Bully King - J.A. Huss Page 0,29

towards the Valcourt Mansion.

I’m just reaching for the French door that leads to my room when someone calls out, “You’re late, Cinderella! The ball ended hours ago, honey!”

I turn and see Mona Monroe on a side patio of her mansion, smoking a cigarette, wearing a silky black robe and with her unruly black hair pulled back by a red satin headband.

She waves. “Better get a move on, sweetheart.” She taps her wrist, even though she’s not wearing a watch. “I saw all the servers heading towards the Glass House about ten minutes ago.”

Shit.

I go inside, rip the dress off, pull on yesterday’s clothes and then go back outside. And stand there.

I have no idea where this place is.

“It’s a lake behind the lake,” the chairman said yesterday.

I turn away from the lake and start walking towards the woods. I creep past the Valcourt mansion, crossing my fingers and praying to all the gods that none of the men inside see me.

They don’t. Small miracles.

Then I cross a smooth blacktop road and head into the woods on an unmarked path.

It has to lead somewhere. And if there is a secret lake in this forest, it seems logical that there would be pathways right across the street that would take you to it.

I walk for a while and I’m starting to get worried—and scared about being lost, if I’m being honest—when I hear shouting ahead.

Happy shouting. Not screams or anything. Always a plus when you’re walking through the creepy woods.

But that’s bad. It means that the people I’ll be serving are probably here already.

The shouting and boisterous laughter becomes louder, and closer, when I come upon a large stone… what is it?

There are weird markings on the door. And I stop in front of it, wondering if this is the place. It’s not glass. More like a mausoleum, if I had to describe it.

But then I hear shouting again and keep going, pushing my way through the thick underbrush until I come to the edge of a clearing and find a massive glass house. Like a greenhouse. Except it’s not made up of many small panes, but large sheets of glass that have to have cost a literal fortune to produce.

There are dozens of people here already. Some of them servers, like me. I can tell because they are wearing navy shorts, gold shirts, and white aprons.

But not all of them.

I spy Ax first. Then Lars. And then… yes. There Cooper is with his future High Court Queen, Isabella.

“Psst!”

I startle at the interruption of my thoughts and turn to see a handsome man beckoning me towards him. “Come here,” he whispers.

I do. Because he’s wearing an apron, which means he’s not one of the assholes, but one of the staff, like me.

“You must be Lacy,” he says, pulling on my arm to make me follow him behind the glass building. “You’re late. You’re so lucky I was outside and saw you. They will crucify you, Lacy. You cannot be late. Ever.”

“Um… thanks? But I’m not Lacy.”

He stops and looks at me. “Then who the fuck are you? Everyone else is here already.” He points at me. “If you’re a fucking reporter—”

“I’m not a reporter, Jesus. I’m Cadee Hunter. I’m taking Lacy’s place this summer.”

“You got Lacy’s scholarship? But…” He frowns at me, then looks around, like maybe Lacy is hiding somewhere in the trees, playing a joke on him. “That’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“She worked her ass off for that scholarship.”

“No. She’s the daughter of an embezzler and was getting it as a favor.”

He laughs. “Where the hell have you been hiding? Nothing’s free. Trust me. She earned that spot you just stole.”

“I didn’t steal anything.”

“Whatever. I don’t really care. One more year of service and I’m done being a waiter. I will have all the right contacts to slide right into a very important position.”

I side-eye him, not quite believing it.

“Well,” he amends, “I will have more than I did when I came here. I’ve been inside the tomb. Once you get in, you’re in. Keep that in mind, Not-Lacy.” He taps my head for added emphasis.

“The tomb?” I wonder if that was the weird stone building I passed on my way over here?

“Never mind. You need to change into your uniform. Quick. They expect breakfast to be on time and they like to be served coffee first.” He leads me inside, past a whole bunch of busy kids my age who are preparing breakfast, and then points to a door. “It’s