We posted the mini golf ad a few days ago, and it’s done better than I expected, considering we have no true qualifications. Thomas knows how to work a camera better than I thought. We got Jordan to edit the video once we found out he’s pretty knowledgeable at it, having done it a lot back in school before he dropped out.
But Tommy’s wrong about why the ad’s getting so many clicks. People are going wild on social media for seeing Kingsley again. They’re wondering where he’s been, some are spreading rumors, and others are glad to see his pretty face again. Nobody cares about his lame line delivery and forced smile because they’re stoked their prince is back.
If the results from the ad are enough for Xavier, Kingsley will be the reason we get to keep our jobs.
As I walk off, I pat Tommy’s fluffy hair like I would a child, and he swats it away. I head for the door, and Thomas, still standing before the mirror, looks at me. “Where are you going? We aren’t meeting with them for another hour.”
A cool, but still warm, night breeze hits me as I open the door. “If this goes to hell, it might be our last chance to talk to Kingsley. If I catch him off guard and it’s just us, maybe I’ll get more than ten words out of him.”
“More optimism? I like it.” He smirks.
I wink at my brother, and then I’m out the door and heading for the Beaumont home. It’s a perfect night for a walk, not too hot, not too cold, though the air’s a little heavy. Back home, I would be bundled up in a heavy coat and scarf, but my suit jacket is all I need to keep warm during early November in Louisiana. It’s wild.
It’s hard not to get lost on the way to the Beaumont house. You’d figure it’d be hard to miss since it’s so huge, but it’s tucked away behind the resort, past some trees, a big gate, and more foliage. They built it at the edge of the property, away from the guests, and even the staff housing, though closer, is a fifteen-minute walk. I need one of those bloody golf carts.
I press the buzzer at the front of the large, golden gates and am let through. Once I reach the front door, I knock, expecting to be greeted by Kingsley’s parents. Instead, I’m met with a girl half my size.
She wears a tight crop top with a black leather skirt and matching jacket, and she’s put her braids in a bun. This is the same girl from both the club and the dinner. Odette, I think. Kingsley’s sister.
Realizing I’ve been staring, I clear my throat. “Odette, hey.”
She puts her hand on the doorframe and leans. “You can call me Odie.”
Nickname basis? It’s my first time speaking to her, and I’m already closer to her than I am to her brother.
“Cool, Odie. Nice to meet you.” I extend my hand, and she shakes it. “Is Kingsley here?”
She’s got that look on her face like I asked something stupid. “I’d hope so. The meeting starts in forty-five minutes.”
“Yeah, obviously,” I chuckle through my nose. “I know I’m early, but I wanted to see if your dad’s offer about the wine was still on the table.”
Odette’s eyes peer up as she thinks back. “Oh, yeah. I mean, you could’ve asked after dinner, but okay. I’m supposed to be meeting my friends, and I’m already late, so I don’t have time to walk you down there. Maybe my mom is around here somewhere.”
“You get to your friends, Odie.” The deeper voice pulls my attention. Odette’s lookalike stands behind her, hair freshly done while wearing his white dress shirt and slacks. “I’ll take him.”
Kingsley’s sister’s eyes widen, almost as if he’s a ghost standing behind her. “You’re down early.”
He nods, and after a moment’s pause, he gestures for her to go ahead. Odette’s eyes linger on her brother, and she licks her lips as if she has something to say but is keeping it to herself. Then she shrugs, and she’s out of the house.
Once she’s through the door, he signals for me to trail him. We pass through the living room, and it’s like it has gotten bigger since I was last here. The walls grew, the windows expanded, and the lights intensified—it’s a wonder the room doesn’t echo when someone speaks.
We go through the back door, past the patio, and head deep into their backyard. Are wine cellars usually outside? He should be leading me to his basement, not the grass.
The hairs on my neck prickle as I watch Kingsley’s movements from behind. He isn’t taking me somewhere he shouldn’t, is he? Surely they can’t have figured out who I really am. We took many precautions for that.
I mentally note the pocketknife in my sock. Can never be too safe.
I clear my throat. “Aren’t cellars usually in the basement?”
“Yeah, it’s in a basement,” he answers casually.
“But we’re outside.”
Kingsley doesn’t bother acknowledging my concerns. He continues on as if I haven’t spoken, and I clench my fists. It’s been a struggle to keep my temper in check while this arrogant mafia heir speaks to me like I’m not worth the effort. With no face to punch or person to lose it on for almost two weeks, his every sly look or lack of response makes me want to break his jaw.
He doesn’t evendoanything, and that’s all the reason it gets me so heated.
“I’d love to get some information, Beaumont,” I grumble.
