Midnight Princess Page 2

  I don’t understand how a mother could ever hate that face.

  I smile. “Yes, you’re cute, but you’re still getting up. Let’s go, ladies. Breakfast in fifteen.”

  I jog out to the kitchen and grab a couple of cereal bowls, their favorite cereal—which is, of course, two different brands—milk, and orange juice, then place the items on the table. Usually, I have time to make them a real breakfast, but after last night’s fiasco and this morning’s admonishments from my mother, I am not in the mood.

  I grab my overnight oats from the fridge and make a cup of coffee before sitting at the table to eat my breakfast, all the while keeping a mental timer for my sluggish sisters. I’ve become quite good at it over the years.

  I really should be falling in love, fawning over some boy who doesn’t deserve it, and getting my heart broken. Normal things. Sometimes I think about being in a relationship—something I’ve never been able to have. Nobody wants to be with a twenty-year-old who has grown responsibilities, but I do think of the day when a man will be so into me, he can’t keep his hands off me. To show me how a woman should always feel.

  Maybe one day.

  2

  Rendezvous

  Ashton

  I never really wanted to go to college, but it was expected. It has been drilled in me from a young age that I have to carry on the family name. The Preston name. A prominent name I never really wanted and did everything I could to distance myself from the responsibilities of holding Preston standards, as my father would say. Standards I could care less about.

  My father had no choice in the matter. He followed directly behind my grandfather’s legacy, taking over the most prestigious law firm in Society Hill. His clientele is beyond rich: mostly mobsters, others not technically baring the label, but all influential, powerful people who have absolutely no boundaries. I learned a long time ago that my father doesn’t have any either.

  Today seems different. The people in his home office seem more… desperate. From time to time, my father allows me to sit in on his meetings with the consent of his clients. Most of them could care less about my presence because everyone knows the Preston family can be trusted with anything and everything. Even though I’m just beginning my sophomore year in college, everyone expects me to learn the business now. To protect the children of the real people who run this town.

  As I sit quietly on the long leather sofa directly behind the couple facing my father at his desk, I stare at my watch, hoping this impromptu meeting will be over soon so I can get to class. Or possibly, coincidentally run into someone.

  My perfect someone.

  But something catches my ear that I wasn’t expecting. I lean forward, listening intently to the sobbing woman who is being consoled by the man beside her. My father’s stoic demeanor doesn’t change, however, as the woman continues with her story. Her story of hope, loss, and betrayal pushes me to believe my father may occasionally help good people, not just assholes who hire him to get away with shit. But this is my father. Money is the only thing that controls his decision process. As humble as these people appear, there’s no way they can afford this meeting, let alone his hourly rate.

  “Mrs. Rose,” my father begins as he grabs a box of tissues from his desk, then walks around it to stand in front of the couple. He holds the box in front of the crying woman, who takes a tissue to wipe her eyes. “I do understand this situation is upsetting.” He takes a breath and eyes the man. “But unless you can afford my rate, Mr. Rose, I cannot help you,” my father says without breaking a sweat. He leans his backside against his desk, crossing his legs at his ankles and arms across his chest.

  He’s such a fucking dickhead.

  My father stares at me. My irritation almost compels me to argue for them, but my father puts his hand up to stop me before I budge from the couch.

  Mr. Rose slowly removes his arm from his wife, then leans over to grab the large black briefcase he came in with. He stands, placing it on the desk beside my father, who is still standing in the exact same position. Blocking my view, Mr. Rose opens the briefcase, automatically lightening the mood in the room, and places a large envelope on my father’s desk.

  “We purchased a home locally, so please stay in touch,” Mr. Rose adds.

  “I’ll be away for the next few weeks, but I’ll be reachable. My private investigator will get on this right away. Is this acceptable?” My father stands with his hand extended, waiting on Mr. Rose to comply with the terms by shaking his hand, and he does. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

  Without another word, the couple leaves my father’s office. As I walk over to my father’s desk, he closes the briefcase, but not before I see it’s full of cash with a manila envelope sitting on top of it. Not all rich people are as flashy as others.

  “Were you really not going to help them if they couldn’t pay?” I wonder, hoping my father isn’t as much of a jerk as he lets on.

  He looks at me with the same stare he always gives me. My father has always told me I need to keep emotion out of business. This is no exception. “Get out of here; you’re going to be late. And don’t forget to put that away first.” He points to the gun at my side, grabs the briefcase, and walks out of his office.

  I put the gun that technically I’m not old enough to utilize away in his safe. He always makes me carry it, just in case, during meetings regardless of the location or who it’s with.

  As I turn to walk out, the envelope catches my eye. Clearly, I’m not supposed to open it, but I can use this opportunity to help my father and show him I’m more than just some kid that’s only good enough to sit in on meetings and carry a gun. I need to prove to him I can handle some of the workload on my own.

  Not to mention, I actually want to help these people. Besides, I know for a fact his investigator is busy looking for three men that have disappeared in the past year. The police have had no leads, so the families came to the one person they knew would do whatever it took to find them. Dead or alive. For a price, of course.

  Not wanting to get caught, I quickly make copies of the envelope’s contents without even looking and stash them into my bookbag. I’ll get started with this first thing tomorrow morning.

  As I stand at the entrance to this massive, castle-like school, I hope college life will be a little different. In high school, I not only had my name to protect me, but I was also a jock. I pretty much had it made. There were no challenges. I got what I wanted, when I wanted, with no hesitation from anyone.

  Almost anyone. And that anyone is the someone I’m staring at right now. Possibly the reason I chose this school beyond others. And of course, she doesn’t notice me. She’s never noticed me. Her head is always down, looking at the floor, in her phone, or in some damn book.

  Like now. She’s staring at her class schedule; no doubt pleased with whatever class she’s heading to. I gawk at her, admiring her makeup-free face as she places the tip of her pen in her teeth. Her long, blonde hair is up in a ponytail with loose tendrils falling in front of her face. No glasses this year, I notice as she pulls the fallen hair behind her ear. And that body. If she only knew what I want to do to her. If I could just bend her over—

  “Bruh! What the fuck are you doing?” my best friend of ten years interrupts my lewdness. He stands in front of me, blocking my view. “What is with you and that chick?” he asks, not understanding why I’ve been so hung up on her. Or better yet, why I have never made a move. “You can have any girl you want, and you want,” he turns and points at her as she heads up the stairs into the building, “her.”

  “Fuck you, man.” I shove his shoulder slightly and head toward the front of CamU.

  He chuckles, following behind me. “Fuck me? No, you need to fuck her already,” he says too loudly as the girl of my dreams hears.

  She turns slightly, looking down at us with the most disgusted look on her face. Great, the one time she pays attention to me, she thinks I’m a perv. My friend finally looks at her, noticing his arrogance h
as reached her innocence as he puts his head down. I’ve never seen him ashamed of anything he said before, but the look of disappointment she gives him would shut anyone down.

  Nonetheless, I’ve never seen Lance Hartman shy away from confrontation. Me neither for that matter. Thankfully, she finally turns away and heads for the student center without a word. I watch her closely as we follow her to the same location to wait for our first class.

  The lounge is crowded as usual, but she finds her way to the quietest area, farthest from everyone else, and plops onto one of the comfy couches. Lance and I stand at the other end of the large space, just as whatever girl-interest-of-the-week gains his attention. Her friend attempts to talk to me but soon realizes I have no interest in getting to know her.

  And I don’t. I’m not exactly sure what has drawn me to a girl as shy and intelligent as Cynthia. I’ve always gone for the cheerleading-type girls, popular and who come from money, like me. But those girls bore me. I want more. Need more.

  Someone to challenge me, and for sure doesn’t want to date me because of who my father is. From the first time I saw her, I knew she didn’t know me or who my family was. Even if she did, as I remember it, she wouldn’t have given a fuck.

  My sophomore year in high school was the first time we spoke. Granted, I had seen her before but never really noticed her, not until she gave me no choice but to.

  I’m not having the best of days. My father is getting on my case about school and making the varsity football team this year. The pressure for following in the Preston men’s footsteps can be overwhelming, and my father will be damned if his son does not make the varsity team by sophomore year.

  After receiving a call from my coach, my father calls me during class, unable to wait until I get home from school. His berating angers me so much I don’t realize I walked into the library while on the phone. It shouldn’t matter, considering this place is usually empty during school hours, but it does today.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  I hear an angry, low voice behind me. I turn to see Cynthia Kellan standing close behind me, ferociously staring with her hands on her hips. She is wearing clothes entirely too big for her tiny stature, as usual, her hair up in a bun, with her thick-framed glasses hanging around her neck. Although she’s clearly upset, I can’t stop staring at those big brown eyes that somehow calm my outrage the more her anger stabs through me. She crosses her arms and begins tapping her foot as she stares between my phone and me.

  “Dad, I have to go,” I whisper, hanging up on my ranting father without looking away from her. Her omnipotent gaze gives me the impression she sees right through me. Sees all the things I try to hide from anyone and everyone.

  “You may be some hotshot somebody out there,” she points to the doors behind me, “but in here, you’re nobody. I expect you to respect the rules.” She points to the sign beside us that says ‘Quiet Please,’ looks me up and down, and then walks away. I watch her sit behind the large counter at the front of the library. I had no idea she worked in here.

  I want to pull her back and stick my tongue down her throat, completely aroused by her outburst. No one has ever had the gull to talk to me like that. And I like it … a little too damn much. So much so, I’m too afraid to talk to her.

  Me, Ashton Preston, fearful of rejection.

  I walked out of there, hoping that wouldn’t be the last time we would speak, but it was. I never find the nerve to approach her. She hated me. Made up her mind about who I am and the man I had no choice but to become.

  I have no intention of becoming what my father is. I want to do more with my family’s name. But that’s now. Back then, I’m sure she saw who I was: just another arrogant prick who thought he knew it all and would get anything he wanted.

  And I did. Just not her.

  “You’re not the same person,” my sister, Ashley, appears in front of me.

  “What?” I ask, diverting my attention to Cynthia, who gathers her things fifteen minutes early.

  “She knew you as an idiot back then. But you’re not now.” She giggles. “Well, not as much of an idiot.”

  “You got jokes?” I chuckle. I love my sister. She’s nothing like the women of our family either. She does what she wants and has no intention of just being a housewife. Although, neither of us think of our mother as some meek woman who does what she’s told. In fact, our mother is just the opposite, and we love her for it.

  “Maybe I can invite her to the club tonight?” she says.

  “Sis, I’ve never seen her there … or out anywhere for that matter.”

  “True, but you and I both know just how persuasive I am.” She smiles.

  “Do what you want. But the minute you mention Rendezvous, she’s not coming.” I blush, almost hoping she won’t. “Besides, it’s Ladies’ Night.”

  “Yes. Perfect chance for me to get her to loosen up. Once she’s friends with me, you’re a shoe-in.”

  I shake my head. “Why do you care so much?”

  “Easy. I’m tired of you messing with these bimbos,” she says loud enough for the girl Lance is speaking with to hear.

  I don’t understand why she has this crush on him. She can do so much better. Besides, I would never let him get anywhere near my sister, not until he grows the fuck up, at least. Ashley smiles at me one last time as she heads over to Cynthia.

  This ought to be interesting.

  3

  Play it Cool

  Cynthia

  It’s been a few years since I embarrassed myself and decided to berate the most popular boy in school. It just so happened the day he obnoxiously walked into the school library, yelling on his phone, was the one-year anniversary of my grandparents’ deaths. I had been sitting in there somberly, staring at the last photo we took together on my phone—the last happy day of my forsaken life.

  He was so arrogant and involved in whatever remedial drama he was experiencing, he hadn’t noticed the wetness in my eyes. Then again, I probably didn’t give him the chance to notice. I was so quick to expel the anger I had been building over the past year that I decided to take advantage of the only person in front of me at the time.

  Every day since, he has not let me forget. He hasn’t realized I’ve noticed him staring at me, no doubt waiting for the right time to humiliate me for disrespecting him. There were many times I wanted to apologize, tell him what happened that day had nothing to do with him. But he has always had some meaningless, dumb chick on his arm, believing whatever line he spewed. The same girls who would make fun of me because I never wore makeup, my large glasses, and my hair always put in a bun or my baggy clothes. Clothes I had no choice buying because they never seemed to have my size at thrift shops.

  This year things are different. I studied my ass off in school and worked hard to afford college. I did so well in high school; I got a free ride to Camelot University. So, there’s no need for baggy clothes. Now, I can buy new clothes and even contacts. Of course, I still work at Jumping Joe’s to earn money for the house and my sisters. Unlike me, I want them to fit in during their high school years.

  Considering Ashton is still shooting me those looks, it seems even in college I may still have to fight the bullying. Looks, I’m not sure will ever stop. I wish I had the courage to walk over there and tell him off for trying to torment me these past two years, but I don’t. I have no idea what he’s thinking and probably never will because I don’t have any experience with boys. None.

  Instead, I turn my back and gather my things to head to my first class.

  “Cynthia, right?” an unfamiliar voice asks.

  I look up slowly, noticing the lengthy legs of a girl wearing a very short skirt and matching camisole shirt. A cami so tight, her boobs slightly protrude from the top. I can never find the backbone to wear something so daring.

  I finally look at the face of the unfamiliar voice and recognize her immediately. The most beautiful girl in high school is now in front of me… talking to me… and s
he knows my name.

  Did his freaking clan follow me here or something?

  “Yes, that’s me,” I say, sitting up and closing the messenger bag I use for books.

  “This seat taken?” she asks and sits beside me before I answer.

  Why is she talking to me?

  She quietly stares at me for a moment, letting her eyes examine me before smiling. “Who knew you had this body in high school?”

  I cower immediately, wrapping my arms at my waist as if that hides me.

  “Stop it.” She pulls my arms from in front of me so that they fall back at my side. “There’s no need to be shy around me. Do I look like the shy type?” She waves her hands down her body, then holds her arms out slightly as if she’s on display. Which is exactly how she’s dressed.

  My brain is still stuck on wondering why she’s here. She never said a word to me during our entire high school years together. Nothing has changed about me, except my appearance. I’m still the same weirdo. So, I’ve concluded she must want something.

  “I don’t do that anymore,” I offer without her asking. Although she’s never once asked me directly, I don’t do other student’s projects anymore. I did make quite a bit of money doing so, especially from the rich kids, but I don’t need the money anymore. I do need this scholarship, and doing course work for other students will get it revoked for sure. Besides, it’s only October, and she’s already trying to put me on notice as if I’m some sort of lawyer’s retainer.

  “That’s not why I’m here.” She smiles. “You’re in college now… Don’t you want to go out and have fun? I’ve never seen you, like anywhere … ever.”