“He did say he’d be a bit late,” Mom said when we entered the extravagantly decorated restaurant. It screamed expensive meals, ones that probably consisted of a few ornamental leaves arranged decoratively on a plate. Dad often thought spending money on us was the same as spending time.
Of course he’ll be late, I thought silently. He probably has to say goodbye to the secretary he’s been holed up with all week.
We sat at the table for three he’d booked by the window. Mom went into overdrive pretty quickly, filling the silence with yet another interrogation about the party.
“Were there any cute boys?” she asked with wide eyes, flattening her manicured fingers over the leather-bound menu.
“Hardly,” I said. I scrunched up my nose. “High school boys.”
“Oh, the horror,” Mom said sarcastically.
Really, it wasn’t high school boys that were the problem. It was just the ones at Arlington who had turned me off dating. This meant that I was one of the few senior girls who’d never had a first kiss, let alone a boyfriend.
“I was just like you at your age,” she went on. “Very cynical, always giving my parents attitude.”
“I don’t give you attitude,” I said pointedly.
Her amused smile let me know she wasn’t offended. Though Mom and I bickered, we were in some ways all we had.
Half an hour had passed, and the empty seat remained unoccupied.
“It’s probably traffic,” Mom insisted.
After another half hour I was beginning to grow tired of Mom’s excuses. I sighed, giving her the most sympathetic look I could muster. “We should just order dinner.”
I expected her to scold me for interrupting her rambling about repaving the driveway, but instead her smile wavered. “Yes . . . maybe we should.”
We were halfway through our tiny servings of French food when Mom’s phone chimed. I raised an eyebrow, waiting to hear whatever excuse Richard Whittaker had come up with this time.
“He can’t get away from work. He’s . . . He has to leave for an urgent trip to Seattle.”
Of course.
I wanted to question his excuse, but I knew Mom knew the answer as well as I did: he just didn’t care.
To him, affairs came before family. As long as he showered us with materialistic affection, all was right in the Whittaker household. I mean, his job running an international online news outlet was demanding, of course, but it still hurt that he chose it—and the lifestyle being a rich CEO came with—over his family.
“Come on, Mom,” I said after a few moments of silence. Her face had fallen, and she’d resorted to moving her champagne flute around in circles. “Let’s get some ice cream, go home, and watch TV.”
She nodded, and I took her hand in mine as we left the restaurant, the bill paid on Dad’s credit card.
I was peeling the top off a tub of coconut yogurt when my phone chimed Sunday evening.
Give me your address, I’ll pick you up in an hour to talk.
I wasn’t the least bit surprised when he pulled up in a BMW, but the contrast it gave to my scruffy attire was off-putting. Even though I had plenty of time to change, I decided to stay in my favorite ripped jeans, loved for their comfort rather than how they looked. They hardly screamed beautiful and popular, but then again William already knew I was an impostor.
Casting a look over my shoulder at my neighbors’ houses, hoping none of them would say anything to my mother, who was busy out at a girls’ night, I discreetly slid into the passenger seat. I briefly admired the luxurious interior before taking in the beautiful face of William Bishop.
“Evening, Whittaker,” he said stiffly as he drove off from the curb.
“Where are we going?” I asked, dumping the pleasantries.
“Nowhere anyone will see us,” he replied, his eyes a hauntingly dark shade as they flicked to his rearview mirror.
Something had changed. When I’d confronted him, he’d been angry. Tonight, he was calmer. Almost smug.
We drove for a few miles before he pulled into an unfamiliar, empty parking lot, killing the engine. The lights of Wandemore Valley were long gone, and all I could see out the window was darkness.
“Is this where you dump your dead bodies?” I asked as I followed him out of the car into the darkness.
He chuckled. “Not quite. If I was going to murder someone, I’d take them farther than here.”
“Reassuring,” I muttered. I wrapped my hands around my elbows to fight off the chill that was scattering goose bumps across my skin.
William strode toward the trees that bordered the parking lot, and I quickened my pace to keep up with him. After a few rows of tall oaks, I saw the glittering of lights below us. We were at a lookout, high enough for Wandemore Valley to look like a sea of stars.
“Nice,” I said, an understatement. I pried my attention from the skyline, reminding myself I didn’t come along so he could show me a pretty view. “So, have you come up with a plan?”
“I’ve done a lot of research this weekend,” he said, leaning against a tree trunk. His coat looked much more weather-appropriate than my thin shirt.
“Like?” I pressed.
“Like working out why a girl like you would blackmail me for high school popularity. It seems a little simple of a bargain for someone carrying this much leverage.” His voice was deep and slow, as if he was enjoying watching me squirm.
“Are you saying I should ask for more?”
“I’m saying that there’s more to it than you’re letting on.”
“There always is, isn’t there?” I tried to sound unconcerned, but my mind was racing almost as fast as my heart. Does he know?
“That’s right.”
I pressed my lips together, trying to keep my face blank.
His eyes twinkled in the light of the half-moon above us, and I swear I saw the smallest smirk etched into the side of his lips. “It all made sense when I found out you were best friends with Monica Pennington.”
Obviously, it’d come out that I’d once known the infamous Monica Pennington, but it was never supposed to be traced back to my motives. That was what William Bishop was supposed to protect me from. He was supposed to give me an in—an excuse. By the time they dug beneath the surface, they’d know me as the girl they met through William. Not Monica’s best friend. The connection wouldn’t be so obvious.
But I hadn’t expected William to make the connection so fast. Not before he was in too deep, at least.
“I have to say, it surprised me,” William continued. “But it makes sense. You want revenge for her.”
“You don’t need to bother yourself with what I want.”
He took a step closer. His eyes were menacing, locking with mine in a way that made my knees tremble.
“Let me get this straight. You want to destroy us,” he said, “because of Monica.”
I lifted my chin. He may have worked out more than he should have been able to, but that didn’t mean I could give up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Bishop.”
He shrugged, his eyes following me darkly. “I can put the pieces together.”
I tightened my jaw. “Think what you please. If you don’t want the world to know that your family’s power is built on bribery, then you’ll keep your mouth shut.”