My heart crawled up my throat at the sight of my enemy before me. Dressed in a navy suit that fit his frame as if he were born wearing one, his wide shoulders and narrow hips accented a perfect man. A man I loathed and in a suit that would have cost me an entire year of rent back in New Haven.
And here I was, in the worst possible position.
On my knees, cleaning up shards of glass at his feet.
For three years, I’ve competed against Nathaniel Radcliffe. Always trying to be better, smarter, faster—anything more than him. And in a matter of seconds, all that had crumpled to soot around my sore knees.
Unlike him, I didn’t come from a wealthy family thriving on power and success. Two things that had been cemented into his DNA.
I came from a borough back in New Haven where having to wear your entire winter gear in bed during the colder months was normal.
And now the man I despised for the past three years at Yale knew I wasn’t as privileged as him.
Not when I was working as a maid at the most prestigious country club on the east coast.
The glass shards lied scattered around my white wedges, glimmering like diamonds under the bright chandelier above us.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his voice, deep and slow, as if each word was calculated and measured before leaving his mouth. There was a touch of smugness in them, too.
I instantly wanted to fix the loose dark strands around my face but fisted my hands to stop myself. Him in his perfect suit with his perfect skin and perfect thick hair.
I clenched my jaw, begging myself not to say a word, not to throw an insult. Whenever I was around him, it seemed to be second-nature for me. Spending years debating with him in front of Yale’s elite had weathered me to his appearance. Like an armor made of steel and iron used to shield me from the rich scum of the university.
If he hadn’t stood in silence watching me and then decided to announce himself by clearing his throat, I wouldn’t have jumped and dropped the champagne glasses in the Dior suite I was cleaning. My hands had flown to my chest as I took in the sight of Nathaniel Radcliffe the Third.
And I’d fallen to my knees, gawking at the broken glasses.
“I thought you were spending your summer in the south of France,” he spoke again and my eyes caught his leather Italian loafers. Every inch of him was clothed in designer brands and family heirlooms, but he wore it with the confidence of a man well established in his career. He was only twenty-one and with all his advantages: wealth, family name, looks, and grades, he had it all in one powerful fist.
I didn’t answer him and spread my hand against the pristine marble floors, trying to cup any of the tiny shards.
I flinched when one shard embedded into my skin, but it didn’t stop me. It would take a lot more than a tiny shard.
Then my enemy did the unthinkable. He crouched, his sable suit pants tightening around his steel thighs and his long fingers picked up one of the shards. My eyes followed the elegant movement, watching as he, too, examined the clear glass between his forefinger and thumb.
Slowly, he pressed down and the shard sliced his thumb, enough for redness to pool, but not enough to make a mess. A tiny pearl of red contrasting against his olive skin.
So the god bleeds.
A tall, big-boned male of striking looks, his features strong if not precisely chiseled, his nose long and bold, his mouth wide. His chestnut hair hung over his forehead in a perpetual spill, while those singular turquoise eyes were shadowed by extravagant dark lashes.
And I hated every atom of his being.
He stood, staring down at me and he took his thumb into his mouth and sucked it once. The popping sound of his thumb leaving his mouth made an unexpected tremor roll down my spine.
I swallowed thickly.
“What are you doing here, Nathaniel?”
I enjoyed the way his arms bulged and a muscle in his jaw feathered at the sound of his full name. Most called him Nathan, but I preferred to address him as formally as possible.
It kept a much needed distance between us.
By the way his eyes darkened, a storm brewing within their blue depth, I figured he hated it.
Good.
But despite the displeasure in his eyes, a wicked smile clung to his lips. “My family owns this country club, Juliette.”
I froze, my posture straightening and I couldn’t stop my eyes from widening as I stared up at him.
His family owned Hawthorne Country Club.
This club.
How did I not know that? I’d researched the owner.
“It’s inherited by my mother’s family. She runs it,” he added, a shrug of his shoulder. “Hawthorne was her maiden name. It was a gentlemen’s club until 1997 when my mother took over and reinvented it more as a family resort.”
The families of the rich and famous flocked to this large estate. A white stone house with fresh green ivy climbing to the black roof. It was massive with forty-two bedrooms and five large suites, not to mention the private housing spread out on the many acres of fresh green land.
Any person able to afford the generous membership required to stay at the Hawthorne estate was here. Anyone with power, money, a significant family name.
None of which I held.
But one day I would.
One day I’d be powerful and feared and I wouldn’t be scrubbing their dirty country club floors.
As I sat on the floor under his watchful gaze, I tried to repeat that in my head.
I would be better than him.
I would be stronger than him.
But I felt naked, exposed to him. My dark hair was tied back in a strict bun, but from the humidity outside flyways framed my reddening face. My skirt had ridden up on my thighs and I tried to pull it down, but his eyes flickered to the movement and I stopped. I was a mess—he was perfect. Like always.
For years I had kept to myself. I had studied hard and earned my keep. None of the rich kids at school knew I wasn’t rich. None of them knew I was riding on a scholarship from the foster care system, one I was on the dangerous edge of losing due to not keeping an average of a 3.8 GPA in all our courses. I had to up my grades to keep the scholarship.
There was only one student who always scored higher than me.
Nathaniel Radcliffe.
I wanted to smother him with gasoline. With both of us being Pre Law majors, and at the top three percent of our graduating class, I desperately needed to be recognized by the Law Schools I planned to apply to in hopes of being offered a full scholarship. Because I would be accepted, there was no doubt about that. I just needed something to differentiate me from everyone else. I needed to be at the top of my class. And I needed money more than he did to pay for them.
He was a mere man, I knew that, but he and his friends were treated like gods. It didn’t help they looked like it, too. Intimidating, perfect and deadly.
Nathaniel walked around campus with his Ralph Lauren sweaters and I walked around hoping no one could see the dark bags under my eyes.
Too many nights spent studying Latin after waitressing until midnight tended to do that to someone.
While most students thrived in their social lives, I didn’t have one and I was completely fine with that. I needed to focus on my dreams of becoming a lawyer and one day working as a senator.
I didn’t mind making sacrifices if it meant I’d achieve my goals.
As a very driven and confident woman, most men preferred to stay as far away from me as possible. They tended to fear those things in a woman because it was intimidating—as if being with a confident woman made them any less of a man.
But Nathaniel Radcliffe? He feared no such thing. In fact, he took sick pleasure in pissing me off as much as possible for those exact reasons.
And I met each of his well-crafted refutes with one of my own.
I had worked hard to hide my multiple jobs, between working at the campus library and waitressing to keep myself afloat. Once the school found out about my second job though, I had to choose between the two and I chose the library. The library job was only during the semesters. I wasn’t making enough money and because I didn’t keep my average of a 3.8 GPA, they had cut my scholarship down to almost half of what I had the first three years. I couldn’t lose it now. Not when I was so close to finishing. One more year. One more deadly year at Yale competing against the likes of Nathaniel and I would be free.
But now, kneeling before him, I was shaking.
In rage, in fear, in horror.
If he told others what I was hiding, that I wasn’t well off, people would treat me differently. They’d pity me or scoff at me. I’d be labeled the poor girl of Yale.
He had connections all around campus. To the Yale Political Team, to the Yale Herald I volunteered at.
Nathaniel had successfully inserted himself into every aspect of my life—he was everywhere. All the time.
When Professor Adams offered to be my reference to Hawthorne Country Club, I jumped at the chance. I needed money and from the amount he told me I could make working there, I would be set for my last year.
I never thought he would be here.
“I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you here,” Nathaniel whispered, the corners of his mouth twitching as he glanced at my white uniform.
It was painfully obvious that I worked here.
A red flush climbed up my neck, but I took a deep breath and exhaled through my nose.
“This will be the only time you ever see me on my knees before you,” I said through gritted teeth and managed to stand, fixing the white pencil skirt. All the maids were required to wear a white blouse, a white pencil skirt that ended mid-thigh, and their hair tied back into a low ponytail or bun. No jewelry, no flashy lipstick. We were to be invisible, silent, the least intrusive possible.
I cringed at that. I didn’t like being silenced, feeling like I wasn’t allowed a voice.
A corner of Nathaniel’s mouth quirked. “As your boss, I doubt that’ll be the last time, Juliette.”
My head snapped up, eyes wide.
He only smirked. “Finish cleaning my room and then you’re dismissed.”
I fisted my hands, biting the inside of my mouth as I watched him turn and leave the suite.
His room, he had said.
Of course, I groaned inwardly. Of course it had to be his room.
I couldn’t lose this job, even if it killed me to wait hand and foot on Nathaniel Radcliffe.