Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Alyssa,” I hold my hand out toward him.
“I saw Marcello talking with you. Is he the reason you’re not in the other room?” He gestures to a door separating the function rooms, ignoring my hand.
I have seen some of my peers being led in there tonight, but there are security guards to prevent anyone from just wandering inside.
I didn’t know what that room was for, thinking maybe it was there for family members to hangout—for students like Jewel who didn’t need to swan around the investors, showing them the product they’re pumping their money into.
The same feeling of shame from earlier returns under his attention.
“I work for Marcello at a wine bar. He was just saying hello, that’s all.” I don’t know why I feel the need to clarify that, but this guy is making me feel unsettled. “How do you know him?” I ask, curious.
Mischief dances in his eyes. “He’s…” a pause, “my brother.” I must look as shocked as I feel, because he chuckles, placing his finger under my jaw to close my mouth. “Well, he could be anyway,” he adds.
“Alyssa,” Madam Georgina beams, walking toward me, her gown swaying behind her like a tail.
I’m not sure how she knows my name. I’ve only ever seen her in passing. She’s the director of the school and a former, renowned ballerina. “I’ve been looking for you,” she informs me, seemingly nervous.
Her words cause me to pause. “Please, come with me.”
Abandoning my drink, I take a step toward her.
“I’ll be seeing you, Alyssa,” the man pipes up with a curious tilt of his head.
“I didn’t get your name,” I say. He places his drink on a tray a waiter is holding as he passes, and then he too disappears into the crowd.
“Alyssa?” Madam Georgina snaps, clicking her fingers at me like I’m a pet. She hooks her arm with mine and begins guiding me through the crowd of people toward the exit.
“Where are we going?” I ask, but she just gives me a once over, pursing her lips at my attire.
She pulls me into the foyer where a couple dancers linger, no doubt as uncomfortable as I am.
Why didn’t I come out here to hide? My stomach dips when she continues to guide me into a hallway.
It’s eerily quiet and most of the lights are dimmed.
“What’s going on?” The knot in my stomach tightens.
We come to a stop outside an office door and she turns to face me. “It’s not good news, I’m afraid. Your beneficiary has pulled your funding.”
Thud.
I stare at her, trying to read for signs that she’s joking, but I’m not sure this woman knows how to joke. “How can they do that?”
“It’s very rare, and usually, if we were farther into the year, we may have found room in the budget to cover the costs, but that’s not possible at this time.”
Is it hot in here? Sweat breaks out over my brow, my heart pounding.
It’s over.
Back to the farm I go.
Back to face Clint.
Back to mother’s ghost haunting me.
No. No. No.
“How can they just pull the funding?” I’m on the verge of tears, my voice cracking.
She rubs a pitying hand down my forearm. “It happens. Circumstances change.” Moving in closer, she says in a hushed whisper, “There are other beneficiaries here tonight. One actually asked me about you and wants an audience with you.”
An audience? What does that mean?
“If you have the means to cover your costs...” She holds her hands up, already knowing I don’t.
I wouldn’t need a scholarship if I had the means.
This seems so unfair—and not the treatment you’d expect from a place like Swan.
“Just meet with Mr. Howard. Things may work themselves out.” She bobs her head.
Mr. Howard?
She opens the door to an office and ushers me inside, but she doesn’t follow.
The hairs raise on the back of my neck when a clicking sounds signals the door locking.
I sense I’m not alone, the shadows creeping out to greet me. A lamp on a large wooden desk is the only offering of light.
My hands clutch nervously in front of me. “I’ve been watching you tonight,” a voice croons as the silhouette of a man steps into view.
I look back to the door, biting my lip.
“I have a key.” He pats his breast pocket. “Don’t worry.”
I recognise him from earlier, standing with Jewel. “You’re Jewel’s parent?” I croak, feeling uncomfortable being locked in a room with this man.
Does Jewel know he asked for this meeting? Is the beneficiary pulling my funding a ploy to set up this unkosher meet-up?
I feel dirty and cheap. My ideals of this place become smeared in ash. This can’t be legal or approved by all members of the board, surely.
“I’m not here to talk about Jewel. Let’s talk about you. I hear you’re in need of a beneficiary?” He moves closer, his eyes undressing me.