AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Their expressions would be hilarious under any other circumstances.
I keep my voice mild as I survey them. “What’s up, bitches?”
Nolan makes a sort of choked sound and sets his beer down hard enough that liquid sloshes all over his hand and onto the tabletop. Cole’s mouth has dropped open, but I see the hint of what almost looks like a smile tipping the corner of his lips. Drake is at the far end of the room, but I force my gaze away from his face. I’m not sure I’ll be able to control my expression if I actually look at him. Most of the other guys in the room aren’t worth paying any attention.
There is only one guy in the room that I don’t recognize. He doesn’t look to be that much older than I am, but something about him isn’t like most guys his age. It’s probably because he is wearing a full suit and tie while everyone else is in more casual clothes. Like on the inside, he has the soul of a fifty-year-old hedge fund manager with a trophy wife in her twenties and a mistress in every city where his firm has offices.
His expression as he studies me is full on American Psycho.
The guy in the suit lets out a surprised guffaw. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
“That’s Olivia Pratt,” Cole murmurs, completely unnecessarily.
“So, I see.” Suit guy leans against the table and studies me with an air of anticipation. “I’m Brady Caldwell.”
I raise a mocking eyebrow. This wannabe isn’t even old enough to rent a car on his own. “You have a business card? I’d love to know if you had them done in eggshell or bone.”
His smile widens as he obviously gets the reference. “Actually, I prefer ecru. I’ll have to put you in touch with my designer.”
“How kind.”
I’m off-balance and a little confused. Brady seems completely unsurprised to see me, if anything he looks almost pleased. As if he just unwrapped a shiny new toy to play with. I risk a glance at Drake, but his expression is locked down tighter than Fort Knox and I can’t read anything there.
For now, I’m on my own.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Brady picks up a glass of liquor, ice clinking as he brings it to his lips. I force myself to meet his eyes, even as my gaze flicks to the shiny spot of metal on his lapel: a skull embossed in gold with a lotus flower over one eye.
I’d seen that pin before coming to St. Bart’s, even if I only recently figured out what it is.
A Havoc House initiation pin.
“What can we do for you, Ms. Olivia Pratt?” Brady asks, mockery in his voice.
Tension sings through the room even though none of them have made a move toward me. The door is still at my back. I might be able to make a break for it if I’m quick enough.
Instead, I square my shoulders and smile at him like I’m Queen Elizabeth sitting atop her motorcade, confidently imperious. “I’m here to pledge Havoc House, of course.”
Their reaction is about what I thought it would be. Even Drake joins in on the mocking laughter, if just because it’s expected of him.
But Brady isn’t smiling. Instead, he looks at me like I’m a show dog that just performed an interesting trick. “Girls aren’t allowed to pledge Havoc House.”
“Not according to your bylaws. There is no mention of barring women.” I pull a sheaf of photocopied pages out of my jacket pocket and slap it down on the table. “Some people might call not spelling that out a mistake, but I guess that’s what happens when a bunch of Civil War-era misogynists assume things will never change. I bet Drake over there is happy that a few other outdated traditions never got written down, huh?”
Brady’s lip quirks, but he betrays no other reaction. “As popular as you’ve been around here, I doubt anyone is raising their hand for that. If you’ve read our bylaws, then you should already know that new pledges are chosen based on a majority vote of the current membership.”
“I did read that,” I say with a moue of sadness before giving him a bright smile. “But I also saw a nifty little line in there about how a majority vote isn’t required for a pledge who is also the firstborn offspring of an alumni member. In fact, I’m sure I read that the firstborn is automatically allowed to pledge.”
Brady’s face darkens. “So?”
“So…my father’s name is Thomas Brian Pratt, Havoc House class of 1987. I’m sure you have a list written down somewhere, so check it if you like.” I wave my hand in a lazy gesture, as if I don’t know that they definitely have a list and it dates back all the way back to the beginning of the 19th century. “And although it makes my father endlessly unhappy, I don’t have any brothers. So I guess that means you’re stuck with me.”
“The bylaws use the word son,” Nolan snaps, looking like he’d like nothing more than to throw me out of the house himself. “It’s clear they mean a male.”
I shove the photocopied pages so they go skittering across the table. “Actually, it doesn’t. I’ve highlighted the appropriate lines, if you’re curious. It clearly says the word offspring. Right here. I won’t argue that son is probably what your founders meant, but it isn’t what they said. I agree that it’s a pretty egregious oversight, but I do love a good loophole.”
Nolan is practically apoplectic, his face turning a bright red. It’s impossible to tell if he’s angrier about the fact that they might have to let a girl into Havoc House or because the girl is me. “Listen to me, you—”
