Page 54 of Striking Range

I own two suits, and tonight I’ll be wearing the one I save for Easter Sunday—black with teal accents. As I’m adding the finishing touches, I can hear the guests arrive while Ash and Felicita greet the couple.

Francis Johnston is about ten years older than my father, and his wife is about two years younger than Felicita. Everyone in Sinclair knows that Holly is a gold digger—she came from Miami about two years ago, and they were married in less than a month of her arrival.

I think she’s in Felicita’s spin class.

Once I descend the stairs, I’ll have to be polite and pleasant or risk Ash’s wrath once they leave. So I slick back my hair and make sure my suit is in order before I leave my room.

I find everyone in the den: glasses of Brandy in hand for the men and wine glasses filled to the brim for the women. They’re laughing; that kind of laughter that comes from rich assholes who think they’re better than you, who know they’re worth more than the house you live in.

Francis spots me first, and I bow my head to him politely and give him a small smile, saying, “Good afternoon, Mr. Johnston.”

He accepts my outstretched hand once I stand to my full height.

“Everett, still polite as ever, young man.” His voice is scratchy and abused by years of cigars. “And still handsome as ever, too.”

I turn to his wife, dodging his compliment as I kiss the back of her hand. “Mrs. Johnston.”

She flushes red, covering her mouth with her unoccupied hand.

“He does as he should,” Ash speaks for me, smiling proudly as if he’s always been such a doting father.

“You’re almost done with your degree at Sinclair Public College, aren’t you?” Francis probs, his tone dripping with distaste at the name.

“Yes, sir.”

“You could have gone to the University of Miami, son. They have some pretty impressive graduates. Myself included.” He chuckles smoothly, looking me up and down in half appraisal, half scrutiny.

I have no idea what this man sees when he looks at me, but I do know what I’m supposed to show him, so I play the role as I was taught to.

“Yes, sir,” I placate. “That is very true. But I got a pretty good scholarship, and I figured we could use that extra tuition money for charitable donations instead. I’m particularly fond of the Children’s Home Society of Florida.”

I am, in fact, not very interested in charity work. Not that I don’t care about children in need—I actually have a soft spot for children. But I have no time or the means to help in a meaningful way.

But this is exactly what Ash would want me to say, and I know I’ve pleased him when he nods approvingly, placing a large hand on my shoulder.

No one seems to notice that I flinch.

“Everett is a very sensitive, passionate boy. We let him take this path to foster that spirit in him. We believe it’ll help him in the future when it comes to making connections in the business world.”

Francis hums in approval. “Very impressive, young man. Ash, you’ve done one hell of a job here. Beautiful home, beautiful wife, brilliant son. Expected of a Carmichael.”

The men laugh, taking sips of their liquor as the women nod politely, sizing each other up.

“Well, would anyone care for dinner?” Felicita purrs sweetly, her long blonde hair curled around his waist, her red dress swaying against her ankles as her heels clack in the direction of the kitchen.

Ever the charming lady of the house.

Quietly, I follow the group toward the kitchen, letting them ramble about different partners at the firm—who they like and who they don’t. Who will last the rest of the year and who will be moving on.

Dinner is a beef roast with roasted vegetables and freshly baked bread; the table is lively with the sound of cutlery and small talk. I make myself invisible until Holly drags me back into the conversation yet again.

“So, Everett,” she says, her voice sultry and soft. “Have you found yourself a girlfriend yet? You’re about to graduate; it’s about time to settle down, no?”

Holly is sixteen years older than me, yet every time I’ve encountered her in the past year, she’s made it a point to make some sort of pass at me. I’m not an idiot—I know bedroom eyes when I see them.

“I’m seeing someone, yes. It’s nothing official.” I offer our company a smile, taking a small sip of my water.

“Well, of course a healthy young man like yourself would play the field as long as he can!” Francis laughs. “But Holly is right, son. Time is elusive; you have to place your foundation eventually. Find yourself a good girl.”