“Excellent. Well, welcome. I’m Paul Landers, and this is my colleague, Logan Sommers, and this here is Mr. Bentley Leighton.”
I glance at each of them, but my eyes linger on Mr. Leighton. As I get a better look at him, I swallow hard, taking in his face, mouth, and biceps. Little butterflies appear in my stomach when his eyes make contact with mine.
Paul and Logan look like typical businessmen. They’re the most engaged, whereas Mr. Leighton looks bored and irritated that he’s been called into these interviews in the first place. He shifts uneasily as our eyes make contact.
He also doesn’t look the part. Where Paul and Logan wear the clean-cut look—short, slicked hair and clean-shaven face—Bentley looks straight out of a motorcycle ad. He has shaggy dark blonde hair that has a little curl to it and a week’s worth of trimmed facial hair. It’s actually a good look for him, but it definitely is not what I expected from a future CEO.
“It’s a pleasure,” I say, making sure to keep my smile seductive. It’s a talent I nailed down years ago.
“Can you tell us what you know about Leighton Enterprises? And why you think you’d benefit from the intern program here?” Paul asks right away, pen poised to start taking notes on everything I say.
I clear my throat and sit up taller. “I know all the basic information that is on your website, and honestly, it’s just the tip of what this company is really about.” I notice all three are now staring intently at me. “What is not on your website is that Leighton Enterprises is one of the largest charitable contributors in the Midwest. You give the most to foundations that support Amber Alerts, Missing Children Programs, and unresolved cold cases. You truly believe in the justice of finding missing persons, and giving justice to the families of the victims. Besides your charitable contributions, you also hold the highest record in the country for reporting on open cases more than ten years old. And I think I can benefit from all of that.”
Paul and Logan’s jaws drop as Mr. Leighton’s expression remained unchanged. I’m unsure if he’s impressed or pissed off, but I continue smiling as I make eye contact with each of them.
“That’s very impressive,” Logan finally says.
“Thank you. I did an extensive background search, but I’m very fascinated with this line of work.”
“What do you see yourself doing in the future?” Paul asks.
“I’d like to be a journalist. Perhaps a news reporter. I want to dig into open or even seemingly impossible cold cases. I want to make a difference to someone’s family, even if it’s years later. I want to do what people believe can never be done.”
This earns an eyebrow raise from Mr. Leighton. Well, it’s a start. I’ll get him to warm up to me before I walk out that door.
“Excellent choice,” Paul nods as he writes his notes down.
“What do you think you can offer Leighton Enterprises during your internship?”
“I hope to offer my skills, but mainly, I hope to make your lives easier. I want to be the middleman that helps get you whatever is needed to help you do your job better.” I know I won’t be working on any cases, so I won’t even pretend that’s an option, but I can definitely use the advantage to get my foot in the door. Once I am in, I can do my own digging.
“Sounds very ambitious.” My head jerks to Mr. Leighton, who finally speaks. His voice is low and stern. It takes me by surprise.
I smirk and cross my legs. “I guess you could say that.” I like the attention he’s finally giving me. It makes me feel like I’m cracking him.
“What can you tell us about your college experience thus far? What’s your major?” Logan asks, as I tear my eyes away from Mr. Leighton.
“I’m a double major in journalism and criminal justice. My plan is to find a career where I can merge both of those since they both fascinate me,” I answer honestly—well, as honest as I can be. I do plan to double major in college when I attend next year.
“You sound very busy,” Mr. Leighton interrupts. “How do you plan to juggle it all?”
I pull my bottom lip in between my teeth just before releasing it and answering. “I’m very skilled at multitasking.”
CHAPTER 2
Cecilia
I walk out with confidence and feel optimistic that I nailed the internship. I had Paul and Logan eating out of the palm of my hand. Mr. Leighton was impressed. I could tell—and feel it, but he didn’t let it show to his colleagues.
While I was researching Leighton Enterprises, I came across many pictures of Mr. Leighton himself. He’s gorgeous on screen, but in person, he’s trip-over-yourself-just-to-lick-him gorgeous. His hair is a shade of light brown—golden, almost—but purposely messy. I could tell his suit fit him just perfectly. I imagine his body is rock hard, chiseled to muscular perfection. It was hard to tell with him sitting down, but from his pictures he looked tall—well over six feet. The thing that tripped me up was his age. He’s certainly successful and extremely smart for only being twenty-six.
After doing more research, I learned it’s a family-owned company. After the interview, I can safely assume he’s just getting started, and his family is now forcing him to be a part of the bigger decisions like interviewing and being involved in the mechanical aspects of the corporation. He certainly acts as if he belongs there, yet seemed completely bored and irritated for having to waste an afternoon.
My mother pays little to no attention to my antics anymore. After dad died, and the insurance money ran out, she started working full-time to keep up with Casey’s tuition. And with three kids, she has a lot to balance.
She used to take me to therapy after the incident, but after thousands of dollars and no results, she was finally convinced I wasn’t going to participate anyway. Best decision she ever made. All I did was sit and stare at the wall anyway. I didn’t want to talk. It didn’t help. It didn’t bring my dad back. And it sure as hell didn’t take the memories away.
“Why are you dressed like that?” my younger brother, Nathan, asks as soon as I walk into the kitchen.
“None of your damn business.” I open the fridge and grab a can of soda.
“Cecilia,” my mother warns, “be nice.”
She only calls me by my full name when I’m in trouble, which is actually, most of the time.
I slam the fridge shut. “That was me being nice.”
I turn to walk away before remembering I need her to sign that form. I spin back around and grab it out of my purse. “Here, sign this.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “What did you do this time?”
“It was an accident,” I defend. “No one got hurt.”
“Oh, my God! Hurt? What the hell, Ceci?” She unfolds the note and reads Mr. Jamison’s reprimand. “Jesus, Cecilia.” She shakes her head in disapproval before scribbling her signature on the line. “I don’t work forty-plus hours a week to save up for your bail money,” she scowls. She assumes I’m going to get in enough trouble some day, or that I’ll smart off to the wrong person, and end up behind bars.
I wasn’t worried about it.
“You’re not invincible, Cecilia,” she warns after I roll my eyes at her lame lecture.
“I don’t know why I need your damn signature anyway. I’m eighteen.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re still living under my roof. Mr. Jamison and I have a deal.”
I snatch the letter from her hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” I turn on my heel and head back upstairs to my room.
I watch my phone like a hawk, wishing they’d call me today and tell me I got the internship. I know they said a few days, but it’s going to be torture waiting.
I grab my lockbox from under my bed and place it on top. I have the key in my bedside dresser underneath the My Little Ponies and Barbie’s I used to play with when I was a child. The only reason I keep them is that they are the last things I could find that was from my dad. Mom went crazy a while back and started throwing out all of the shit that would remind us of him. She said it would help us ‘heal’ and ‘move o
n’.
I didn’t want to heal. And I sure as fuck didn’t want to move on.
I couldn’t.
Not until that bastard was caught and sentenced to death.
* * *
“Oh, my God, that was brutal!” Cora giggles as she slams her body into the locker next to mine.
Cora’s been my best friend since we were in elementary school. She’s the only one who knows all the gory details of that day.
“You’re a drama queen,” Simon, who’s standing on the other side of me, spits out. Those two are always fighting for my attention and never getting along.
“Go away, Big Brother,” she snarls back, waving her hand back at him.
“Would you two just go hump in the closet already? Pretending to hate each other is driving me insane.”
“Oh, it’s not pretend, babe. It’s as real as Montana Greyson’s nose job,” Simon snorts.
I laugh at his remark.
“Okay, well, I have class. See you guys at lunch,” I holler over my shoulder. I know those two are secretly crazy for each other. I’m just waiting for both of them to figure it out.
I check my phone every five minutes for a missed call or voicemail. Nothing. I know I’m impatient, but I can’t help it. I’m fidgety as hell.
My whole life is weighing on this internship, and although, it’s technically not counting for anything, I just need to get into their system long enough to find what I’m looking for.
The position wasn’t a typical college internship. Most students that needed internship credits didn’t take any college classes during the semester because they worked at least forty hours a week. However, Leighton Enterprises was looking for a weekend intern—someone they could train and mold into a future employee.
It was a rare occasion that they even held internship interviews since most were found from within—someone’s son or daughter, niece or nephew—but not this time. And this time, it would be mine.
It’s spring semester for college students, meaning many are getting ready for graduation soon. And although I’m preparing for graduation as well, mine’s a high school graduation. This internship would be my one and only chance to get into this company.
I’ll need to learn a lot about their software system, and how to crack into the private and restricted information—for my own personal research—but Simon is a computer genius. He teaches me anything I want or need to know. He doesn’t know the extreme measures to which I’m about to go, but I know he’ll help me if I ask him.
I don’t pretend to be an expert, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to find out information and piece it together. Given the right tools and details, I know I can find out more about my dad and what he was dealing with, and at least with that, maybe I can have some closure.
To distract me from checking my phone, I decide to research Bentley Leighton during computer time. Okay, so it’s not the best distraction, but it doesn’t hurt to know more about my potential boss.
The second I click on images my entire body heats. Apparently, he was into modeling before he started working at Leighton Enterprises. There are professional shoots and magazine spreads of him shirtless…though, I am definitely not complaining about them.
He’s completely ripped and lined with tattoos on one arm and his chest. That, I wasn’t expecting to see, but the more I dig into his past, the more sense it makes. He wanted to be a model. He was getting his career off the ground, booking shoots and ads, when his parents told him it was time to become involved in the family enterprise.
Explains his craptastic attitude.
My entire body tightens and butterflies reappear in my stomach. It’s a foreign feeling—like nothing I’ve ever felt before. There was no denying I was attracted to Mr. Leighton’s looks, but his attitude sure could use an adjustment.
Interestingly enough, he majored in English with a minor in criminal justice. So he has the background to be a reporter or journalist. And from the reports that I found online, he’s damn good, too.
* * *
I grab the lockbox that I left on my bed and open it. I have numerous files, pictures, and ‘evidence’ from my dad’s death. I wish I could put the memories in there as well, locked up, so I don’t have to be reminded of them constantly.
I look through the newspaper clippings that have headlines like Murder on Maple Heights and Man Shot Down in Front of House. Let’s not forget about his three innocent children standing in the front yard.
Who fucking does that?
I rub my scar as I close my eyes and remember. It’s hazy, and I wish I could remember more. I wish I could remember the man who was driving the old ‘79 Cadillac. It was like slow motion—his car slows down right in front of our house, he pulls out his gun and aims for my dad. As soon as my dad falls to the ground, the car speeds off.
And then nothing. All I remember are sounds. Screaming. Crying. Sirens. That’s it. My memory is literally useless.
Perhaps it was because a bullet nicked me in the shoulder, and I blacked out, waking up a day later in the hospital.
We had cops and detectives flooding the house for days after. They checked into my dad’s background, trying to link anything to a gang or a business deal gone wrong. It made no sense. My dad wasn’t a bad guy.
* * *
“What book are we reading tonight, Princess?” my dad asked as he tucked me into bed.
“Hm…” I pretended to think aloud, but he knew which one. My favorite one. “Sleeping Beauty.” I smiled.
He smiled and shook his head. “Of course.”
He grabbed it from my bookshelf and sat next to me in bed. I leaned against my pillow as his arm wrapped around me.
He was the best at reading stories, always making the voices match the characters. I giggled every time he read it.
“The End,” he said as he turned the last page and shut the book.
“One more time?” I pleaded. “Please, Daddy?”
“Not tonight, Princess.”
“Will I ever find my Prince Charming?” I asked, stalling, not wanting him to leave just yet.
“Yes, of course. And when you do…you’ll know he’s the one. You’ll know.”
I crinkled my nose. “I’m too young to be rescued just yet. I don’t need a hero.” I giggled.
He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Be your own hero, Princess. Worry about finding the one that makes you happy. That’s all that matters, anyway.”
“You’ll always be my hero, Dad.”
* * *
The few memories I have left of my dad are priceless. He was a great dad, and I feel lost without him. I owe him this—not just for me, but for my family, too.
After six months, the detectives called to say it was a cold case. They had no leads, no evidence, and without a full license number to track the vehicle down, they had nothing.
My sister had limited information. She remembered the license plate vaguely. She remembered a QL on the plates, but it wasn’t enough. And although she explained what the car looked like, and they had narrowed it down, nothing in the system matched. It was probably stolen and sold for parts.
Even after asking the neighbors and finding a couple possible witnesses, it never led to anything. Nothing did.
The only thing I can do now is find some information out on my father. That’s my ticket. Find out whom he was associated with, his past, his job—basically anything my eleven-year-old self didn’t know.
My mother wouldn’t tell me anything more about him. She said he was an insurance broker—simple nine to five job. However, she hadn’t worked since before Casey was born, and I found it very unlikely that we could afford to live in one of the most expensive parts of town on a broker’s salary. I was a kid, but I wasn’t stupid.
CHAPTER 3
Bentley
Week One
“Can someone please explain to me why the fuck I’m wasting my afternoon looking at intern applications?” I pace my office overlooking the floor
to ceiling windows. “This is why I have Paul and Logan,” I scream into my earpiece.
“You need to learn all aspects of the job, Bentley,” my father replies calmly. “If you wish to take over some day, this is all part of the training process.”
“I don’t want to take over. You fucking know that!” I spat back. I rock back and forth on my heels, trying to contain my temper. “I told you I’d go along with this damn charade if I got to do what I wanted.”
“And you will, son. But even bosses have to do the dirty work sometimes. It’s all part of the business. You’re a Leighton.”
I scowl every time my father says that. You’re a Leighton. Yeah…not by fucking choice.
“Fine,” I agree through clenched teeth. ‘This is the first and only time I do this.”
“Well, do a good job and you won’t have to.” Before I could retaliate, he hung up.
I whip my earpiece out and throw it on my desk. “Fucking interns.”
I unhappily drag my feet into the boardroom where Paul and Logan are already seated. I take the chair next to them and open the folder of applicants in front of me.
I hear them talking and wonder if I should say something, but before I can, the first applicant enters.
Shit.
And then another.
Shit.
And another.
Shit.
They’re all shit. Every single one of them. They can barely make eye contact with me, yet they want to work for me?
I about give up and say to hell with it before Erika, my assistant, beeped in through the phone and announced there was one more.
Fucking great.
I grab the last applicant’s form and study it before she enters. Casey West. 21. University of Nebraska. Senior.
I look over her letter of recommendations and see several from professors and assistants. Fast-learner, above average student, and dependability are all her glowing raves.
Alphas & Millionaires Starter Set Page 44
