Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
“Alright, is the coffee shop okay?”
“Perfect,” I approve. “I need caffeine.”
A few minutes later, Ted stands in front of me, staring down at me with his chocolate-brown eyes. “What’s wrong with you?”
“His name is Tequila and he’s a wickedly naughty kind of guy.”
He barks out laughter and scrubs the dark stubble on his jaw. “Ouch. Since when do you get drunk?”
“Never again,” I assure him. “Where’s Gilda?”
“She’s meeting us wherever we go.”
“Grand,” I say and a few minutes later the three of us exit the campus only to come face-to-face with Damion, who looks about as good as I feel. His eyes are bloodshot, his dark brown hair a finger-rumpled mess. I wonder if the blonde did that to his hair. Maybe he fucked her all night and didn’t sleep.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, aware—oh, so aware—that if he found me now, he could have found me sooner.
“We need to talk,” he announces.
“We did that for seventeen years. I’m all talked out with you, Damion.”
Sally leans in and whispers, “Who’s this hottie?”
Damion ignores her. “Alana—”
“Talk to the blonde chick. She seemed interested in all kinds of conversation. I have nothing to say to you.”
Ted steps to my side from wherever he was before this and slides his arm around me and says, “Problem, babe?”
Damion’s spine straightens. “Babe?” he demands.
“She loves it,” Ted replies. “It gets her hot. Right, babe?”
Damion’s tongue flattens on the roof of his mouth. It’s a thing he does when he’s biting back words he should not speak. He shakes his head. “How fucking perfect,” he says before he rotates and starts walking away.
Forever.
It’s the end of us.
He’s never coming back.
Chapter Six
Alana
Nine months later
There are only one hundred coveted invitations each year to the New York City Future Leaders social.
Considering I still wasn’t accepted to a law school, let alone my dream law school of Yale, I’d expected to be shunned. So much so, that when the knock came on our door, and there was only one envelope with the courier, me and Sally were both quite certain the invite would be for her.
Except it wasn’t me that was shunned, but her.
Neither of us had understood it. She was accepted to Yale law school.
I was not.
Of course, no one really knows the process of picking the one hundred invited, though nominations by our professors are assumed. We really don’t know who’s who in the process, but many of the who’s who of our state will be at the social. Part of our reward for being picked is that we are offered the opportunity to socialize with the elite, the here and now success stories.
The people who can help us if we figure out how to help them.
Whatever the case, however it happened—that I was picked and Sally was not—Sally had been so upset, it seemed to actually affect our friendship, and when my acceptance to Yale had followed the next day, I hadn’t told her. I’d called my mother.
Of course, her reaction had been all that I’d hoped for. “Oh my God, honey! I’m so proud. I knew you could do it. Your father knew you could do it. Jeff!” she’d called out. “Come talk to your baby girl! She’s gonna be a lawyer!”
“My girl!” he’d declared, when he’d gotten on the phone. “I’m so proud.”
Later that night, Sally had hugged me and apologized. “I’m selfish. I should be happy for you. You work harder than me. We both know it. I let myself ride my name, and this is what I get in return. You deserve this. I do not.”
The next morning the invitation list is published and my name is right there with all the other named Future Leaders. There’s another name, too. One that makes my belly summersault.
Damion.
Chapter Seven
Alana
I’m packing for my weekend trip to New York City to attend the social when I find out my parents sold our house in Jersey.
“What do you mean you sold the house?” I ask, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to my suitcase. “I thought that was our forever home. I’m—” My browns dip. “I’m confused. And is it done? Or you’re thinking about it?”
“We closed last week. We’re never there and it wasn’t the image we need to portray when we’re dealing with the rich and famous.”
“The West family lived next to us, Mom. I’d hardly call it a bad neighborhood. What is going on?”
“Smart decision making, honey. That’s all. Our clients need to know we’re present in the city, in the market they care about.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“There’s no reason to distract you from school. You’ll graduate and take on the world soon enough. No need to rush it now.”
Three years, I think, now that I’m starting law school, which to her will go quickly, and to me slow as Christmas for a kid. I’m ready for the real world, but I’ve never been more convinced than I am now that we need the legal side of real estate as part of our empire. The constant need to fit in with this money crowd is exhausting.