Full Ride

Chapter 1

ONE

Beckett Harrington

It was the Sunday before classes started when I found the crisp white envelope taped to my apartment door.

It bore the Whitworth University Office of Financial Services logo, irritating me enough that I stopped short when I peeled it from the door.

After spending my weekend partying, the last thing I had time for was administrative nonsense.

Didn’t the office know whose door they placed this on? Obviously, it was a mistake.

A Harrington would never be summoned to an office.

Tuition had never been my problem. My dad’s assistant handled tuition, classes, and textbooks.

So why was I suddenly being inconvenienced?

I had never set foot in any school office, but it seemed that was about to change.

The only thing I knew for certain was that it sat in the main campus building, blocks away from the house I rented with my two brothers—a place with old charm, situated near the business school my brothers and I attended a majority of our classes at.

I told myself it was nothing as I started down the steps. Still, my mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

Lucas was in his final year, which meant he didn’t have much left to worry about. I was in my third year. And our youngest brother had just started his first. I hadn’t heard what was wrong yet, but it was pretty obvious when the financial department summoned me. They had one job, literally.

Dad was grooming us to work for his business.

Lucas, my older brother, would happily run it one day.

He spent his whole life becoming Father’s perfect, doting son, even working as an intern for Dad over the summer.

I couldn’t imagine a worse fate. I followed the path he arranged because he was footing the bill.

If the situation changed, I’d give up business classes.

But what would happen to Lucas if Father’s business fell apart?

Seattle in August was gorgeous. The weather was ideal for me, high 70s, and I couldn’t wait for leaves to litter the ground next month.

I grew up in the area, and Father always wanted his kids to go to Whitworth, so it was a good thing I fell in love with Seattle as a kid. Nothing could beat the beautiful, gloomy weather. The stunning hikes. The dreary but beautiful beaches.

I knew exactly where the main building was, which I felt deserved some recognition in itself. Finding the actual office inside it, however, became a far more heroic undertaking.

I completed several aimless laps around the lower level before uncovering a directory that revealed—quite helpfully—that the office was on the top floor.

It wasn’t as though I’d ever had a reason to venture into the main building before; such practical inconveniences had traditionally been managed for me.

Given the circumstances, I considered it nothing short of remarkable that I located the office at all without seeking assistance, and I allowed myself a moment of well-earned pride.

I stopped at the front desk and waited, because approaching any closer felt unnecessary.

The woman behind it was older, immaculately bored, and stared at her computer as if it were the only thing in the room worth acknowledging.

Meanwhile, one finger of mine was worth more than her outdated technology.

Eventually, without looking up, she sighed.

“How may I help you?” I could tell she hated her job, and I didn’t blame her. The idea of working in such an office gave me hives.

“I’ve been summoned,” I said, sliding the letter across the desk.

She took it, squinting as she read. While she did, I let my gaze wander over the room. Small, crowded, and boring. A place I hoped I’d never have to step foot into again.

A blonde woman I didn’t recognize smiled at me as if we knew each other. I returned it with a wink. After four years of parties and meaningless hookups, faces blurred together—same hair, same outfits, same fake laugh practiced in a mirror. They tended to remember me more than I remembered them.

“Beckett Harrington,” the woman finally said, as if the name meant nothing to her. “Take a seat. Someone will call you.”

I smiled because correcting her and telling her Harringtons didn’t wait would have taken effort. I turned toward the chairs she’d indicated. I chose the one closest to the blonde, naturally.

Waiting had never been my strength—but people usually learned not to keep me there long. My name carried weight everywhere I went.

A woman came out of one of the counseling offices with a clipboard and looked around at the students sitting.

“Audrey W,” she called with a soft smile.

The blonde who had checked me out stood and followed her into an office, and watching her ass bounce while she walked away triggered a memory from a party last year.

“Dude! That was Audrey, Kevin’s girlfriend, who you just came out of the room with.

He’s president of the frat. If he finds out, you’re dead,” a buddy of mine, Taylor, said, shaking his head and laughing as he walked away from me.

Thankfully, no one saw us besides Taylor and the best friend who always followed him around, Brent.

They wouldn’t say anything, and Audrey mentioned her boyfriend being away… at a funeral.

“Beckett Harrington.”

My name being called pulled me out of my trance.

I wasn’t sure what was coming over me lately, but I didn’t have the same desire to sleep with a bunch of women with no care as I had last year.

I felt…guilty…over my actions—a foreign feeling for me.

The thought passed quickly as figured I must’ve been starving, not guilty.

A Harrington had no reason to feel guilt, Father would say.

It was nothing more than nausea that had my stomach churning.

I followed the older gentleman who had called my name. Judging by the number on the clock, it had been ten minutes since I sat down, which wasn’t as long as I expected. A few new faces replaced ones who had been called back into offices.

The man sat at his desk and ignored my existence while typing away on his computer. “Please take a seat,” he offered.

I quickly took the seat facing his desk and waited for him to say something else, looking around the room and glancing at all the education posters and the several degrees and licenses that hung on the wall.

“Beckett Harrington. It appears your father’s check bounced, and your payment has been missed. I suggest you contact him to pay or set up a payment plan by the end of the month to keep your classes,” he said, eyes fixed on his screen.

I chuckled. “I don’t do payment plans,” I said. “And I’m a Harrington. Our checks don’t bounce,” I responded calmly, in case he needed to remember what my family name meant around the school.

He finally looked up, irritation flickering across his face.

“Then you’ll need to—”

“You’ll need to check again,” I cut in, folding my arms. “Because if my name is on your screen, this conversation shouldn’t be happening.

” I leaned forward, lowering my voice just enough to make him listen.

“Now, are you going to fix whatever mistake this is?” I asked.

“Or should I have my father call and explain it to you?”

“Your idle threats mean nothing, Mr. Harrington. You owe thirteen thousand five hundred dollars by the thirty-first, or you need to set up a payment plan. There’s been no mistake.”

He waved a dismissive hand at me and directed his attention back to the computer, so I pushed myself out of the chair and trudged through the doorway, fishing my phone from my pocket.

Mom would know what was happening. I couldn’t wait to tell her and Father how they inconvenienced me and ignored the family name as if it meant nothing. Father would have a field day with the school, not because he cared that it upset me, but because no one sneered at the Harrington name.

I rounded the corner, eyes fixed on the floor, mind replaying the silent treatment I’d just gotten, when—thud—my shoulder slammed into someone, hard enough that my phone clattered to the ground.

A sharp, frustrated sigh cut through the air.

I glanced down and saw papers strewn across the floor, pages splayed like fallen leaves.

“Fuck,” I blurted, already crouching as my gaze lifted, searching for the face of the person I’d just crashed into.

I needed to know who to give a piece of my mind to.

And of course. Just my luck—it was Asher Montgomery. My rival.

Top of our economics class last year, beating me by a margin so thin it still burned.

One of the three most requested tutors on campus, next to Ben Marshall and me.

A rivalry forged in rankings, sharpened by pride.

I’d hated Asher from the moment we met—our first year, our first introduction.

I’d offered my hand, and he’d laughed under his breath instead of taking it.

Said he could tell I was hungover, and that if I wasn’t here to take school seriously, I should quit and make room for someone who was.

I hadn’t done a damn thing to deserve that.

Like most people, he judged me based on my looks.

We’d been at war ever since. Grades. Rankings. Reputation. Every exam felt like a referendum on my worth, and somehow he was always there, breathing down my neck or standing just ahead of me, smirking.

“Fucking hell, Harrington,” Asher snapped, already dropping to the floor to scoop up his papers. “Do you pay someone to walk for you, too? You sure as shit suck at doing it yourself, like everything else.”

Heat flared in my chest. I crouched anyway, gathering loose pages and thrusting them toward him, my fingers brushing his for half a second too long.

“Never thought I’d say this,” I said tightly, “especially because you’re kind of a prick, but I’m sorry.” My voice wavered despite my efforts to steady it. “I just got some distressing news. I wasn’t focused.”