am I to deny our peers one last hurrah before school starts?”

  “Been doing this all summer?”

  “Mostly.” Matt said. He pushed his bedroom door open and allowed Nicholas entrance. “I had to pay Gregory and the golden child a visit to Boston for a few weeks; it seems Alex got a job at some prestigious law firm.”

  ‘The Golden child’, also known as Alexander Bates, was Matt’s bane of existence and had been since Nicholas could remember. There had always been competition between the brothers spurred on by the Bates’ patriarch. Gregory Bates did not hide the fact that he preferred Alexander to Matt.

  Matt discovered the reason of his father’s bias a few years ago at his mother’s funeral. She’d been unfaithful, his father had said, his face as grim as ever. Matt was told that he was the result of an affair his mother had many years ago. It was understood that Gregory would adopt the illegitimate child as his own and provide all the Bates opportunities, if his wife kept the sordid little secrets she’d discovered about her own husband out of the press.

  It’d been a nice little deal that had kept Matt ignorant and his mother in the lap of luxury until she’d passed. So now Matt was the eternal screw up. It was a role he played well, had perfected it quite nicely after meeting Nicholas. They were as close as brothers, their dysfunctions unifying that bond.

  Matt walked over to the antique dresser by his bedside and removed a small black box. “I was sent back to exile once the old man found I was up to my old ways again. But, I did manage to pick up a little something before leaving.” The mischievous glint in his dark blue eyes hinted at something with which Nicholas was all too familiar with.

  Drugs, alcohol and sex. They were the masters of vice.

  “Care for a taste?” Matt shook the small pewter box he held in his hand and the tantalizing rattle of Nicholas’s escape beckoned him. Temporary bliss would come in the form of a little blue pill. This was the distraction he was counting on. Matt could always be counted on for that.

  “Break out the whiskey.”

  Chapter One

  She’d begged for this, Ellie knew, but she was suddenly wishing she was back home, sitting at her dining room table waiting for Mrs. Humphries to begin her lessons. She suddenly found herself missing the crumbling bag of bones and her perpetual smell of moth balls and mint. Mrs. Humphries, despite her advanced years and antiquated ways of teaching was familiar. She was routine, she was reliable. Ellie was beginning to miss that.

  Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, rain or shine, Mrs. Humphries never failed to show up at Ellie’s house, lesson book in hand ready to start teaching. For two and a half years, they’d been together in that small dining room getting Ellie ready for the start of her senior year. Gabe had wanted her to continue her homeschooling for her Senior year also, but Ellie had refused, pleading and arguing that she needed to be around kids her own age. She’d made her case, stating that she was ready to get back in the fold of things, and to be a high school student again.

  You only get to be a senior once after all and she wanted to be part of a class when she did eventually walk that line to get her hard earned diploma. She wanted to go to the prom, as silly as that sounded and take advantage of the opportunities she’d failed to take before. Ellie wanted to be part of something normal for once in her teenage life before adulthood took complete control. Gabe, as he was wont to do, had eventually capitulated to her wishes.

  Now she wished he hadn’t. Anxiety rooted Ellie to the spot, temporarily shorting out her brain. Two and a half years of homeschooling and she’d forgotten what going back to school was like. She wanted to turn around, dash back to her beat up car and hightail it home where it was familiar.

  This was a madhouse. Students ran about the corridors, greeting each other, all loudly speaking at once to be heard over the already deafening crush. Ellie didn’t miss the cliques forming, the ones who looked alike congregating together to discuss the events of their summers. The smell of newly painted lockers, floor wax and cheap perfumes melded into noxious gas that hung heavily in the air.

  She kept telling herself that she needed to keep moving or she’d make a bigger fool of herself than she already was by standing in the middle of the hallway. Ellie fought her way through the overzealous crowd. With the map her guidance counselor provided, it didn’t take long for Ellie to find her Humanities class.

  She was happy to find it much quieter than the hallways, although the twittering cliques were apparent. A few heads turned and looked her way as she made her way to the back of the classroom. Some looked out of genuine curiosity, while others looked because they were nasty.

  With the sound of the bell ten minutes later, students trickled in, and brought with them was a fairly young looking man who was maybe in his late twenties. He walked behind the desk in front of the class. He turned his back on everyone and scribbled “Mr. Porter” across the blackboard. The girls to the left of Ellie began to whisper to each other how hot he was. He was actually damn good looking.

  He was tall, with a swimmer’s physique of broad shoulders and slim waist. He had skin like burnt sienna, a nice clean shaven face and a low cut fade. The preppy casual clothes he wore suited him well. They were very artistically sculpted. Fitted black slacks, navy blue and white checkered shirt and a pair of leather loafers finished the ensemble.

  Mr. Porter turned and gifted everyone with a smile. The combo of dimples set the girls to sighing.

  “Hello class, my name is Mr. Porter and I’d like to welcome everyone back from a wonderful summer break.” He went on after that, breaking out the class syllabus and reading list for the next two terms. By the time class was over, Ellie didn’t think he was so cute anymore. The amount of assignments he’d given, combined with the two books they were to read by the end of the month had her seeing Mr.
Porter for what he truly was; a slave driver.

  She didn’t fare any better in her following three classes either and when the lunch bell rang she couldn’t have jumped out of her seat fast enough. She made a quick stop at her locker to drop off a few books and grab the lunch Gabe had made for her before heading towards the quad.

  She found a place to sit beneath the willow tree, yards away from one particularly boisterous table. There were five of them; four guys and a girl and they were undoubtedly a clique. They were popular too from what Ellie could tell of the green and white letterman jackets that two of the three guys sported. The girl appeared to be the stereotypical cheerleader who smiled and flipped her bone straight blond hair over her shoulder in a flirty kind of way as she hung from the arm of one of the jocks.

  Their antics made it impossible to concentrate on anything else, especially when the lanky, blond-haired guy Ellie recognized from Physics approached the table.

  "Well, don't you look like the cat that swallowed the cream? Been on your knees again?"

  "It's funny how you mistaken me for you, Evey. Some of us have don't make giving head a daily requirement. "

  Evey Abrams, head captain of John Edgar’s cheering squad who had a certain affinity for guys in suspenders and pocket protectors threw a carrot at Matt and scowled.

  "Closet-case."

  "Whore." He retorted with a smile, while taking a seat across from her.

  Overhearing their banter, Ellie wondered whether they were serious, she would have gone on ignoring them were it not for the odd girl standing by the table who was attempting to be heard over the din of the crowd. Ellie wouldn’t have thought much of her if the table hadn’t fallen uncharacteristically silent upon her arrival.

  All eyes focused on the cinnamon haired girl as she reached out and settled a hand on the shoulder of the hooded guy seated with his head down and his back to Ellie.