Stay Toxic

Chapter 5

“Good morning, Hestia.”

I do my best not to cringe. The screen shows my daunting mother, behind her daunting desk, her terrifying bodyguard to the side. Terrifying, because I know the strength of his grip on my wrist. When I grew too big for Mother to drag me through the rooms herself, she got him to do it. And he liked it. I felt it more than once. He freaking loved grabbing hold of me and dragging me through pristine, white, light rooms as I screamed for help.

I learned to stop protesting. Follow. Let them lock me up in the cupboard without a sound. To only scream in my mind. It’s better than letting those people put their hands on me, and enjoy it.

“Mother,” I reply, faking a smile. “Hope you’re well.”

“I see payment notifications from a cafe in town? I do hope it was a nice place.”

I don’t squirm. “It was, thank you. Tanya’s theater is just across the road.”

“How is she getting on with the ballet?”

“Well, I believe. I’m going to see it on Thursday.”

“Mm. Do give her my best. And your classes?”

“They start tomorrow. I met a Doyle yesterday, by the way. Well, a Beaufort, née Doyle.”

She practically creams her damn panties, leaning in. “That must be the young Calla, yes? Do stay friends with the girl, Hestia. Her father’s a lovely man—corporate law. He’s worked with your father’s company—your legacy—more times than I can count, and he’s always been fair.”

That sounds like a lecture, condemning me for not just knowing all these things. Like I don’t deserve to be the sole heiress to my father’s fortune because I don’t know everything about the ins and outs of his business. Which she’s not letting me learn about. I’m supposed to just spontaneously know all these things.

“Right. Calla’s lovely.” I don’t mention the invitation I declined, knowing it would set me up for another lecture. “Any reason why you’re calling? I didn’t think we were scheduled for a chat until Saturday?”

“Can’t a mother call her child?”

A mother, sure. Senator Cole, no. She doesn’t give a single fuck about how I’m doing.

“Your grandfather is being difficult about releasing the funds we need for quarter four. He reminds me that investments of a certain amount have to be co-signed by the beneficiary.”

I cringe at the way her mouth tightens around her teeth. At least, I’m not here to suffer the brunt of her anger this time.

“I’ll give him a call to make sure he authorizes it,” I say, for two simple reasons.

One: Senator Cole actually cares about Cole Investments staying profitable. She sits on the board of the company, and makes decisions that keep the cash growing.

Two: I don’t have a choice.

“See that you do. I will call Saturday, at eleven, as scheduled.”

I’m sure she will. I speak to my daughter every week is one of the lines she’s prepared for her campaign debate every cycle, to remind the world that she’s a lovely mother.

Barf.

“Speak to you then.”

* * *

The first thing I do on Tuesday morning after that lovely phone call is look into the swimming pool.

I don’t want to compete, so joining the team is out of the question, but I definitely would like access to the state-of-the-art pool in the basement of the modern building Calla Beaufort called The Dome.

I almost turn around with my tail between my legs when I get to the faculty building—Rose Hall—and recognized Ari’s cousin, but my roommate must already have had a chat with her, because she isn’t quite as frosty with me as she was on Sunday. She’s not glaring at me today, but I can’t say she’s as friendly as she had been before my blunter.

“Ms. Cole, right?” she says, seeing me approach.

Yep. She definitely hasn’t forgotten a thing.

“That’s it.”

“Ari tells me you two are going to the ballet,” she says with a smile that might have looked friendly if her eyes hadn’t narrowed quite so much. “I’m glad to hear things have improved between you two.”

I nod five times in a row. “Yep. We have no problem. We just communicated. Thank you.”

“Good,” she replies curtly. “I’m happy it’s all cleared up.”

In short, she still thinks I’m a bigoted dick, but she believes I’m faking it.

I tell myself it’s not my responsibility to change her perception of me. Who cares what someone I don’t really know thinks of me? But that’s the issue. I care. I’ve always put too much stock in other people’s thoughts.

“Right. I’m here to ask about the pool? In The Dome. How do I sign up to use it?” I’m quick to add, “I don’t want to try for the team, but I assume students can make use of it from time to time?”

She nods. “Absolutely, all our facilities are open to the entirety of the student body. There are hours reserved for the team, and others reserved for the swimming club, but outside of those, you can just show up any time.”

“There’s a team and a club?”

She nods. “The team represents Rothford University during meets, but the club is just swimming lovers a little too fast and serious to want to share the pool with casual users. You can be part of the swimming club without being part of the college’s actual team.”

“I see. How do I apply to get into the club?”

I’m not a sporty person as a rule, but I know for a fact that if I don’t find a way to use up whatever calories I ingest, I’ll be in trouble with the Powers That Be. It’s just not worth it. Swimming is the least terrible of all the options I’ve tried. I hate running with a vengeance. My DD breasts make it a particular form of torture. And I’m just not the kind of person who enjoys team sports either. I know I’ll use the pool on a regular basis so I might as well sign up for it.

“Just use your online student portal,” the receptionist says. “There’s no fee for up to three Rothford clubs. That’s covered by your tuition. Should you sign up for more than three, there will be a nominal fee of ten dollars per extra club.”

Ten dollars. That seems rather ridiculous, given that the tuition to this place is a high five figures per year.

“Thanks for letting me know. While I’m here, can I check my Dear Stranger mail?” I ask, a little too eagerly.

It’s only Tuesday after all. No reply is due until Friday. But I sent my letter on Monday night; maybe my pen pal is almost as impatient as me.

“Sorry, I don’t see any letter for you.” She gives me a smile that’s anything but sorry, not hiding that she finds me a little pathetic.

I can feel a blush rising up my face. “No problem. Thanks for your help.”

I bring up my phone for something to do. I don’t have any messages, of course—Tanya’s in rehearsal or barre class at this time, and we already arranged to meet for lunch—but I open the student portal to sign up for the swimming club. No time like the present.

My peripheral vision alerts me I’ve reached the glass door at the front of the building when I unexpectedly find a large shadow obscuring my way. I drag my eyes away from the phone, and find my lips parting in surprise.

“You, me, a doorframe again. We gotta stop meeting like this, pervert. What are the neighbors going to think?” Sebastian attempts to pulverize whatever brain cells I currently possess by shooting me a smile that displays freaking dimples.

Men who look like him shouldn’t have dimples. It’s just not fair.

In the light of day, he’s considerably more beautiful than I remember, which is saying a lot. He already took my breath away on Sunday night, but now I catch the exact shade of his eyes. They’re a deep cerulean blue, in contrast with his tan and dark, wavy hair.

Was he that tall on Sunday? I’m not exactly a short girl at five-eight, but he towers over me by a whole head.

“Sebastian.” Is it me, or do I sound a little too breathy? “The neighbors will think considerably less if you stopped calling me pervert.”

“What shall I call you, then? Voyeur? Peeping Tom?”

“I was getting into my room.” I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes. “It’s not my fault you were having a party in there.”

He bends his large, muscular frame forward, his grin widening, as his voice drops to a whisper. “But then you stayed,” he reminds me. “You watched.”

Something in his tone shoots straight to my core, and now I’m fidgeting nervously, heat gathering between my legs. Great. He’s literally making me wet in a large, public hallway.

“Ever heard of shock?” I shoot back, glad that at least my ability to talk in his presence is better than it was two days ago.

“I have, in fact,” he retorts. “Given the fact that I’m in my last year of med school.”

He’s going to be a doctor? Damn. If his clientele doesn’t have a problem when they walk into his office, they’ll have heart issues on the way out.

“I’ll tell you what, though. Shock doesn’t make you bite your lip and blush like a schoolgirl. That’s more of a symptom of desire, Hestia darling.”

“It’s Tia,” I retort. “And I wasn’t blushing, or biting my lip.”

I probably totally was.

“You were,” he insists with a casual shrug. “And when you’re ready to accept that, feel free to join us.”

The jerk has the gall to wink before side-stepping and entering Rose Hall.

“Ah! Noelle. Just the wonderful receptionist I wanted to see. I’m supposed to sit in on today’s meeting for my father?” he says, completely ignoring me.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Keller. The rest of the board isn’t here yet, so feel free to wait in the conference room. There are your favorite snacks,” she gushes, batting her long lashes at him.

I shake my head, and make my way out of the building.

Note to self: he’s just a huge flirt. I shouldn’t pay any mind to anything he says. Trying to melt any panties in the vicinity seems to be in his nature, that’s all.