Chapter 4
Chapter Four
SINCLAIR
I steel my spine along with the spinning out of control emotions that are currently running through me like water when I finally face the August Lancaster, lifting my chin up. Trying my best to appear haughty. Completely unaffected by him and his electric proximity.
Because that’s what it feels like, standing this close to him. Electric. As if there’s a current running between us, drawing me closer to him despite my reluctance. And I’m definitely reluctant. I don’t want to be anywhere near this guy. He’s the freaking worst.
August tilts his head to the side as he studies me, his gaze still curious, though his face is mostly expressionless. He doesn’t want to give away a thing, I’m sure, and I envy him in that moment. That he can appear so unaffected while I’m standing in front of him, rattled to my core.
“Why are you leaving?” His voice is much deeper than I remember and that makes sense, considering it was four years ago when he terrorized me. He’s older now. More of a man than ever and God, I can see it in his frame. The impressive height and breadth of him and that look on his chiseled face. I called the guy who approached Elise earlier a golden god but I was mistaken.
The true golden god is August. The rest of the men in this house are mere mortals, while he is Zeus, the ruler of Mount Olympus. My thoughts are ridiculous but come on. Look at him. His face is constructed of pure marble. Hard and smooth and made up of clean, sharp lines. The only thing soft are his lips. They’re a rich, deep pink, and I’m struck with the sudden urge to kiss them.
I shake my head once, pushing the thought out of my brain. I have clearly lost all sensibility being in this man’s presence. I cling to my old hateful feelings, reminding myself that I don’t like him. At all.
“Why do you care?” I finally toss out, my tone as snotty as can be. At least my voice isn’t shaking, which is a miracle as I am currently trembling from head to toe.
His smile is faint. As if he likes the idea that I was rude to him. “You just got here.”
“You were paying attention?”
“I keep watch on everything that happens in this house.” He takes a step closer and I practically throw myself against the heavy wooden door, my fingers curling around the handle. “Who are you?”
“No one that matters.” I shake my head over and over again, not about to say my name. It’s not the most common name there is—Sinclair is my mother’s maiden name and since she is one of three sisters, she felt bad that the family name wasn’t going to be carried on so she did the next best thing and gave her first daughter her maiden name. I hated it growing up. I always wanted to be named Kylee or Casey or any type of “ee” name because I was surrounded by girls with cutsie names just like that .
His smile is a faint curling of his lush mouth and my heart trips over itself at the sight of it. “I doubt that.” His gaze drops to the hand that is still holding the glass. “You want another drink?”
I would be a fool to accept his offer. I need to leave. Now. At this very second.
“Please,” is what I say instead, mentally cursing my weakness.
He reaches for me and I shrink back, which makes him pause, his brows drawing together. “Care to hand over the glass?”
“Oh.” I push away from the door completely, coming closer to him, and I catch a whiff of his cologne. It’s spicy and warm and I have the fleeting thought that I want to bathe in it, which is just…what? Oh, I know. Unsettling. “Here.”
I hold the glass out to him and he takes it from me, his fingers purposely brushing against mine, sending a jolt of electricity straight up my arm. I contain my reaction to him as best as I can, pressing my lips together. Only for my mouth to fall open when he turns his back to me and starts walking without saying another word.
Go after him , the tiny voice inside my head whispers and I bolt into action, following August as he moves deeper into the house. Until he’s in the massive room where I first spotted him, heading straight for the bar that’s set up in the farthest corner. There is a variety of cut-glass decanters and containers sitting on the bar and not a single bottle of wine or alcohol with a label in sight. Everything is clean and elegant and absolutely beautiful. Impressive. My family would never—my dad proudly displays the expensive wine and liquor bottles in their home. Always flaunting their wealth once they came into it, while I was uncomfortable about it. I was twelve when my father’s startup began amassing actual money. My parents immediately enrolled me in Lancaster Prep without me having any say in where I got to go to high school.
Talk about wealthy. I was surrounded by it my four years there. And while it was intimidating sometimes, no one has as much wealth as a Lancaster. Everyone knew this.
I keep my gaze fixed on the broad expanse of his back as he sets both of our glasses on the counter and refills them. He moves with controlled efficiency, as if he never wastes his time, and within seconds, he’s turning to face me, holding the refreshed drink in my direction.
I take it from him without touching his fingers, and I’m secretly proud of this little fact. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He keeps his gaze fixed on me as he takes a sip, his lips wet from the liquor and the urge to lick them nearly takes me out.
What is wrong with me? I’m not drunk. Well, maybe I’m a little buzzed because I guzzled that first glass of what tasted like very strong alcohol in a matter of minutes.
“I feel like I know you,” he eventually says, after we stand there in silence together in front of the bar for what feels like five minutes but is probably only thirty seconds tops.
I slowly shake my head, my lips seemingly attached to the edge of the glass. I take another sip before I answer, the liquid is giving me courage. “Doubtful.”
His brows draw together. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I have no idea who you are.” The lie comes easy and I’m impressed with myself.
“Really?” His voice drips with doubt, and I get it. He’s practically a celebrity on our campus.
I just won’t give him the satisfaction that I know who he is. And I’m not about to reveal that we’ve encountered each other in the past, either. It’s shocking how he doesn’t recognize me, though I’ve changed quite a bit from the too-skinny girl with braces on her teeth and pimples on her face .
“Really.” I smile and he does too and oh . He is devastatingly handsome.
I tear my gaze from his so I don’t get too caught up in his good looks, taking another fumbling gulp from my drink. Praying it makes me drunker quicker so I can withstand this conversation that I have no business engaging in.
“Maybe I just recognize something in you that I’m feeling as well,” he admits, his voice so low I swear I can feel it vibrating within me.
I jerk my gaze back to his, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“I watched you enter the house. You looked absolutely disgusted at being here. Maybe even a little bored.” It’s his turn to sip from his glass, never taking his gaze away from mine as he does so. “And my immediate thought when I saw you was, ‘I feel the same way that she looks.’”
“Oh.” I duck my head, hating that he could read my mood so well. My father always said I would make a terrible poker player and an even worse negotiator, which was a sin in his eyes. My father is the king of negotiators and can keep a straight face through anything. No one can ever read his moods and it’s scary sometimes.
August leans in, his cheek almost pressed to mine when he whispers, “Busted.”
My entire face heats up at his nearness and he backs away, a knowing smirk on his face.
“The house is beautiful.” I look around, taking it all in yet again and the walls are so dark, it almost gives the place an ominous feel. “Nothing like what I thought a fraternity would look like.”
“We’re not your typical frat.” He pauses with the glass directly in front of his lips. “Are you telling me this is the first frat party you’ve been to?”
I nod, not bothering to speak .
“We’ve been on campus for over a month. There are parties every week. Almost every day.”
I shrug, then drain the last bit of my glass, shocked that it’s already gone. “I’ve been busy.”
“With what?”
“School. Studying.” I take college seriously because I refuse to be like so many of the other girls my age who get into a prestigious university, party their asses off, get drunk on the daily and end up basically flunking out within the first year, if not the first semester. But it doesn’t matter because they’ll find some rich boy from a rich family who’ll take care of them the rest of their lives as long as they give him babies and are the dutiful wife.
Like my mother. She pretends my father doesn’t have affairs and it’s fine because he buys her new jewelry whenever he feels guilty, which is often. It’s a great arrangement and they don’t seem to complain about it, ever.
That’s not what I want. I want independence. My own career and my own life where I don’t have to rely on a man to take care of me. Am I taking advantage of the fact that my father pays for my expensive college education? Yes. I would be a fool to try and do it on my own. But I’m not going to end up a boring little housewife like every other woman I know.
His smile returns, faint and almost evil looking. “Such a dutiful student.”
“I have goals.” That’s all I say and I can tell he’s intrigued.
“What type of goals?”
“I thought about going to medical school.” Maybe. Maybe not. I’m focused on getting good grades no matter what I want to do but if I’m being real with myself?
I have no clue what I want to do as a career. How are we expected to know anyway? I’m barely out of high school and I’m supposed to have my entire life mapped out in front of me? Give me a break .
“Ambitious,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to my empty glass. “Want another refill?”
“I shouldn’t,” I protest as he takes the glass from my grip and turns to refill it, pouring himself more too. “Really. I should go,” I tell the broad expanse of his back.
“But we’re talking.” He faces me once more, pressing the glass against my palm and I take it. “I want to hear more about your goals.”
“They’re boring.” Why does he act interested? He doesn’t care. He has no idea who I am. He hasn’t even asked my name and I’m sure once I say it to him, he’ll remember. And abandon me as quickly as he can.
“You think so?” His brows lift. “Then why are you doing it?”
“To make something of myself.”
His gaze drops to the Alhambra sweet bracelet on my wrist. The matching pendant dangling from my neck. “You come from money.”
I don’t want to tell him how my father made his fortune because it’s a tad embarrassing. “My family does well.”
“Modest, too. Has anyone ever told you that you’re stunning?”
I blink at him, shocked that he would compliment me. I even glance around, making sure no one is lurking in a corner filming our conversation so he can broadcast it on social media. I wouldn’t doubt August would do something like that. At least, eighteen-year-old August wouldn’t hesitate to humiliate me in that manner.
But there’s no one lurking in any dark corners. It’s just me and August and he seems…genuine.
“No,” I finally say, my voice so soft I wonder if he can hear me. I clear my throat. “No one has ever used that particular word to describe me before.”
“It’s true,” he says without hesitation. “Though I’m not sure if you believe me when I say it. ”
“I don’t.”
He appears taken aback by my blunt response, but his expression neutralizes in seconds. That knowing smile is curving his lips once more and yet again, he leans in close to me, his cheek practically pressed to mine when he whispers in my ear, “Guess I’ll just have to work extra hard to convince you that I’m telling the truth then.”