Elite (Eagle Elite) - By Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,33
love… worms.” Classic. Someone should record the gold that flows from my mouth.
Nixon licked his lips. I could see the ghost of a smile dancing across them. This was the most I’d seen him smile… in forever. I both liked it and hated it. On one hand it nearly killed me every time he directed a smile in my direction, because I knew it wasn’t just fleeting but fake. Nixon wasn’t the type that offered something without taking something in return, and I knew my payback was coming up.
“Ready?” the bored teenager at the till asked.
“Yup.” I handed him my cup, he placed it on a scale and then placed Nixon’s on the scale. “Twelve dollars and nineteen cents.”
For yogurt?
I kept my mouth shut while Nixon handed over his card.
The kid glanced at the card and then did a double-take. His mouth dropped open and then he snapped it closed. At least he wasn’t shaking like the last cashier. With a quick swipe he handed back the card and the receipt.
We started to walk out, but he spoke up. “Um, I know this sounds really dumb, but can I have your autograph?”
Nixon froze. His nostrils flared as he looked at me and then handed me his frozen yogurt. I watched his right hand clench and unclench as he walked up to the kid. Holy crap he was going to punch him in the face.
“Sure thing…” He bent over the counter and signed a napkin the kid had handed to him. “What’s your name?”
“John.” The guy looked like he just met Brad Pitt.
Nixon scribbled something and then handed the napkin back to John. “We have an understanding, John? Nobody knows we were here?”
John’s eyes widened and then Nixon leaned over the counter. “I need to hear you say it, John.”
“You weren’t here.” John stumbled over his words. “I swear.”
“And where did you see us?”
“On the street. You, uh, you were going for a run.”
“I do like running.” Nixon lightly smacked the kids shoulder and winked. “Thanks again, John.”
“N-no problem, Mr. Abandonato.”
I frowned the rest of the way to the car.
Chapter Thirteen
I wasn’t really sure why I was so exhausted other than the fact that I had just had both the most emotionally draining and weirdest week of my life.
“One more stop.” Nixon had been driving back toward the school but took a left before we came to the right road.
Boo. Was I never going to get a vote in the matter? Was it wrong to use my new Prada backpack as a pillow?
“The bank?” I said once we stopped.
“Yup.”
“Why?”
Nixon laughed. “Asks the girl who’s carrying around thousand dollar bills. I take it you don’t have an account?”
Embarrassed, I shook my head.
“Well, let’s go then.” He jumped out of the car. I had no choice but to follow him into the large glass building. It was only four stories, but every angle and plane of the building was pointed as if it was some sort of angry porcupine.
Intimidated, I tried to stay close to him.
I noticed that we only had one security guard with us.
“Nixon, where’d the rest of the suits go?”
He turned and grabbed my hand but didn’t answer my question.
Okay, the silent game. I could play.
We walked right past all the desks where people were answering phones and working and went into the elevator.
Expecting it to go up, I gasped when it shot down into the basement.
The basement. Really?
He grabbed my hand again as we walked across a long marble hallway. In front of us was a giant wood desk. A girl with long dark hair sat there filing her nails.
“Hey, Priscilla, where’s Anthony?” Nixon asked.
“Oh, you know, sharpening kn—” Her mouth shut as she stood and held out her hand. “I’m sorry, and you are?”
“Trace.” I shook her hand. “Trace Rooks.”
She nodded and then glanced down at my necklace. “Rooks you say?”
“Yup.”
“Doesn’t sound like—”
“Pris, we need to open an account.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course you do. I’ll just let Anthony know you are here.”
Nixon shook his head. “No need, I’ll let myself in.”
“Enter at your own risk, Nixon.”
“Come on.” Nixon tugged my hand. We took a left and walked down a shorter hallway lined with creepy old person photos of men in suits holding guns. Great. And we’re in a basement.
Nixon pressed his thumb against the magnetic thingy and the glass door opened. “Anthony?”
“In here.”
The office was beautiful. I thought we were in a basement, but technically there were still really wide windows toward the desk