Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
If Madison’s going to work for me, she has to learn to run with the wolves. Billy will do his best to run her off. He hates humans more than any other shifter I know.
I won’t tell Billy, but my money’s on Madison. She’s smart, pays attention and is determined to impress. I doubt he can slip her up.
“Indira’s moving to an analyst position. Inform Vance.”
Billy cocks his head. “That makes New Girl your direct report.”
I say nothing, daring him to challenge me. He tilts his head and lopes off.
Out on the floor, Madison is helping Indira pack up her things. The two women hug. As Indira leaves, Madison faces the boardroom. Her eyes search out mine, and she meets my gaze head on.
I shouldn’t find it satisfying, but I do.
“I look forward to impressing you.”
Me too, little human. Me too.
Chapter Nine
Madi
Landhower Prep School’s campus is an oasis of green in the city. Towering oak trees line the elegant walkways and lush lawns. The buildings that house the classrooms have grandiose stone archways in a neo-Gothic style, as if the bigger the archway, the better the quality of the lectures inside. The architects must have been channeling that famous Raphael fresco with Plato and Aristotle. It’s over the top but attracts billionaires who want an elite educational experience for their spoiled spawn. The quality of light is even different here, as if money can buy a richer shade of golden sunbeams to slant through the trees.
I haven’t stepped foot here since I graduated, but nothing’s changed. A flock of pearl girls walk past, carrying identical designer backpacks and dressed for riding lessons. Their high ponytails swish as they pretend to ignore the gauntlet of jock-type frat boys lounging on their Mercedes and Maseratis in the parking lot.
Everything's familiar, along with the feeling that I won’t fit in and never will. It was hard when I was sixteen, but now I’m okay with it. Who needs a three thousand dollar backpack anyway?
I duck into the archway and head toward my mom’s office where I agreed to meet her after work. Her door is closed, but as I approach, it flies open, and a pouting young man slouches out. I stand aside to let Richie Rich pass, holding my breath before I choke on the cloud of his cologne. His unmarked baseball cap probably costs more than my monthly rent.
My mom sits at her giant desk, peering over her reading glasses at her computer screen. The lines around her eyes and mouth look a little deeper than when I last saw her, but she brightens when she sees me.
“Madi.”
“Let me guess,” I say in greeting, hiking a thumb behind me to indicate the disgruntled student. “Chad or Preston or what’s his name wanted an extension on his paper.”
My mom sighs. “His name is Forbes and yes. He wanted a redo of his exam. Apparently ‘sleeping in after partying late’ is a valid excuse.”
I spread my hands in victory, but it’s a hollow one. “Guess nothing here has changed.”
“Nope. Except my two kids have flown the nest, and now I can’t eat lunch with them every day anymore.” She sounds more proud than sad, and I head around her desk to give her a hug.
“So everything’s good?” I ask, moving a stack of books from a chair so I can sit.
“Everything's great. Brayden is at an NYU meet and greet for new students. He’ll meet us for dinner, and I’m sure he’ll talk your ear off about all the theater and debate clubs he’s trying out for.”
“Good. My first paycheck should cover the first big tuition payment, and then we can work on chipping down the room and board debt.”
My mom shakes her head. “I can handle the loan payments. This isn’t your responsibility, you know.”
“It’s only fair. The reason I can land a job on Wall Street is because of the education I got. I’m paying it forward.”
A few years after my birth, my mom received a letter informing her of funds available for my education, and instructing her to send me to school here. The money came from a mystery donor, but it doesn’t take a huge leap of logic to guess that it was from my father’s side of the family. Hush money for the bastard child.
That’s how I ended up at Landhower. It was supposed to be a gift, a boon to give me a leg up in life. A panacea for all the years growing up with a single mom who scraped together enough money to buy me school clothes and also make rent. She couldn’t afford child-care, so I hung out with Aubrey in our apartment building after school and lived on generic brand mac and cheese that I learned to make myself.
For four years, I walked these halls with rich kids, knowing my douchebag dad was once one of them. That I was unwillingly part of his legacy. I’d have preferred going to a public school over accepting scraps from my sperm-donor’s table, but my mom was so excited for me. She even scrambled to get a job here, so Brayden could also attend under the free tuition program for staff members. His daddy wasn’t rich enough to assuage his guilt by paying his bastard’s tuition. Brayden has no money for college.