“Fine, fine … but you know that all that was just rubbish. My bird Nora here is the sweetest, and you better be treating her like it.”
He kisses her once again, and she smiles sweetly at me. “Of course I am.”
“Except for when it comes to cleaning our cars off. You would think I was asking him to play Russian roulette when I handed him the window scraper the first time. He looked at me as if he might die if he really had to scrape ice off of his own car.”
I look at her puzzled. “Huh?”
Nora rolls her eyes. “God, you too! I should have guessed though, rich kids never have to defrost their own vehicles.”
I laugh, if only she knew about my drive in on that first night in Vermont. “Says the princess.”
“Technically, I’m not a princess since the line of royalty flows through—”
I cut her off, loving her, but not wanting her large brain to elaborate on the centuries of British royalty and how the roles worked. “I think my stomach is still about to burst from those delicious meatballs.”
“One thing I will say for this country is that they got it right when it comes to food.”
“Kill him!” Nora screams down at the court, while Asher and I exchange a look of amused surprise.
She lifts an eyebrow at her boyfriend. “What?”
“I didn’t realize you were such a fan, love.” He smacks a kiss against her cheek.
“Well, it’s not like a crew race … I don’t have to be proper and wear a nice Sunday hat. They’re practically mauling each other out there. As an American, I can get behind some good old-fashioned blood sport. Plus, I’m rooting for Eloise’s man.”
“Righto, darling. Speaking of blood sport, are those really your friends?” Asher points over to where Gretchen, Nina, Ciara and the rest of the Charter girls sit.
Gretchen is laying into one of the girls, a redhead with a curled ponytail, for something or other. She’s practically hissing at her while Nina and Ciara cackle down on the girl, who sits a bleacher below the three. It looks like mean girls at their worst, and my stomach turns thinking about what these girls do to other females to belittle, and even harm, them.
I mentally check myself, deciding whether I should tell my former schemer of a friend just what I’ve fallen into. He doesn’t even go to our college, so technically, I wouldn’t be breaking the social club pledge rules.
Hushing my voice, I motion him to come close. “Okay, I need your expertise on how to backstab and sneak around.”
Asher flexes his hands, cracking his knuckles. “I’m a little out of practice, but it doesn’t mean I don’t miss this life just a little bit. Lay it on me.”
I give him the abridged version. “So at the beginning of the semester, I got an invitation to join a secret club, if you will, with those girls. They wanted me to go through a bunch of initiation tasks, which felt fun at first. But then, well, let’s just say they’re you from senior year on steroids. Catty, mean, and I’m pretty sure they did something illegal last year that led to a girl being hurt, and leaving the school.”
Asher breathes a sigh. “God, I do miss plotting … I bet those girls are good. But, alas, that is how you become a horrible person, just ask my father. So what do you need to do?”
I lean my head more toward him, Nora still focused on the game. While I love my friend, a schemer she is not. “I wasn’t sure, at first I was just going to leave it alone. But … I’ve seen them trod on too many people. I just get this feeling that they’re plotting and manipulating … just everything. And you know me, I don’t stand for that rubbish. Had I known what you were doing to Nora, I would have chopped off your bollocks.”
“Believe me, I’ll keep making up for that for the rest of my life. But this isn’t about me. If your gut tells you to dig deeper to expose these slags, then by all means, you have my blessing.”
I shove my hand through my hair as Colton scores a basket, and the crowd cheers for him. I feel bad not paying attention, but I know that if my boyfriend knew what I was discussing, he’d know it was more important.
“But how do I go about it? I think … I think they had one of their pledges raped and they covered it up.”
He blows a breath out. “Jesus … that’s low. Then bloody hell, you have to expose them. And speaking from experience, there has to be a trail if they covered something up. Pictures, texts, a contract … it’s there, Eloise. You just have to find it.”
His words ring in my ears, and I know he’s right. I shouldn’t concern myself with this … but I’m in. I’m here. And no one else is going to do it.
Glancing back at Gretchen, I smile to myself. I’m about to bring her whole wicked kingdom down.
Twenty-Nine
Colton
Six hard-fought, knock down drag out games later and we are the two thousand seventeen College Basketball Champions.
I almost couldn’t believe it when that final buzzer rang, when the fans rushed the court, when the confetti in the Jade Mountain colors came falling from the rafters. For so long, we had been working toward this, falling short both years prior by just one game. But now … we were champions.
“Did you see that scout for the Bulls? He beelined for you, dude.” Griffin pats me on the back, the crowded bar swarming around us.
It might be stupid, but we’d wanted to celebrate at home, choosing to drive the five hours home from the afternoon game in New York City just to celebrate in true hometown style at The Croc. And now we were surrounded like gods, everyone coming up to buy us drinks, do a shot with one of the winners, or simply ask for our autographs. I think our fellow students now understood that this would probably be the last time they saw any of us play for the school.
“Man, this is sad …” Larry frowns into his beer, mimicking my thoughts. “It’s our last game as teammates.”
“Aw shit, I didn’t even think about that until right now, thanks man.” Griffin flips him the bird. “What the hell are we going to do now?”
Most of us were going up for the draft this year, not waiting until our senior year because we were all mostly ready for the next step. No one wanted to risk injury playing for no money in college for another year, and like I said before, basketball was my major. I wasn’t concerned about getting a degree, it wasn’t what I was here for. If needed, there was always time for that later.
I smile at them. “Live it up without commitments until the end of the year, and then go on to whoop each other’s asses in the pros.”
It was true, we were kind of free to live like normal college students until we walked across that draft stage. I’d had a number of interested scouts pull me aside after we won game after game; this weekend was like a draft in and of itself. With offers of apartments, cars, girls, tickets, basically anything I wanted to convince me to come play for them … it is hard not to feel like a kid in a candy shop. There are so many rumors swirling that I’m going to be taken as the first pick, and my heart drops to my feet every time I hear it. It’s all I’ve ever dreamed about, a dream that would solve all of my family’s problems.
Ever since Eloise paid Mac off, I’d sent the rest of his twenty thousand to Joelle for Mom’s treatment. It should last us the rest of the year, if she doesn’t have a huge medical problem on top of all of the other problems. But after that, I’m on the hook again, not to mention paying Eloise back because I do plan to do that. If I could sign a contract as the first-round pick, it would make all of my problems disappear.
And it would also just be fucking awesome. My blood sings in my veins when I imagine walking across the stage to hold up my first-round jersey from my new team.
“I’m gonna slaughter you, Reiter. Next LeBron my ass, I’ll wipe the floor with you.” Nial walks up, downing a shot someone hands him.
We’re all three sheets to the wind already, drunk off victory and alcohol.
“I’m going to miss you guys.” Griffin tackles us all into a bear hug, and I can’t help but laugh.
�
�Um, excuse me, what is this rubbish? I thought I was the only one who got to throw themselves all over Colton.” A thick British accent sounds from behind us.
I release my teammates immediately and turn, scooping my girl up in a big bear hug. “Is this better?”
“A hundred times.” Eloise bends down to press her lips to mine from where I hold her above me.
“I thought you’d never get here.” I slowly lower her to the ground, the wall of people closing in around us.
It’s insane in The Croc tonight, Jade Mountain gear everywhere with people shouting and drinking way too much in the wake of victory.
“Well, some crazy blokes decided it would be a fantastic idea to take the team bus back to Vermont, and some of us had to reschedule our flights at the last minute.” She rolls her eyes at me.
I wince. “Yeah, babe, sorry about that … we just thought this would be more fun.”
She waves me off, motioning for Griffin to pour her a beer. “No worries, my love, you’re right, this is better. And that win, my lord. I’ve never felt such a rush!”
She’s extremely cute, her features lighting up as she relives that final shot to me, her point of view from the stands.
I bend down to whisper in her ear. “I want to celebrate that rush with you later.”
Eloise smirks. “Why do you think I rescheduled my flight so I could be home earlier.”
We both realize the weight of the word home in her statement, and not for the first time do I question what will happen when the semester is over.
“I love you.” I search her gaze, wanting her to return the words. Finally.
Our lives are going in completely opposite directions. Mine to professional basketball here in America, which will have me on the road almost three quarters of the year. And hers back to Paris, back to endless nights in restaurants and years of proving herself to be the best chef in the game.
My thoughts are interrupted when a conniving voice interrupts our little rendezvous. “Congratulations, Colton, I always knew you could do it.”
I turn to find Gretchen, queen of the bitches, standing right next to us. “Uh, thanks.”
Gretchen and I have never been particularly close, but as top members of both of our social clubs, I sense she’s always felt some sort of entitlement or claim over me … as she does with all of the more popular, I hate that word, males on campus.
“Eloise, nice to see you could make it home so soon. Funny, you didn’t consult with us on how we were getting back.” She tips her head, as if this is just some innocent conversation.
Yeah, this one is about as innocent as a hornet’s nest.
“Blimey, I apologize. I had to get back to tend to my boyfriend.” Eloise smiles sweetly, a phoniness dripping from the expression.
Gretchen scowls, knowing that my girl isn’t scared of her. “You’d be wise to check with your future sisters first before making any kind of move. As you know, your sisters will always have your back. The same can’t always be said of men.”
The nasty girl looks at me, raising her eyebrows and trying to insinuate something to Eloise. I’ve never been a particularly violent person, except when it’s on the court during a game, but I want to throttle this girl. First, she forces Eloise to publicly declare us as exclusive, which I’m not complaining about, but she made her do it before either of us might have been ready. And now she’s trying to … what? Claim I cheated? Claim I’m not the best thing for Eloise, or that she isn’t the best thing for me. God, I am really starting to loathe the meaningless drama on this campus.
“Don’t worry, Gretchen, I know who has my back.” Eloise just grins again, snuggling farther into my chest.
“Good, you should watch it.” Gretchen mutters under her breath before walking away.
“God, she’s a nasty piece of shite.” Eloise blows out a breath when she’s gone.
“Why do you even put up with them then?” I swing us around to the bar, needing some more drinks after that encounter.
She chews her lip, a move that has that rush we were talking about before moving distinctly to my hardening cock. “I’m still trying to get to the bottom of that.”
I can’t help it, I bend down and bite her lip, sucking it into my mouth. “How about we forget about that, and celebrate?”
Her eyes widen, and I feel it when she rubs her thighs together in frustration. “Next rounds on me, champion.”
Thirty
Eloise
Making my way down a row of vines, I run my hands over each individual grape, loving the feel of newly forming wine under my fingertips.
“Is there anything like an early harvest?” Blair sighs, walking up behind me.
I shake my head. “I was just thinking the same thing. I forget how peaceful it is out here, among the rows.”
She picks up a certain cluster, popping a very premature grape off its vine. “They’re bitter as shit this early, but I always like to taste them. Even now, you can tell if it’s going to produce a good vintage or not.”
We’re touring some of the local wineries that lay in the mountains and valleys around campus, an early spring trip that our Vine Science course requires. I don’t mind whatsoever; wine tasting and touring a bunch of beautiful land? I would do this all day.
“I don’t mind either way; we don’t get to do this much in Paris. Or even London. Living in a city, it’s hard to get out to the country to a vineyard. It takes a bunch of tube connections, or a train ride, and even then, you have to coordinate to get to the actual vineyard. Here, you have them right in your backyard. If I was here for a longer period of time, I’d tour one every single weekend.”
Blair tilts her head. “I guess I never thought of it that way. Damn, Mason, you’re getting all emotional on me … I forgot you were leaving soon.”
I smile, a bittersweet grin. “Don’t worry, you can come visit me in Paris.”
A pang hits my heart, one of sadness. I’ve gotten close with Blair over the last few months, taking all of our courses together and just having such similar views on the food industry and on life. I’ll miss her.
“You bet I’m going to be surfing on your couch until I can land a top sommelier job or something and then those Frenchies won’t be able to kick me out.”
I laugh, heading back up to the building that houses the tasting room. It’s still chilly out here, and I need a good dark red to warm my veins.
“So, one more year and then what?” Blair holds the door open for me, and we spot our classmates.
The vineyard’s tasting and office building is an enormous renovated barn, split into rooms done up in rustic decor, with twinkling white Christmas lights strung around every rafter. The floors are unfinished wood, a little dusty as if cowboy boots stomped all over them for years. The tasting room is one big open concept, with counters set up all around the floor for different groups to taste at the same time. Small stands of fudge and cheese are set up next to each counter, so that customers can sample wines that change on the palette after food is introduced.
“Well, first I have to get through the loads of work next year that the Sorbonne will bring. In my final year, I have to apprentice with a top chef somewhere in Paris … I’m not an easily frightened person but the thought of being under a master French chef makes me shake in my knickers.”
Blair laughs, setting herself up at a counter and picking up the tasting menu. She circles eight wines, and then shows the employee. “Oh no, not your knickers!”
I give her a gentle shove. “Piss off. Anyways, then I have a rigorous, twelve-course final exam served to all of the professors. I have to showcase my knife-work, the use of different cooking techniques, plating, wine-pairing, and even dessert. Which I am bloody terrible at, so the majority of my summer will be spent researching baking and pastries.”
Circling the eight wines I’d like to taste, I smile at the employee who begins to uncork bottles and pour them. My mouth waters as I watch the red and white liquids splash into gla
sses all lined up in a row.
“Well, at least there is nowhere better than Paris to discover the best pastries. Let me ask you this, and know I don’t mean it as an insult. You have one of the most famous men in the world as your dad, and he makes boatloads of money. You don’t have to work a day in your life, so why do you? And secondly, couldn’t he just buy you a restaurant to run?”
I chuckle, because I assume most people think that way as well. “I don’t take offense, but most people don’t understand who my father is if they think like that. We came from nothing; my parents both worked two jobs, and my father hustled to keep his dream of being an actor alive. He’d run to casting calls on his lunch break, he worked overtime to pay for the littlest amount of coaching or headshots. While he is happy to fund my lifestyle, it also comes with expectations. That I attend school, get a degree of some kind, improve myself. My parent’s biggest fear is that I’ll end up back where they were before my father was discovered.”
Blair nods, and understanding blooms in her eyes.
I continue, sipping my first glass, the sharp notes exploding exquisitely in my mouth. “And for me personally, I could never sit back and be one of those socialite, trust-fund princesses. I was right there alongside my parents, grinding for every scrap when I couldn’t even afford a new pair of jeans to go to school in. If I allowed my parent’s money to fund any and everything I did, I’d feel like a totally daft cow. How stupid would I have to be not to want to build something of my own? It’s just lazy if you ask me. Plus, if there is anything in the restaurant industry that completely blackballs you, it’s not earning your stripes. Clawing your way up, showing your skills … that’s how you build a bloody successful career.”
On her third glass, Blair swishes the glass and sniffs it. “Here, here! I agree, though you can’t expect the respect if you don’t work for it.”
“Exactly, see, I knew there was a reason I fancied you. But after graduation, and the grunt work, I’d love to open an upscale junk food restaurant. Which sounds like an oxymoron, I realize that, but I think it would be so fun. And a little bit more relaxed than these European restaurants who are doing small plates of such thinly sliced beef, you’re basically paying to leave hungry. I want to serve macaroni and cheese croquettes, lollipops of fried chicken, bangers and mash as egg rolls, nachos with marinated duck. It will be a posh little lounge with frothy drinks that have cotton candy or something in them. Just a fun ambience and delicious, simple food.”
Elite Page 12
