Each morning was the same. We rose at five am and got ready to meet inside the entrance, all dressed in our pristine work clothes. Ms. Edwards gave us a quick rundown on the new guests and if there were any significant events happening today.
As I looked down the line of beautiful young women, I remembered my professor telling me how each girl who worked here was handpicked. Most of these girls were admitted to Ivy League schools, too, and they knew the connections made at Hawthorne Country Club would further them into a powerful position.
My nails curled into my palms. I needed that; connections.
I towered over the group of girls and held my chin high. It had taken years for me to embrace my five-foot-eight height and now I used it to my advantage.
The days were long and uncomfortable in the tight white uniform, but none of the girls backed down. I soon realized after four days of being here that these women were just as determined, just as dedicated to their futures as I was.
And a rumor had spread that only one would be given a bonus and a reference from Mrs. Hawthorne herself.
Nathaniel’s mother.
I had researched her after my unsavory encounter with her son. She had kept her maiden name, focusing on rebuilding her family’s empire and updating it to a more vibrant, friendly environment. But only for the rich and famous, of course.
I’d found news articles showcasing pictures of her shaking hands with the former president as he stayed here with his family for the last four summers. There were also many interviews in which she discussed her involvement with various charities. Some articles gossiped about how cold and obsessed she was with her own projects. A ruthless businesswoman, she had been named the most influential woman in the United States five years in a row.
My heart had clenched at that.
Her reference on my resume would make me stand out.
I needed to be the best. I needed to focus.
As I gathered used towels from the pool lounges, I saw two of the girls I worked with watching the beach longingly. The sun beat down on my back, sweat pooling on my brow. I edged closer, stuffing the wet towels into a bag. Grabbing a towel by the girls’ feet, I shoved the bag into the cart beside them.
“I heard the judge was going to reopen the case,” Mandy said.
“What case?” Danielle asked, arching a brow.
Mandy shot her a dirty look. “About the boys. You know?”
Danielle shook her head, redness painting her fair skin like a rash.
Mandy groaned. “You didn’t hear about the ‘American Gods’?” I froze and Mandy caught that, grinning widely. “See! Juliette has!”
I focused on reorganizing the cleaning supplies, annoyed we had stopped moving along. We still had ten bedrooms to clean before the afternoon was up.
“Okay. So you see those guys there?” Mandy pointed over at the beach and I couldn’t help but sneak a look.
Sure enough, the three men known as the American Gods were out on the sand. James and Gabe were tossing a football back and forth between them, their smiles too white, too perfect, their bodies tanned and sleek with sweat.
Arsen was lounging in a chair, tattooed body gleaming, a scowl pressed to his mouth as if the sun pissed him off. A tiny golden necklace hung loosely around his neck—a cross.
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat.
There was something untouchable, something holy and unholy about the boys. Sacred and sinful all at once. Bastards of Grace. Fame, wealth and power poured out of them. They were the things of legends and myths.
These three men, along with Nathaniel, were nothing short of Yale royalty, ruling the campus with their secret society club.
Rolling my eyes, I thought back to the stupid pamphlet that had been released just after last year’s winter semester. It named each member of their billionaire boy club and someone had ranked them based on their eligibility in three categories.
Wealth.
Power.
Attractiveness.
Gabe Easton had ranked 1st.
A magnetic, intoxicating personality. A deadly smile paired with looks blessed by the goddess of beauty and a sharp, intelligent mind made him a force to be reckoned with. Not to mention his future was set in stone. His family had raised two former presidents before him.
His own father would have been the third president in the Easton family had he not been assassinated during his campaign. It had been all over the news in every country. They’d made it sound like a king had died. Gabe had been only eleven then and I couldn’t imagine the kind of psychological damage it caused as he had witnessed it during his father’s speech.
Everyone knew in their bones that Gabe Easton would accomplish bigger things than most men. He’d get whatever he wanted and go to whatever length to get it. He’d be elected president of America one day. I knew that by the way he held himself, the way his gaze, sharp and deadly, scanned the crowd of students in our classes. There was determination and anger and a pinch of darkness inside of him.
I watched as Gabe ran backward, eyeing the football spiraling in the air. Reaching outward with his long, muscular arm of steel and clay, his hand formed the perfect shape to catch it. His dark wavy hair, thick and shiny from the water and his own sweat, fell in front of his forehead.
Like a man sculpted by the gods.
James Rhodes had ranked 4th.
The James Dean of Yale—classic dark blond locks, an easy, killer smile, and a gleam in his blue-blue eyes. One flash of his legendary smirk and he had anyone wrapped around his finger. He partied hard and fucked harder. Every weekend there was a party hosted by him; wild and expensive, destruction woke in his path. He was reckless, addicted to anything that would endanger his very existence—street racing, drugs, fights, booze, jumping off cliffs—he did them all with the kind of rare carpe diem attitude that led to an early death.
I had heard that he had crashed a car into a tree on the Main Green a few years ago on campus. He had been high and over twice the alcohol limit. All of that—the charges, the scandal—vanished overnight.
His father, a lawyer that ran a firm dedicated to famous politicians and celebrities— wielded money and power like a third hand. The law firm had been around since the 1890s. James coasted through classes, but his grades said something more about him. He was intelligent without even trying. If he applied himself, he would be deadly.
I knew his mother had passed away when he was younger so it was just the two of them, father and son. People said James was set to take over the law firm, but I couldn’t imagine that ever happening. Not the wild boy in front of me.
He ran a hand through his golden locks, sunglasses I was sure were hiding fresh bruises from a fight as his bottom lip was busted.
And the last of the American Gods, Arsen Vasiliev.
The Russian god had ranked 7th.
Below his name—and the picture of his steel, beautiful features—was the reason why. As much as he was powerful and rich, he was terrifying. His cool dark gaze and his permanent scowl made him very unapproachable. Not to mention the rumors that ran wild about him. Gossip about his family running a deadly business, one of blood and drugs and weapons—connecting the rich with criminals. He had been born in America, but he spent his summers in Russia. Because of that, he spoke Russian fluently. I’d even overheard Gabe and him exchange in Russian a few times at school. Whatever they were discussing, I didn’t know.
I had heard of Arsen’s family estates. Salutation Island sat on the North Shore of Long Island, not so far from New York City. The island was said to have six houses on forty-six acres of land, along with ten acres of underwater rights and a twenty-eight acre pond. Only people with an invitation could attend their elaborate, exclusive parties.
As I watched Arsen scowl, I saw Nathaniel cross the beach and pat James’ arm. My eyes couldn’t help but rake over his lithe, muscular frame.
Although he wasn’t one of the American Gods, Nathaniel Radcliffe had still ranked 2nd.
My jaw clenched, my teeth grinding.
As soon as the pamphlet had made its rounds, the girls at Yale had gone wild. I saw firsthand how so many of them craved power, craved rich and successful men more than their own success. The list became one for the most eligible bachelors to secure. The boys not on the list became agitated and aggressive with the others on it.
And the members of the club ate it up like candy.
They were desired, they were stalked and chased, and they loved it.
Everyone talked about the pamphlet like it was some sacred text and the more I heard about it, the more annoyed I became.
I hadn’t thought of the repercussions as I typed up my anger for the Yale Herald.
How I had wanted to draw attention to how disgusting we were behaving. How I wanted to chase my own dreams instead of chasing an entitled rich boy.
The next day when the paper released, I had found everyone staring at me with odd looks. They’d whispered and gawked as I walked to my morning class.
“Well, aren’t you Miss Perfect,” one girl had snapped at me when I sat down in the lecture hall.
I felt the entire class glare my way. The change had been sudden and odd.
I had expected more comments, more insults, but after my next class, no one approached me or even looked at me.
“When they were in boarding school,” Mandy whispered, chasing my memories away and bringing me back to reality. “They went on a hiking trip for their PA class. They were fifteen back then and Gabe, Arsen, and James along with another boy called Alexander Archibald were grouped together for the activity. Well, the news articles say they were sailing in a boat making their way to their first checkpoint when a storm caught up with them. The boat capsized and they all went in the water. Alexander panicked and, trying to get back onboard, started to push James underwater. According to the boys, Alexander had been drinking that morning before the activity and was too drunk to swim properly or stay afloat long enough for the guys to grab him. Gabe and Arsen managed to set the boat right. Once back on board, they gripped James because he was the closest and pulled him back into the boat. The storm was still beating down hard on them and Alexander was getting farther and farther away, spluttering. They couldn’t get to him fast enough and he drowned. When they finally washed up on shore, they were lost. The compass and map they’d been given vanished in the water when the boat overturned.”
My mouth twisted ruefully. I remembered hearing all about it in the news as a girl.
“They survived like that for ten days, without supplies. James had broken his leg so Gabe and Arsen had to carry him up the mountain and down the other side. Once they were found, all three were sick with pneumonia and taken to the hospital. When the Archibalds heard their son was dead, they called foul play. They believed the boys killed him or left him to die, that he could’ve been saved but the boys chose not to. It was taken to court and all media outlets watched the case like hawks. The boys told their version of the story, and with little proof against them and James’ father as their ruthless lawyer, the court found them not guilty. But…the hype about them didn’t go away. They were boys dressed like grown men, who already knew how to yield words like deadly swords. They’re celebrities now. They did articles, photoshoots, and interviews. And they were only teenagers then. Forbes was the one that coined the name American Gods and it stuck ever since to the three of them.”
“Whoa,” Danielle whispered, staring at the group of men.
“We should keep moving,” I said, gesturing to the cart.
Mandy sighed but they both turned and Danielle pushed the cart toward the pool deck. A few women lounged in the sun, sunglasses and hats shadowing them from the burning heat.
I caught sight of a woman dressed in a white pantsuit, her dark hair sleeked back into a tight bun, watching us.
“Juliette,” someone spoke behind me.
I jerked, pressing the dirty towels to my chest and stared back at Nathaniel.
He lazily stroked a white cotton towel along his stomach, bringing my eyes to his dripping wet abs, muscles cut and sharp. A dark happy trail disappearing into his swim trunks, low on his narrow hips, teasing the deep V line. I had never seen him so naked, only in his tailored suits of navy and black. Despite my best intentions, I had imagined what his body would look like underneath those rich fabrics, but it killed me to admit it.
He was better than the muted image my imagination had come up with.
My breaths came in unsteady and it took me a moment to realize what I was doing. Staring at his stomach, so close to his swim trunks, his large hand pressing the towel to his skin.
My eyes darted back to his, but it was too late. I had been caught red-handed and he was smirking—full-on grinning like he had won one of our merciless debates.
My ears burned with embarrassment. “What?” I said sharply as panic settled in my chest. I realized quickly after that the tone was highly unprofessional. I couldn’t talk to him like that, not here. He was a guest. Hell, he was basically my boss. One day, he would own this palace. I wasn’t his fellow student here or his opponent in a debate, I was a servant, a maid. My pride died and in a much calmer, subdued voice, I ask, “What can I help you with?”
He still wore a grin, but it had warmed as his own eyes traced my figure in the white outfit.
My skin prickled with awareness. Like his eyes were his hands and he was touching me—slowly, carefully, skilfully.
“What are you looking at?” My voice came out breathy and labored, but I steeled my features when his eyes returned to my face and he stepped closer.
The nakedness of him, the wetness of his skin as he skimmed his fingers along my pristine shirt sleeve threatened my composure. This was worse than our debates. He was stepping over a dangerous line. A line I had hoped I had cemented long ago.
“Examining my prey, sweetheart,” he whispered, again, so calculating, so soft and hard all at once.
I held in a gasp and glared past him, eyeing his entourage, the American Gods, watching us. James flashed his teeth at me.
“Experto crede,” Nathaniel’s deep, cool voice said. “Don’t you think?”
My body froze and tingled at his words. At the Latin phrase used on me. Latin he knew I understood from our classes together.
Trust the expert.
That bastard.
Before I could even respond, he moved past me.
Gabe gave me one cool look and James winked. Arsen didn’t even bother looking at me twice and kept walking. I was left breathless.
A few words from him and I was flustered.
“Holy shit,” Mandy whisper-shouted, gripping my arm. “Do you know Nathaniel Radcliffe?”
I gritted my teeth. “Only from school.”
I didn’t dream about him or imagine him when I touched myself.
No.
But he was so full of himself, I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought I did.
Nathaniel Radcliffe was the enemy.
Point blank.
I felt someone watching me and looked up to see the same woman again.
And as I stared back at her, her grim expression making my stomach tighten painfully, I knew exactly who she was.
Mrs. Hawthorne.