by L. J. Woods
I take a look around. We’re in a small hallway with what looks like a supply closet at the end, away from any traffic. I reach for the bag before I correct him, “Was.”
He pulls the bag back and I miss, but he takes a step closer, the air catching in my throat. I try to swallow but my mouth is dry, the scent of peppermint, pine and musk filling my nose. His scent is as intoxicating as his presence. And his breath.
“Why haven’t I seen you around?” His eyes fall to my lips. “I’d remember you.” He moves a little closer, and I confirm the strong smell of booze is coming from him. “You don’t look like a wine and dine kind of girl—so do you want to thank me here or are public bathrooms more up your alley?”
“Excuse me?” I arch an eyebrow, my eyes narrowing at his gaze.
He chuckles. It’s low and rolling, almost seductive. It makes something tighten in my stomach. “You’re not from around here.”
“Well, I am now.” I reach for the bag again but he raises it higher. Dropping my hands to my sides, I square up with him. “What? Is being from Eden Gardens some prerequisite to get a donut?”
“Do they not have manners where you’re from?” He takes a step back before taking a sip from his cup, his eyes on me the whole time. “I’m sure we can come up with a few ways to thank your new king.”
I raise an eyebrow. “King?” Is this guy serious?
He tilts his chin a little to the floor. “Damien King of King Financial, at your service.”
My eyes narrow at the mention of that company. It sounds familiar. Then it hits me. “You mean the same King Financial that bought the East Glendale Community Centre?” My mouth twists whether I mean it to or not. It was a big change for my hometown. Overnight we said good-bye to after-school dance classes and hello to payday loans.
“You’re from The Grove?” His mouth twists too.
I smile, one to match the disgust on his face before I take that moment to snatch the white bag out of his hand. He looks at his empty grip before he takes a few steps further, his chest meeting mine.
My back hits the wall before he stares me in the eyes. “You don’t belong here. And don’t you think for a second you can enter my world.”
“Oh yeah, I’m just dying for my debutante ball.” I meet his glare, the sarcasm oozing off my tongue. “Since you don’t need my money—” I push to my right, escaping his attempt to corner me. “I’ll be going.”
I didn’t mean for it to happen, but my shoulder pushes the cup from his grip. It slams against his chest, contents spilling out over his hoodie.
“Shit.” I try not to laugh but it’s hard. “I really didn’t mean to do that.” I start backing away, doing my best to hide my smile. It’s what he gets for being a dick.
“Well, now you owe me an apology.” His voice is deeper, almost a growl.
“Or I can take that as my apology and we can call it even,” I smirk, almost at the end of the small path.
“You don’t call the shots Grove Girl, I do.” He throws his empty cup to the ground, his eyes flicking up to me. He pulls his hoodie off his head, his thick dark hair a mess underneath. I feel like I’m squaring off with the devil, his gaze causing goosebumps under the sleeve of my jacket. A tingle between my legs.
“Damien?”
I turn around to see an older, stalkier version of the entitled boy I’ve angered. Unlike Damien’s clean-shaven mug, this man has a thick groomed beard and piercing grey eyes.
Pushing by him, he eyes me with a narrow gaze before I turn the corner, speed-walking to my sister.
“Why am I not surprised to see you in such a state? Get yourself together— name to represent.”
The man’s voice is the last thing I hear before I’m in the clear, donut in hand.
When I get back to Willow my heart is still racing and I’m not sure if it’s from anger or fear. Uneasiness or excitement. I do have one question. Who the fuck does Damien King think he is?
I have no time to digest my first interaction in Eden. There’s a pretty blonde sitting next to my sister, leather portfolio in hand. She’s wearing a black skirt and a white blouse with one too many buttons opened. Her hand is on Willow’s knee, and when I call her name, my sister lifts her head up. So does the woman next to her, “Joelle?” Her blue eyes have a dusting of blended eyeshadow, light pink on her lips.
I correct her, “Jo.”
She rises from her seat, hands gripping the leather. “I’m Holly, assistant to Eric Archibald.” Her eyes move to the clock behind me. “It’s so nice to meet you, but I’m behind schedule so we have to scurry.” Holly gives a tight smile and I can’t tell whether it’s apologetic or strained.
I give Willow the white paper bag before Holly leads us through revolving doors. “Glazed. Your fav.”
“Thanks, Jo.” Willow gives me the first genuine smile I’ve seen in days. It makes bumping into Damien King all the more worth it.
We’re out in the open fall air when Willow takes her first bite. The air in Eden is crisp but fresh. There’s no smog. No smell of moulding bread from the brewery. No burning rubber.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It feels cleaner than The Grove, woodsy even. But something tells me this is only the beginning of what Eden Gardens has to offer.
There’s a black Rolls Royce waiting not too far from the doors and Holly hands our bags to the man waiting in front. He’s wearing a black suit with a hat like in the movies and salutes us before he takes them. Holly ushers us inside before climbing into the passenger’s seat and closing the door.
The car is spotless. It smells like fresh leather and I can already tell we’re out of our element. I watch as Willow’s hand moves along the handle before I turn my own attention to the many buttons in the backseat. Of course, I’m wondering what they all do but I’m way too on edge to touch any of them.
It’s not long before the driver’s in his seat and we’re pulling off from the curb. The sun starts to set as we drive between rows of tall buildings. Spotless sidewalks lay in front, small colourful gardens around them.
“Welcome to Eden Gardens!” Holly turns around, her hair falling over her shoulder as she beams at us with pearly whites. “This is the downtown strip but the Archibalds live in a community just outside. It seems like a lot but you’ll get used to it.” She nods as if she’s reassuring herself and not us.
Tall trees line the streets, many with a red “Huang 2020” sign pinned to them. Boutiques with designer names go by between sparkling jewelry shops. We pass high-end department stores. Pilate studios. Pretty cafes. I feel like I’m in the twilight zone. A rich, expensive version of it anyway. This morning Willow and I pawned one of our mom’s rings for lunch money. And now we’re in a luxury vehicle cruising downtown Eden.
I turn to Willow who looks as in awe as I am, her head whipping and turning, eyes bugging out of her head. Before I can point out Fendi and Gucci, our driver turns down a road lined with more tall bushy trees. We pass mansions that look like they could house thousands. Some with large gates, others with long driveways.
“I’m sure The Archibalds will fill you in on the lay of the land. And if you need anything, just call. For now, welcome home!” An iron gate opens up before us, our driver pulling the car through.
A house the size of one of my old schools sits behind it, the perfectly paved driveway lit up like a runaway. It’s massive. Like one of those homes you’d see in a lottery ad. The grass and hedges are all neat and proper and I’ve already lost count on how many spotless windows I can see.
Our driver parks the car and Holly hops out to open the door. When my feet are on the pavement I get a good view before I pull my sister by my side. We’re a long way from home and with how big this house is, we may as well be on Mars.
“Don’t worry. Henry will take your bags to the door. Vincent will greet you inside.” Holly looks back at the house, a stone path leading to a big brown wooden door. “For now, welcome to your new life!”
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About The Author
Love steamy romantic suspense? What about deliciously dark tales that’ll have you dripping … I mean gripping to your Kindle?
L.J. Woods is an author of young adult and new adult contemporary dark romance. Her full-length novels feature fierce heroines and irresistible bad boy anti-heroes (I love me some alpha-holes!). She has a burning passion for weaving tales with diverse and complicated characters. Her angsty books highlight the darkness in us all.