Miller has the good whiskey. I can tell just by the way the amber liquid shines in the glass. If this was a cordial visit, I would have asked before I touched it. Since this is a different kind of meeting, I pour two fingers of whiskey into my glass and take a sip.
Damn. That is good.
The door opens.
Miller’s eyes get big when he sees me. They get even bigger when he notices the whiskey in my hands.
I don’t know which offends him more—my presence or my confiscation of his alcohol.
“Who let you in here?”
“Your secretary.” I lean against his desk and tilt my glass so the amber liquid sloshes against the rim. It’s not hard enough to spill over, but it courses to the very edge.
Miller doesn’t lose his composure. He shrugs out of his jacket, walks over to the desk and pours himself a glass.
“Aren’t you too young to be drinking alcohol?”
I snort out a laugh. “Let’s not waste time asking rhetorical questions.”
Miller walks around to his desk. He has eyes like Christa and a painfully thin mouth that is nothing but a lifeless, disappearing slash across his face.
If those are Christa’s family genes, it’s no wonder she went and popped a bunch of chemicals into her lips.
He takes a seat in his fancy office chair, makes a huge production of smoothing down his tie and gestures to the chairs facing his desk. “The last time my daughter ran in here begging me to help you lot, she almost got arrested.”
“But she didn’t.”
“Only because I made it happen.” He rolls up his sleeves. “If things had spiraled, I would have made sure she didn’t go down alone.”
I turn fully and take another sip. “Go ahead. We’re lying in the same bed, Miller. I’d be happy to implicate you too.”
His smile is dark and seedy, but I’m not scared. I prefer those kinds of smiles to dad’s psychotic grins. Miller’s goals are obvious—money, power, ambition. He’s the kind of man who’ll do anything and step on anyone to get what he feels belongs to him.
But dad…
I don’t get what his motivation is for the things he does. It’s why I haven’t formulated a plan to get back at him for Zane’s sake. As much as I hate him, there’s a part of me that fears him too.
Miller leans back in his chair. “Alright, I’ll play along. What is this visit about?”
“The ultimatum you gave to the three scholarship students. I want it revoked.”
His eyebrows arch. “Is this about that Sol boy?”
I remain silent.
“Haven’t you gone to the moon and back for your friend already? Is he really worth this much of a fuss?”
I curl my lips into a smile, completely at ease. I don’t expect someone like Miller, who would throw the knife in his own brother’s back if it meant getting ahead, to understand.
“Let me give some advice, Dutch,” he says in that condescending way that adults do when they’re about to talk down to someone.
I find it amusing the way people think that age and wisdom are synonymous. I know a hell of a lot more about how the world works than someone like Miller. Yeah, we both grew up nestled in daddy’s bank account, but I never became a slave to it.
Miller taps his finger on the table twice. “You should know when to cut your losses and move on. There’s no need for all this,” he waves at me, “breaking and entering if you learn this lesson from a young age.” He stares into his glass. “Some people are only with you for a short time. Some will take you to the promised land. Deciding which is which will get you far.”
“I didn’t come here for a life lesson, Miller. I came to make a deal.”
His eyebrows arch. “Oh?”
“I heard the position of chairman will be up for grabs next year.”
A shadow passes over his face, cutting off that sanctimonious smile he’d held on to during the entire conversation.
“My father moving into Redwood Prep as a guest lecturer isn’t a coincidence. He wants that seat.” I swallow a huge chunk of the whiskey and hiss in pleasure. “And you know it.”
On the table, Miller’s hand forms a fist. He can’t hide it. That greed. That need to always be on top.
I lean forward. “Ease your foot off the scholarship kids’ necks.”
“And in exchange?”
“You’ll make an ally instead of an enemy.”
He laughs. “You’d go against your own father?”
I give him a cold, businesslike smile. “I don’t want Jarod Cross anywhere near Redwood Prep. Neither do you.”
“And what happens if I say no and do whatever the hell I want anyway?” Miller crosses his arms over his chest. Tilting his chin up, he gives me a challenging stare. “You’re nothing but a kid.”
“Who knows all of Jarod Cross’s secrets.”
That gives him pause.
I tilt my head to the side, studying the picture of him, his wife and Christa on the desk. “Family is a complicated thing. Isn’t that why you’re keeping the truth about your outside kids from your wife?”
Miller’s nostrils flare and he digs his fingers into the table. The way his jaw is flexing tells me he’d like nothing more than to jump over the table and strangle me.
“I don’t want to fight, Miller.”
“Then why use fighting words, kid?”
“Because I want to make it clear what this is. You might be able to survive making my father into an enemy.” I step forward and tap my finger on the desk the way he did. Once. Twice. “But you will never survive being mine.”
His eyes widen and his lips slacken.
I drain the rest of the whiskey and thump the glass hard on the desk. “Do we have a deal?”
He scans my face, deliberating it in his mind. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, but I do need him to remove that guillotine from over Sol, Brahms and her friend. This is the only way to keep all three of them in Redwood.
Miller’s lips flicker up in a calculative smile. He rubs his hands together. “I’m intrigued, Cross. But I can’t just take it back. How will I look if I go back on my word?”
“Then don’t. Let the deadline expire and extend the olive branch at the last minute. Come out of it looking like the savior who fought to keep them in school and use it for your own gain.”
His eyes rush with the idea. When he glances at me again, it’s with respect. “My daughter wasn’t smart to risk it all for you, but I can see why she would.”
I point to the crystal holding the rest of the whiskey. “I’ll be back for another glass.”
His eyes remain on me as I slip through the door of his office and take off.
I stay inside my car when I get back to Redwood Prep.
Sol has a therapy session now and I might as well take him straight there.
Besides, if I go in, I’m going to seek out Brahms again. And then I’m going to put my foot in my mouth by asking her to freaking marry me of all things.
The craziest part is… it’s not an unpleasant idea.
She belongs to me already.
Why not put the shackles on her wrists so she can’t go anywhere?
I run a hand down the side of my face and tilt my head back. The temperatures are scorching, and it feels like my air conditioning is going all out just to cool me off.
The door opens. Sol climbs in, his backpack in his lap and an unreadable expression on his face.
Neither of us say anything on the drive.
It still bothers me, that connection he has with Brahms. There are times when he looks at her and I genuinely want to gouge his eyes out.
He’s my freaking best friend. How the hell did I let a girl swoop in and destroy us?
I adjust my fingers on the wheel, determined to put my issues aside and focus on the bigger picture.
“Thanks for the ride,” Sol says when I stop in front of the hospital.
“Sol.”
One foot is already out of the car, but he freezes.
I stare straight ahead. “I’ve handled Miller. He’s not going to be a problem.”
Sol’s fingers tighten on the backpack.
“Trust me and wait,” I add, feeling the need to emphasize. There’s something about his gaze lately, something that sets me on edge. “I handled it.”
Sol says nothing in response. He just climbs out of the car and slams the door shut.
I watch him walk into the building and my pulse quickens. I have a really bad feeling that keeps me staring at his back long after I’m supposed to drive off.
