He’s out at the mayoral office this afternoon doing the usual. Appearances, pretending to care, meetings. The efforts are doubling down the closer we get to the election period.
We all know he’s going to lose. I know it. He knows it.
I knew it even when I negotiated the votes from Bex the first night we became one in the warehouse parking lot. It’s still astonishing that she agreed to it—but all that shows is that Bex is confident the Cedar Heights candidate will win as well.
I’ve already decided that I’m going to tell her to rescind the promised votes. Even with everything I have against my father and the vile feelings he incites in me, part of me hates to back out of a deal. I’m nothing if not a man of my word. A deal’s a deal.
But this? I’m willing to compromise my beliefs if it means screwing him over.
As I start scouring his belongings, searching the drawers and filing cabinets, my mind drifts to another residence, blissfully imagining Bex’s face when she sees the tickets soon.
And I touch them in my pocket. Again.
These compulsive tics are going to slow me down at this rate. Even if I did drop them, it’s not like I’dlosethe tickets.
I need to stay focused.
The sooner I can get through this, the quicker I can get to Bex’s house.
Nothing sticks out as I comb through his mayoral and personal paperwork, carefully making sure everything is exactly as I found it. He’s meticulous, and the smallest item out of place will raise the alarm.
Do I care? Not particularly.
I just don’t want to deal with him.
The final drawer is a disappointment—just a collection of project folders. I start to close it when the label on one catches my attention.
It’s just a regular address, almost insignificant, except I know that address. I’ve typed it into my GPS. I’ve been there.
Cedar Heights Academy.
Pulling the manila folder out, I flick it open and begin reading the small bundle of documents. All standard material you’d expect to find with a project. Building plans, safety reports, blueprints.
An application to construct halts me.
Why would they need to do construction? It’s a repair, correct?
Except this is for a brand new structure—a start to finish project.
Grabbing my phone from my pocket—theother one—I hold it steady as I snap photos. I quickly double check the quality before placing the folder back in the drawer and closing it.
Poor Tai’s going to have his work cut out for him at this stage. I might need to formally hire him.
After texting the others that I’m heading to Bex’s now, I grab my overnight bag and jog down the stairs excitedly.
My mind is strictly in tunnel mode so that when I close the front door behind me, I nearly barrel someone down the steps.
“Rylan,” a voice purrs. “I do love when you’re fast, but remember to use those pretty blue eyes to watch where you are going.”
The chill and repulsion is instant.
“Olivia,” I growl, annoyed. “What are you doing here? I’m on my way out.”
Liv’s eyes land on my bag. “Evidently. Let me guess… sleepover at dear Bexley’s?”
“That’s none of your business,” I shoot back, lips curling when I spot the nasal strip across the bridge of her bruised and battered nose. “You got that nose job you always wanted, I see.”
She narrows her eyes at me in a glare. “Despite your recent…choices, you’re not stupid, Rylan. You know exactly what happened.”