Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
I cleared my throat. “Yes, sir.”
The teacher nodded, strolled into a walk-in cupboard behind his desk, and returned with a brand-new textbook. He brought it over, laying it down on the table. “See me after class so I can give you what you need to catch up.”
Every teacher had said the same so far, and I was trying not to panic at all the work that was going to interfere with football.
Mr. Fisher started talking to the class, and although I was aware (mostly from the textbook title) that we were learning about World War II and the Road to Appeasement, I was mostly aware of Beth.
My skin prickled with heat, and I couldn’t seem to regulate my breathing.
I’d fancied lassies in the past, of course, even had sex with a few, but … I’d never felt this hyperawareness for a complete bloody stranger.
Suddenly, the noise level in the room went up and Beth turned to me. “Are you okay to work with me on it?”
On what?
Instead of trying to cover, I smirked and shrugged. “I spaced. What are we supposed to be doing?”
Beth frowned, though a smile teased her full lips. “Concentrating. Can you do that, Callum?”
“It’s Callan,” I corrected her.
“Oh.” She held out a hand, and I glanced down to see her nails were perfectly manicured in a bright purple and she wore an Apple Watch. No doubt, Beth came from money. “I’m Beth Carmichael. Fourth year, but I’ll be sixteen in February.”
A year younger, then. Her height made her look older.
“Callan Keen. Fifth year. I’m seventeen in February.”
Her smile was gorgeous and flirty as fuck. My gut tightened. “Well, birthday-month twin, what brings you to Drimwhinnie Academy this late in the game?”
I couldn’t help but smile back. “Football.”
Nose wrinkling adorably, she asked, “What does that mean?”
“It means they wanted me to play for their team, so I’m here on a football scholarship.” She might as well know now I didn’t have the kind of money she and her friends probably had.
“Really?” Beth looked visibly impressed. “You know, I’ve never liked football.”
Well, that wouldn’t do. “I’ll have to change your mind, then.”
Her gaze moved between mine. “Okay. I’ll let you try. But only because you have gorgeous eyes.”
I let out a huff at her flirting and rubbed the nape of my neck. I liked how confident and outspoken she was, even if I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to her. “Aye, okay.”
“Aren’t you going to return the compliment?” she teased.
Chuckling, I shook my head. “I think you already know you’re fucking gorgeous.”
She grinned, delighted. “Now I do.”
This sensation gripped my chest, like my heart was turning over inside it. It momentarily paralyzed me, and all I could do was stare at her.
I barely knew her, but somehow I knew even then at sixteen, Beth Carmichael would ruin me. Either in a good way … or the worst way imaginable.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BETH
Present day
It wasn’t my first time in the Palm Court at the Balmoral Hotel, yet it never ceased to make me smile. The glass dome ceiling flooded the large tearoom with light, tables were arranged beneath palm trees situated near the Grecian columns of the round room. Hand-painted wallpaper added a touch of elegant whimsy to the space, as did the harpist playing from a balcony above the doorway.
I spotted Sheera Green as soon as I entered the room. To my surprise, she was not alone. She pushed back from her table in time with the man at her side. Though she didn’t smile, her eyes held a warmth as they darted over me.
“Elizabeth?”
“Beth.” I held out a hand to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Sheera’s dark hair was curled with utter perfection around her equally perfectly made-up face. She wore a lot of makeup but in a way that looked like she didn’t wear a lot of makeup. Not surprising since she was the CEO and founder of one of the largest cruelty-free makeup brands in Europe. Her elegantly tailored suit was cut to perfection, the jacket slightly longer than regular, and the trousers extra wide in the leg. A diamond wedding ring glinted on her engagement finger, and two gold bangles accompanied a diamond tennis bracelet. Long, slender fingers ended in immaculately shaped French-tipped nails.
“Hmm. You too.” Her gaze flickered down me again and I straightened my shoulders confidently.
I’d dressed for the Palm Court. My own wide-leg trousers were the color of pale pistachio, and I wore a cropped silk T-shirt that showed off a couple of inches of skin. I’d paired the look with designer platform trainers I’d splurged on after Luke shared them on his Instagram. My outfit was youthful but expensive, which I’d hoped was the vibe Sheera was going for with her brand.
She was hard to read as she turned to the young man at her side. The guy was possibly a few years older than me, maybe even hitting thirty. He was good-looking in a preppy way that did absolutely nothing for me. I wondered for a split second if he was Sheera’s husband until she introduced him. “This is my son, Samuel.”