Page 7 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

I nodded slowly, trying to piece it together. There was something about the way he spoke, the deliberate way he chose his words, that made me feel like he wasn’t telling me the whole story. But I didn’t dare press further.

“I see,” I said quietly, even though I didn’t.

“Do you?” His tone was amused, almost mocking, as he leaned against the doorway. “Good. You should pay attention to women like that, Sloane. They understand the world in ways most people never will.”

My gaze went back to the ballroom.

“You know, I could see you being like them, strong and beautiful and in charge of your destiny.”

“Really?” I asked, blushing. After six months I still wasn’t used to praise, and my uncle was generous with it.

“Oh, yes. I’m quite sure that someday you’ll possess all the same traits.”

He patted my shoulder. “You’d better get to bed, though. You’ll be exhausted at school as it is.”

I nodded, saying goodnight and wandering back to my room without the snack I’d come down for in the first place.

I couldn’t stop thinking about those women while I walked to my bedroom. About the way they carried themselves, how they seemed to own the room. It wasn’t just the wealth or the beauty; it was something deeper, something magnetic.

My uncle had given me so much, and now he'd shown me even more. I didn't want to let him down, and I didn't want to lose the chance to be like those women. Because more than anything, I wanted to be in charge of my destiny, just like he'd said.

CHAPTER1

SLOANE

Seventeen Years, Eleven Months, and Twenty Days Old

My knock on Everett’s office door felt heavier than usual, like my knuckles already knew something I didn’t. He called me in, but his tone was crisp, it was the voice he used for business meetings…and it made me even more uneasy.

I stepped inside, and he looked up from his desk. The room smelled of leather and something smoky, like his cologne or the cigars he sometimes enjoyed after dinner. Everything in here screamed power: the bookshelves lined with unread leather-bound books, the polished desk that reflected the soft glow of the desk lamp, even the chair I sank into across from him.

“You wanted to see me?” I asked, my voice steady, even though my palms felt clammy for some reason.

He’d never given me a reason to be nervous before. I didn’t know why I was now.

Everett leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. He studied me for a moment, his eyes sharp and almost…calculating, before he finally spoke. “Sloane, your birthday’s coming up. The big eighteen.”

I nodded, unsure where this was going. I knew Everett had his staff planning a huge party for me, but besides that, I didn’t know what was happening.

“We need to talk about next steps,” he said, his tone smooth, as if he were discussing a quarterly business review.

“Next steps?” I echoed, a nervous laugh slipping out. “Like…graduation?”

Everett tilted his head, the corners of his mouth twitching in what might have been a smile, but it didn’t feel like the amused kind. “Not exactly. You’ll be graduating soon, and as an adult, it will be time for you to start life on your own.”

I blinked, not understanding. “Wait…what?”

He sighed, like he was explaining something obvious to someone who should’ve known better. “You’ll be moving out after graduation. I’ve given you every opportunity to succeed—this house, your school, everything you could possibly need. Now it’s time for you to stand on your own two feet.”

My stomach dropped like the floor had disappeared beneath me. “But…I don’t have a plan yet. My grades—” I swallowed hard. “They’re not good enough for most colleges. I don’t even know what I want to do.”

“That’s something you’ll need to figure out,” he said simply, as if this was a puzzle I could solve by next Tuesday. “You’ve been given the tools, Sloane. What you do with them now is up to you.”

I stared at him, waiting for some kind of punchline. Some indication that this was a test, or a joke, or anything other than the cold truth settling over me like a weight I couldn’t carry. But his expression didn’t waver. He leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the desk, and looking me in the eye.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. I’d thought he’d let me stay after school while I got a job or an internship or even took classes at the local college until I figured out what I wanted to do with my life. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine being cut off the second that I graduated.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, his tone final. “We’ll discuss it more after the party…”

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