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FOUR
Remi
Oakwood is exactly as expected, the three Ps of rich living—prestigious, pretentious, and pompous—but damn if it’s not gorgeous. It’s nestled deep in the forests of Northern California, surrounded by oak trees on private property most people don’t even know exists. A grin overtakes my face as my driver slows to a stop and comes to open my door. Immediately, I’m assaulted with the sound of acorns falling to the ground and my nostrils flare as they pick up on the faint scent of pine.
Before me is the registration hall, an imposing building made entirely of weathered stone, its corners covered in creeping ivy. The leaves of the giant oak trees are a golden yellow mixed with brown, but the ivy stubbornly remains a bright splash of green in the early fall scenery. I’ll miss summer, but I’m ready to embrace autumn. This is when my family thrives—during hunting season. Even though my last name is Radcliffe, I’m a Remington through and through. My mother couldn’t have picked a better name to carry on the legacy from her side of the family because out of four siblings—I’m the youngest and only girl—I’m the best shot of us all.
Someone wouldn’t guess this by looking at me, though because I’m small, even for a woman. With big blue eyes and curly, chaotic blonde hair, my face shares the likeness of Barbie more than G.I. Jane. But my body is much more the latter, slender but toned with muscle and rounded with curves that barely hint I’m a girl. I’m used to being underestimated, judged by my meek, outward appearance. But I like being the underdog, the one they never see coming.
Of course, all my female peers in the upper echelon of society I’ve had the privilege of growing up in have huge racks that boast of their natural femininity or their ability to buy one. I’m not so body-obsessed that I feel the need to go under the knife just to go up a couple bra sizes—my Cs are just fine—but the pressure is there from everyone. My mother, my girlfriends, and of course, all the men in my world. It doesn’t matter how much money I have or stand to inherit, women still are just meant to be arm-candy.
But I refuse to be some man’s prize.
Which is why I’m at Oakwood Prep in the first place. I graduated last year, but Oakwood isn’t where someone gets a scholarly education, but rather it’s an academy preparing its students in the finer elements ofmyworld—money, social standing, and multiplying your assets. As the heiress to part of the Remington fortune, it’s understood that I will marry someone to strengthen my bloodline. Honestly, the sentiment is positively archaic. Then again, so is my family’s wealth, and that’s where the root of it all lies—in money. It always boils down to the dollar signs, and sometimes I wonder if beneath my skin, I bleed green, not red.
Making my way into the imposing building, I pick up my orientation pack and proceed to the auditorium for the welcome assembly. Other students are mingling around me, walking in the same direction. I ignore their chatter, instead gazing upward into the towering oaks, alert. Waiting. Smothering a chuckle, I watch acorns fall onto the unsuspecting heads of those around me, their curses and cries of pain bringing me secret delight. Years of training with various guns taught me the necessity of paying attention to my surroundings, but most people I meet have their heads in the clouds—especially the richer they are.
They simply hire someone to pay attention for them, but Oakwood Prep doesn’t allow for personal assistants—the horror. Some pretty-boy might have to wipe his own ass. I snicker at my thought as another acorn cruelly drops onto the head of a blond boy many feet ahead of me. He scowls, screaming up into the trees as if he thinks they’ll be insulted by his rather brash words. Maybe he does. Money makes people delusional, and while I enjoy the nicer things it can buy me for sure, I don’t get caught up in its intoxicating allure. I’ve watched relatives drown, taking down anyone close to them, in the ocean of problems that money causes.
Nearing the auditorium, I narrow my eyes on the blond guy who is now talking to his comrade again. His head is turned, giving me a look at his chiseled side profile and making me wonder if his face is naturally this sculpted or if he altered it. Women aren’t the only ones expected of outward perfection in my superficial world. Interestingly, both boys are now staring around them and above them in menace. It only took getting hit once for them to wake up, but everyone else around us still seems oblivious—even the students who got hit already!
An acorn smashes into the ground, mere inches from my feet, exploding into hundreds of tiny, fractured pieces, and my head snaps up.Focus, Remi.I can’t afford to let my thoughts take over until I’m inside. Widening my stride, I hustle inside where the cacophony of disjointed conversation echoes around me. Spying an open seat in the middle row of some bleachers, I march over, plopping myself down on the cushioned seat—Oakwood might not allow personal assistants, but it’s still a school that caters to the wealthy. As someone who spends hours sitting in a deer blind, I find the soft, velvety material pointless.
I tune everyone out until wicked laughter trickles down to me. Craning my head back, I turn to see it’s the same boys from before. They’re bullying another guy about God knows what, and I roll my eyes, dismissing their stupidity, until the blond boy’s gaze locks with mine. They’re a piercing green that swallows me whole. Speculation simmers inside the fiery emerald depths, making me unconsciously squirm against the padding of my seat. I narrow my eyes, not liking what I see lurking there one bit. A sinful smile slowly curls one corner of the boy’s mouth, giving him the same mischievous look as the Cheshire cat.
This one is not to be trusted.
Before the troublemaker—and mark my words, that boyisa troublemaker—can say anything, a voice blares out from the speakers positioned around the auditorium. I wince at the loud volume, turning back to face the small stage near the doors. An older gentleman is holding a microphone, addressing the assembly. He’s dressed sharply in a brown suit, his white beard neatly trimmed. His facial expression and words are cold and superior as he introduces himself as Principal Windsor. The name sounds familiar to me, but I don’t pay much attention to my parents when they ramble on about their wealthy friends.
Shrugging off the shiver that skitters down my skin, I swivel my gaze to the other man standing next to the Oakwood principal. He’s many years younger and simply put—gorgeous. The principal is a handsome man, but it’s this one that captures my attention. His presence is equally as commanding as Principal Windsor’s, but he lacks the frosty arrogance. I struggle to put my finger on how I would describe him—aloof but hiding his true feelings. If I were to peel back the layers and read Windsor’s mind, I feel like it would very much reflect his outward attitude, but not with this other man.
As if he can feel me staring, the younger man’s gaze crashes into mine, startling me. His eyes are a deep blue, offset by the darkness of his hair atop his head and running along his jawline. He regards me with such an intensity that I inhale a shaky breath, licking my bottom lip. There’s a possessive glint in his eye that unnerves me—and turns me on. This is a man who knows what he wants and is the master of his passions.
It makes me wonder what he could teach me...
Crossing his arms, a small glare forms on his face—as if he can read my mind—but he never stops staring into my eyes. I swear he feels the same electric pull until Principal Windsor breaks the spell, calling him to speak. An uncomfortable jolt pings through my body when he announces he’s a professor here at school. Instead of dampening my initial desire, the knowledge of who he is only heightens it, and I barely register the rest of his words until he passes the microphone back to Principal Windsor.
One by one, we get into a line, signing the contract for the school year before being dismissed to go to our dorms. The closer I get, the harder it is not to stare, so when it’s my turn to add my name, I pause to skim the contents of the document. Anything to keep me from looking atProfessor Vaughn. His spicy cologne wafts over to me, mixed with a hint of leather, and I could roll myself up in his scent, imagining his bed sheets smelling the same way. I don’t realize how far into my daydream I am until someone barks gruffly at me, “What are you doing?!”
Blinking, I look up at Principal Windsor, who is now looming over me with a menacing gleam in his eyes. “Erm, reading?”
“How novel,reading,” Professor Vaughn interjects, as if it’s beyond the realm of possibility that I would be doing so.
“Is that a problem?” I snap more to him than towards the principal.
A small grin flits across Professor Vaughn’s face—gone before I can even be sure it was there. “Certainly not. Only a fool would sign a contract without reading its contents.”
A flush fills my cheeks at his unintended admonishment since that’s exactly what I was going to do before, but Windsor interjects in a disgruntled manner, “This isn’t anything you shouldn’t have already read in the student handbook. Why do you think we give it to you early? We don’t have time for everyone to stop and examine the contract you were already supposed to have read.”
Professor Vaughn opens his mouth, as if to argue, before forcibly clamping his lips shut and pivoting away. I cock my head, tensing at the invisible hostility now sparking between the two men on the dais. “Ms. Radcliffe,” Principal Windsor prompts, and I sign my name with a flourish before he can spew his irritation onto me. I didn’t read the handbook, but I’m sure whatever is in this contract is normal school compliance bullshit. Still, I make a mental note to look it over tonight before classes start tomorrow. It’s important to know the rules so I can follow them properly...
Or break them.
My pussy clenches at the thought of Professor Vaughn having to punish me. Stepping off the raised platform, the heel of my boot wedges into the small opening between the stage and stairs, pitching me forward. Two sets of strong hands catch my descent, and I find myself once more staring into the green eyes of the boy from before, along with his friend’s—a piercing shade of blue. Curiously, the dark-haired boy’s eyes are the same shade as Professor Vaughn’s. Beyond that and the darkness of their hair, there’s no resemblance.
“You okay, lass?” The blond boy quirks a brow, helping to steady me on my feet while his friend dislodges my heel.
“Fine, thanks.”
