Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
It’s a lifeline, but it’s a fucking lifeline I can’t take because of all the shit I have to make sure gets confirmed before tonight’s event. There are no fucking baby steps with taking over as Double C’s newest president. Lexi has quite literally tossed me into the deep end of the shark-infested pool.
Last night, she handed me the President Phone—yes, that’s a real thing—and said, “Good Luck, Mr. President.”
Inside that phone, there’s a long, bullet-pointed and color-coded fucking list of all the crap I need to do and become familiar with. Calls and texts I need to make for tonight. Names and phone numbers of Dickson University campus security officers I need to reach out to and pay off to let us in places we most certainly shouldn’t be.
It’s a lot of fucking to-dos. All of which I’m completely responsible for now, and I have exactly eight hours to make sure a secret society event, complete with a custom scavenger hunt, goes off without a hitch.
No pressure.
“Or I guess you don’t have to come…” Julia adds, her voice quiet in a way that makes my chest ache. “You probably have more important stuff to do.”
I want to tell her that there’s nothing more important than her.
I want to tell her the truth. I want to tell her everything.
But she doesn’t even give me the chance.
“Julia, I—”
“Ace, can we catch up later?” she cuts me off. “Yoko is getting antsy.”
“Uh…yeah, but—”
“I’ll see you later, okay?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer. She turns and heads down the hall with Yoko all but tugging her toward the elevator.
I watch them go until she disappears around the stairwell, my hand still resting against the doorframe like a guy stuck between two realities—one where I tell her everything, and one where I don’t.
Because this secret is only temporary.
But Julia? She’s always my endgame.
Ace
I look fucking good.
Like, walk-into-a-room-and-start-a-slow-clap good. The shirt’s black, the collar’s sharp, and the diamond cuff links I stole from my dad are glinting just enough to say my bloodline pays taxes in commas.
I adjust the collar again, turn slightly, and admire my studly reflection one more time. It’s giving presidential. It’s giving dangerous. It’s giving “this man controls the playlist and the legacy.”
It’s only a little after five p.m., and I’m certain I’ve never been ready for a Saturday night this early, but tonight is the night. There’s a new Double C sheriff in town, and his name is Ace motherfucking Kelly.
As I run a comb through my hair with the goal of giving laid-back GQ model, I snort a little when I think about the fact that my fucking mom of all people ended up being a chair of the campus’s biggest secret society. What are the fucking odds, man? I mean, seriously, if there was a spread in Vegas, the payout would have to be exponential.
I glance at my phone, fully expecting Blake and Finn to have finally texted back their Double C attendance confirmation or to have a status update from Julia who’s been MIA all day since leaving with Yoko this morning, but the screen shows nada.
I frown briefly. I know Julia was upset this morning and not reaching out to go to the football game with her this afternoon probably made matters worse, but she’ll cool down and we’ll move on. She always does. We just need our fifteen minutes, even if this time, it’s running a little closer to eight hours.
I sigh and click into to my message with Finn and Blake again.
Those fuckers need to be there tonight so I can get a load of their faces when they grasp the awesome reality we’re heading toward this year. I can already picture myself standing at the helm—the handsome center of attention—and the crowd going batshit crazy when I tell them that I’m their new leader. But I need my best guys right there in the front when I make the official announcement that I’m the new prez.
I mean, no offense to Lexi Winslow—she was one hell of a Double C president—but this is me we’re talking about here. If anyone can bring Double C to a level where it’s world-renowned, it’s this guy right here. The future event ideas I already have rolling around inside my head are equal parts this-might-be-illegal and oh-fuck-yeah.
I spritz on a little cologne, willing a new message to pop up in the thread from Finn or Blake, but aside from smelling fucking delightful, nothing has changed.
Unacceptable.
My debut as president of Double C is in six hours. I need my guys in position. Fully hyped. Properly dressed. Emotionally ready.
I grab my phone off the counter and start firing off texts.
Me: Reminder… if either of you bail tonight you’re dead to me
Me: And I’ll fucking haunt your apartments. Knock shit off shelves and shit