Page 31 of Faux Real
Oliver stiffens, his eyes icy, shocked,shaken. “Whatdo you think you’re doing?” he asks in a strained tone as my fingers trail along his hard chest.Hmm. Maybe he works out. “Stop. Touching. Me.”
“Oh, you don’t like this?” I coo, tightening my grip around his navy tie and tugging his face toward mine so that we’re at eye level. “Am I making you uncomfortable? Ifthisis too much for you to handle, how in the world are we supposed tosleeptogether?”
Oliver’s eyes harden as he pulls away, clearing his throat. “Well played, Carmichael,” he mutters, rubbing his chin methodically. “I underestimated you.”
“Yes. Yes, you did,” I grin, giving myself a mental pat on the back.Kenny 1, Oliver 0.“Well, this has been fun but I’m going to go. I’ll see you tomorrow for Lemar’s party, okay? I’ll bring you a copy of the master key in the morning.”
“No key, no party,” he states, digging his phone out of his pocket, a frown knitting his dark eyebrows as he reads a text. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He exhales, shaking his head. “I gotta run. Catch ya later.”
“Okay, b—” Before I can say goodbye, Oliver storms off to his dorm room, cursing under his breath.
God, he’s moody.
eleven
All That Glitters
OLIVER
Slammingthedoortomy dorm, I re-read the text from my eldest brother. I should’ve blocked him too.
Grant: Mum wants you to call Granddad ASAP. He’s been trying to reach you for days. Seriously, Oliver, do you even want to be part of this family? Get it together. And unblock Mum and Dad. Fucking toddler.
Self-righteous prick.
Oxford sure as hell turned him into a fucking knob. No, that’s not even true. He was a wanker before university, he’s just worse now. Acting like he gives a shit. He couldn’t care less about me. The more I fuck up, the more money he gets. That’s all he cares about. He’s just appeasing Mum and Dad in order to look like the perfect son.
Oliver: Fuck. Off.
Grant: If you don’t ring him right now, Mum’s going to get Aunt Bessie to pop by your school. Choice is yours, Oliver. I’d say the latter would be quite embarrassing for you, would it not? Call Granddad.
Fuck! Like hell, she will! I slump down on my bed and scroll through my contacts until I reach Charles Knight. It was a heavenly day when Mum told me that my grandparents were moving to New York to be close to Aunt Bessie after Uncle Carlos’ untimely demise.
Granddad Charles loathes me; always going on about how my behavior brings shame upon our family. Like he didn’t fuck around in his youth. I found old prints in the attic of their Knightsbridge estate of him smoking a spliff. Bloody hypocrite.
Hesitating for a brief second, I eventually press call and the line rings.
“Knight Real Estate Development, Veronica speaking, how may I direct your call?”
What? This is hisworknumber? The fucker gave me his work number? What brilliant grandparents I have, simply marvelous.
“This is Oliver Knight,” I mutter. “I need to speak to my granddad.”
“Oh, Oliver,” Veronica coos, her fake sweet voice forcing me to wince. “It’s nice to finally talk to you. I’ll transfer you over to Mr. Knight. One moment please.” Static holding music blares into my ear as I wait. Nice to finally talk to me? Load of shit. She probably doesn’t even know who I am.
“Oliver, how kind of you to return my call,” Granddad says, his deeply stern voice forcing me to sit upright. He’s not even bloody here and I’m tense. “I was worried that something terrible had happened to you, gang violence or perhaps a motorcycle crash.”
I grind my teeth together. “You know, I keeptryingto leave the gang but apparently I made a blood pact. When you’re in, you’re in for life. Nothing I can do about it.”
“Listen to me, Oliver,” Granddad states, a vein most likely protruding from his large forehead. “I do not have time for your poor humor and attitude, understand?”
I roll my eyes. “Lighten up Granddad, what’s life without a little humor?”
“Oliver, I need you to stop talking and listen to me,” he fumes. “In three weeks, I am hosting a fundraiser for a congressional candidate. Youmustattend and youmustbe on your best behavior, is that clear?”
“Can’t, sorry,” I say lightly. “I’m busy.”
“I have not told you the dates yet,” he states. “And I do not care if you have plans, change them. You are to be in attendance. No ifs, ands, or buts. Do you hear me?”
