Knowing I’ll get a reaction, I push my chair back and leave the plate of food untouched as I say, “Maybe I should make Layla my assistant. Keep it in the family.”
It takes a lot of effort not to smile when Mother gasps, dropping her cutlery on the mahogany table.
“Don’t you dare!” she yells after me as I leave the room. “Falcon!”
Walking through the ostentatious house, filled with enough riches to finance a small country, a grin spreads over my face. I adjust my suit jacket then pull my keys from my pocket as I walk out of the mansion to where my gunmetal-grey Lamborghini is parked. The Lamborghini Veneno was a gift for my twenty-first birthday and one of the few things I love in this world.
Just as I’m about to open the door, Julian grabs hold of my arm. I school my face into the usual bored expression before I glance at him.
“Personally, I don’t care who you pick as your assistant, or what you do this year, as long as you don’t put in any effort.” The words are aloof, matching the hostile look in his eyes.
“As long as I’m not a threat to you, right?” I turn to face him, and you can almost feel the temperature drop as our cold gazes lock.
“Right. The seat is mine, and I won’t have you get in my way of taking my rightful place.”
Slightly tilting my head to the right, the corner of my mouth lifts in a sneer. “May the best man win,” I whisper, my words laced with the promise that I’m not backing down anytime soon.
“I’ll always be one step ahead of you,” Julian hisses, and a muscle starts to jump in his jaw, showing just how much I’m getting to him.
I take a step closer, and being the same height as him, our eyes are at the same level. “And I’ll be right behind you, so you better watch your back,” leaning in until our breaths mingle, I bite the last word out, “Brother.”Chapter 1LaylaGrabbing a seat in the middle of the auditorium, my gaze scans the group of first-year journalism students.
Nervous excitement fills the air, the kind you only feel on your first day of the rest of your life. Who you were in high school doesn’t matter because college is a fresh start – new friends, new environment, new standards for what’s acceptable and what’s not.
The fact that I got a free ride to Trinity Academy because my mother is the personal assistant to Warren Reyes, CEO of CRC Holdings, is something I’ll take to my grave. Mr. Reyes’ father was one of the founding members of Trinity, a college meant for the rich and famous, which obviously doesn’t include me.
Even though my mom gets paid a pretty decent income, and I’ve never wanted for anything in my life, it’s not close to the wealth the other students come from – old money that’s been built up over generations.
If they found out I’m not from the top one percent wealthy in the country, I’d be singled out which is precisely what I want to avoid. I’m here to get my degree in journalism because it will go a long way in getting freelance jobs. It’s my dream to join my dad and to travel the world with him.
A girl with long brown curls, classic features and striking blue eyes takes the seat next to me. An eager grin spreads over her full mouth when she looks at me. “Kingsley Hunt. I have a 3.8 GPA and an out of control chocolate addiction.”
Holding her slender hand out to me, she raises an expectant eyebrow.
“Layla Shepard. I hate wearing a bra and always change into my PJs as soon as I’m home,” I say as I place my hand in hers.
“I like you.” I’m surprised at the sincerity in her gaze as she bluntly admits this. “Let’s be friends.”
“Uhm… okay.” Seeing as I don’t know anyone else here, I figure I can use a friend and Kingsley seems to be friendly.
A wave of murmurs washes over the auditorium, and I look to the front to see what all the commotion is about. Three guys walk onto the stage, each of their steps oozing with wealth and power. They take a seat next to the podium with an air of grandeur one can only obtain from having infinite riches, making the chairs look like thrones.
Kingsley leans closer to me and whispers, “Their grandfathers are the founding members of the academy.” Pointing to the guy nearest to the podium, she continues, “That’s Lake Cutler.”
Lake slouches in the chair, and leaning his head back, he closes his eyes, as if our orientation day is taking away from his sleep. Light brown hair stands in every direction, with some sweeping over his forehead. With his features relaxed, he gives me the impression nothing in the world can bother him. Only confidence will allow you that kind of freedom to not care what others think of you.