Page 47 of King

The rest of the paper goes into detail about where the best place would be to foster children from. Seems to be no foster care system at all in Eden. The word "ethnic" has a dark blue circle around it. That's next to a number for “The Glendale Grove Ministry of Children and Social Services.”

Leaning back in the chair, I take it all in. Their plan unfolds as I kick my legs up on the desk but this doesn’t tell me anything I don’t already know.

It's obvious the Archibalds are only using us to get in with potential business partners. Having two “ethnic” kids around is Eric's business move to attract family-oriented companies. The Archibalds might be good at business but they're not exactly subtle.

“Mr. Archibald?” The door creaks and I shove the paper under the calendar, pulling my legs from the table. Vincent’s head peeks through and when he sees who’s sitting behind the desk, he swings the door open. A gust of wind moves through the room. “Miss Rowland! This room is off-limits to you!”

I’m already on my feet by the time he finishes his sentence, headed towards the door. When I get to where he’s standing I give him my best faux-smile. “Sorry, I was looking for Daddy Warbucks.”

“They’re at work. That’s what people do during the day.” He narrows his eyes.

His words make me yawn in his face. I'm getting way too used to everyone’s attitudes. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some fucking off to do.” Taking a move from my classmates, I knock over a painting off the wall on my way out. It goes down with a smash but I don't let Vincent see my wince. “Might want to get that. Daddy dearest might get upset. And we all know what he’s like when he’s upset.”

As I’m skipping up the stairs, my stomach twists. God, that was so bratty. I didn't have to stoop to the level of the residents in Eden, but man, did it feel good. I’d have to watch myself before I become someone’s villain but Vincent made that way too easy.

Stopping at the second floor, I take a peek down the hallway. Vincent’s muttering and I already hear the swishing sound of a broom and the clinks of broken glass. Picking up my legs, I thud harder on the wood so Vincent thinks I went upstairs. Listening out, I take one last peek down the stairs before heading towards the second-floor hallway.

Unsatisfied with what I found in Eric’s office, I’m hoping to find more clues in their bedroom. When I push on the handle to their bedroom door, my heart races but I'm relieved it opens.

The room smells like jasmine and musk. Sweet, yet masculine. Their silky ivory sheets look even more heavenly than what Willow and I have upstairs. Under the bed is spotless, hardly a speck of dust on the shiny wood floors. No clues either.

Standing in the middle of the room, my eyes scan for my next step. This room with its champagne-coloured walls is big enough to fit a sofa, fireplace and a chaise. It all makes up a small living space. The rest of the decor is basic bitch to the max. More beige coloured items, a matching furry rug.

There’s another set of white doors a couple of feet away from their bed. Pushing through brings me onto another shiny white floor. I’m in the bathroom, long circular sink on either side of a round white tub. Two massive closets are on each side of me too. His and hers.

Nancy’s is on the right. I can tell from the door, a pair of Louboutins out front, a Louis Vuitton coat sticking out on a wooden hanger.

Moving inside, the smell of fresh cotton and leather take over. Her closet is almost the size of my room, a big velvet chaise in the middle of floor to ceiling shelves. Half mesmerized, half looking for clues, my fingers kiss the fabric of what I’m sure are pieces worth thousands of dollars.

There’s a set of drawers in one corner and I make my way over. On top is a display of necklaces and bracelets. “This looks like a place someone might keep some secrets,” I mutter. Tugging on a drawer there’s a tinge of excitement in my core as it opens.

It’s not what I expect. Pieces of delicate lingerie lay inside pink tissue paper lined drawers. Victoria Secret. Stella McCartney. I only know these labels from Willow's interest in fashion.

My eyes zero in one in particular. It’s black, shiny and strappy. A one-piece that looks more badass than the rest of the dainty pieces she has in her collection. It’s new, creases in the fabric, price tag hanging off its label. I pull it out, Damien’s voice ringing through my head.

Didn’t take you for the virgin panties kinda girl.

It gives me an idea.

An idea that tells me I’ve got new plans for the evening.

It might be ridiculous. It might not work. But now that I’ve thought of it, there’s no backing down.

I’m going to that homecoming game.

“So...you’re going through with this?” Allie looks at me from the driver’s seat like I’m about to jump off a building.

And it kind of feels like I am.

Looking outside the passenger window, students file towards the school entrance. Some I recognize, others I don’t. The school looks a bit ominous at night, orange moonlight shining on the roof. It's not helping my nerves.

“Yep,” I pop the ‘p’ when I answer. With a glance at Allie, the mickey of scotch in my lap comes to my lips.

Allie didn’t question me when I texted her about coming to the game. I told her my plan and she didn’t try to convince me out of it. She just showed up to grab me from the front gate before plopping the alcohol in my lap like the legend she is.

I'm grateful for the liquid courage though. Also grateful Allie didn’t ask this question before we got here. Sitting in the school parking lot doesn't give me much time to back out.

“Well, I support this movement,” Allie smiles. It's the reassurement I need. “You got me here right beside you and Nate should be here soon.”

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