Page 3 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

But this…this was a start.

A few minutes later Everett appeared, his features completely calm like nothing had happened. I heard the faint sound of sniffling, but I didn’t have it in me to feel that bad for Katherine. Each family she’d placed me with had grown progressively worse, and I’d begun to suspect two houses ago that she was intentionally doing it.

“Shall we go?” he asked pleasantly, no sign of the vicious barbs I’d heard him leveling at my social worker.

“Yep,” I told him, and he grinned, gesturing for me to walk through the door first.

I made a note to myself as he ushered me through the front door, though…my uncle had a temper.

There was a light rain drizzling down, which seemed like a good omen. There had been sun for the first time in two months on the day of my mother’s funeral. It had felt fake…wrong…like all the mourners there, who had never actuallyknownorcaredabout my mother, or for me. Rain today felt right.

A gray-haired man in a fitted suit with a severe-looking face and cold eyes appeared on the sidewalk in front of us, and I jumped, glancing at my uncle uneasily. The man undid a large umbrella and hurried toward us.

I stared at him wide-eyed as he lifted the umbrella over my and my uncle’s heads. How rich was Everett? I’d thought he was well-off when he drove a Camry and could afford to take my mom and me out to dinner.

This was on a whole other level.

The man stayed by our side for the whole walk to the shiny black vehicle parked at the curb, opening the back door so we could get in.

Sliding into the seat of my uncle’s car felt like stepping into another world—one I had no business being in. The soft leather of the seat hugged me as I settled into it, no doubt costing more than everything I’d ever owned. The air inside smelled like something sharp and expensive, like leather and faint cologne, nothing at all like the old mix of sweat and desperation…and cats I was used to.

I ran my fingers along the armrest, feeling the smooth stitching beneath my fingertips.

“You like it?” His voice broke through my thoughts, low and smooth, and I realized I was still staring, my fingers tracing the trim like a kid who’d never been inside a car before.

“It’s…nice,” I said, my voice quiet, almost unsure.Nicedidn’t seem like the right word, but I couldn’t think of therightwords to say.

Everett chuckled, the sound warm. “Someday you’ll be used to all of this. It’s just the beginning, Sloane.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, and I didn’t ask. Instead, I let my gaze wander, taking in the details—the perfect stitching on the seats, the way the buttons and dials seemed to glisten under the soft lighting. It was the kind of car driven by people who didn’t have to check price tags or worry about overdue bills.

A silence filled the cab.

“Who was the man with the umbrella?” I finally asked quietly, fiddling with the hole in my leggings.

“That’s Darwin. He’s my driver and one of my assistants, I suppose,” Everett mused, reclining back in his chair.

There was a partition up between the backseat and the front, and I could only faintly hear the sound of the engine as Darwin started the car and we pulled away from the curb.

“What kind of car is this?” I asked awkwardly, glancing around.

“A Bentley Flying Spur,” he responded calmly as he pulled out his phone and began typing something into it.

I nodded like I knew what he was talking about.

“Business must be doing well,” I continued lamely, immediately wishing that I hadn’t opened my mouth. He was going to tell Darwin to turn the car around or just kick me out right here.

I glanced back, seeing the Beckers’ house fading from view.

“It is,” he answered, putting down his phone and turning his attention to me as I turned back around. “Now, tell me about yourself. What are your hobbies? What are your favorite things?”

I blinked, not expecting such a heavy question right out of the gate.

“Water?” he asked when I hadn’t gotten an answer out after several awkward seconds. I nodded, and he opened up the seat between us, pulling a bottle out of a chilled compartment.

“Thank you,” I said, immediately undoing the cap and taking a swallow. I’d been hiding out in my room as much as possible since I’d gotten to the Beckers’, and that meant I hadn’t been drinking…or eating very much lately. Not that there had been much food to begin with.

Mmm. Rich-people water tasted good.

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