“You underestimated me. My father spent every spare second he had training me for this exact position. I know every damn business deal he made, every fucked up decision, and every deal made on the side. I know dollar amounts, I know every dodgy lie told to get those deals across the line, including every last thing you bastards have done over the years to keep your positions.” he slowly looks around the table, pointing out each one. “Embezzlement. Fraud. Child labor. Prostitutes. Affairs. Perjury. Not one of your hands are clean. Charles Carrington appointed me to be his sole heir to continue what he built, what his father grew, and what my great-grandfather started from the ground up. This business has been in Carrington hands for over a hundred years and I’d be damned to let it go to a bunch of pricks like you.
“You made a mistake assuming that I’ve spent the last week devastated by the loss of Charles Carrington. I haven’t. My father was a bastard and he will rot in hell, but that doesn’t mean that I’m about to allow you bastards to come into my home and railroad me out of here. I’m in charge now and things are going to be done my way. If you don’t like it, then you can leave. So, tell me,” he says, dropping into his chair and relaxing back into it. “Are we going to have a problem here?”
The men look around, each of them equally as unsure as the next. The one who had been accused of fraud clears his throat. “No, Mr. Carrington. There are no problems here.”
“Good. Now, as Roderick pointed out, time is money and if you’re all done wasting mine, we need to work out how we’re going to move forward.”
Well damn.
Colton Carrington is a fucking boss and I don’t think I’ve ever had so much respect for him.
Chapter 12
I stare down at the Bellevue Springs Private uniform on my bed with a few too many questions running through my head, each of them demanding attention and giving me the worst migraine in history.
One. Where the fuck did it come from?
Two. Who the hell actually decided that I’ll be going to that school today?
Three. Where the hell is Colton Carrington so I can kick his stupid ass?
For me to have a uniform would mean that the fees have been paid. For the fees to be paid, it had to have come from one very rich eighteen-year-old, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
It’s one thing for Charles to pay my fees for BSA, but Colton? I don’t know. It’s weird. Demeaning almost. There’s no way in hell mom and I would be able to afford to pay him back, like ever. It’s insane. What kind of shitty investment is that on his part? I hope he’s not running his father’s businesses like that otherwise he can wave goodbye to those billions that keep him toasty warm at night.
Realizing that I don’t have much choice, I get myself dressed and look at myself in the full-length mirror. I hate it. It’s similar to my old uniform with the blouse and pleated skirt. But instead of the soft grey that complimented my skin, the skirt is an off-pink with a weird checkered pattern and no damn pockets. What school uniform doesn’t come equipped with pockets? Where am I supposed to hide my phone?
I check the time and realize that I should probably get a move on. I’m not exactly sure what time this school starts but if I take my first day at BSA into consideration when Colton had driven by the girl’s school and we’d seen them all just arriving, I’d say we’re working on a similar schedule.
I walk into the main house and stop by the staff quarters to grab something to take for lunch and find myself smiling as I bump into Maryne who holds out a packed lunch all ready for me to take. “Thank you,” I murmur, truly appreciating how wonderful she’s been to me and mom since the very second we showed up here.
Maryne nods and gets back to work as though she didn’t just soften my stone-cold heart. I laugh it off and make myself a coffee before deciding on one more stop.
I walk through the house, sipping on my too-hot coffee and wishing I had time to go back and add a little more milk to the mix.
I grab hold of the door handle and throw it open to find Colton sitting behind his father’s desk, staring at his computer screen. He raises a brow as I walk in and before he has a chance to get a word out, I hit him with it.
“What the fuck is this?” I demand, gesturing down my body at the ridiculous, pocketless uniform. “I told you I didn’t want you getting involved.”