Page 31 of Twisted Knight

It isn’t for a laptop computer. I stare at the refurbished MacBook through blurred tears, wanting it so badly but knowing how selfish it would be to keep it. To put my wants above the needs of our family.

In disbelief, I shake my head. Schools on the other side of the river assign laptops to all of their students for the entirety of the school year. It’s not even a privilege, but rather the norm. But not at the school I go to. At mine, your only chance to use a school laptop is to go to the computer lab and do your homework there.

But I’m never able to because I have to watch Mase after school.

So I turn in handwritten homework—a modern-day scarlet letter that tells everyone my family is too poor to own a computer.

I blink the tears away and look up to my mom. “So what if it’ll take a little longer to buy a car.” She shrugs, a smile toying at the corners of her mouth.

“I can’t accept this, Mom.” Those are the hardest words I think I’ve ever had to say. “We’ve been saving for a car for forever and—”

“Shush. I won’t hear any of that.” She puts her hand on my arm and squeezes. “I’ll gladly leave early to get a bus ride. What’s most important is that you have every chance, every advantage I can give you, for you not to be like me.”

I hang my head as guilt and excitement wash through me. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“It’s hard wanting to give you the world and only being able to give you a sliver. You’ll understand that someday. This is some of the sliver.”

“Thank you.” I choke the words out.

“No need to thank me. You do more than enough for our family, Holden. School, watching Mase for me, helping me, working…” She shakes her head. “Thank you for being such a good kid. I’m so very proud of you.”

Her words mean more to me than the computer and that says a whole hell of a lot.

Overwhelmed by the turn of tonight’s events, all I can do is nod and stare through eyes blurred with tears at my gateway to the world.

At my chance to be something more.

TEN

Rowan

Fires.

I’ve done nothing all week but put them out. Little ones. Big ones. Smoldering ones that had the potential to become out-of-control wildfires. If it wasn’t one thing at the office, it was another. And if it wasn’t another, it was calming the nerves of employees who were silently freaking out about this “transition.”

It doesn’t help that random people with stern faces and crisp suits have been behind the closed doors of the conference room for the better part of the week. Hell, every time one of them walks down the hall past my office, I stop what I’m doing and worry they are going to ask me questions I don’t know the answers to. Questions that prove or disprove my worthiness to this company.

It doesn’t help that Holden has barely appeared all week. He uprooted Rhett from his office—my brother still hasn’t stopped bitching about that—but hasn’t been here to use it. And when he does make his presence known, he has the phone to his ear or is behind the closed doors with the rest of the people he brought in.

To say anxiety is at an all-time high is an understatement, regardless of how much we managers try to smooth over those nerves.

As for me? I’m still wading in an ocean of uncertainty. The days that have passed have done little to abate my hostility and disbelief while fueling my skepticism on how exactly this is all going to work.

While I’d searched for information on Holden Knight after the auction, I renewed my efforts this past week. To my dismay, I haven’t found anything about him, his company, or his past that I can use to further fuel my dislike.

The problem is I’ve found quite the opposite. The more I’ve read and researched, the more I admire the man who made himself into a multimillionaire out of nothing. From unspecified humble beginnings to self-taught computer programming to creating software for the banking sector that he then sold for a ridiculous amount of money.

The fact that I’ve come to admire that about him pisses me off. I don’t want to respect what he’s made out of himself.

And then there are my peripheral searches on him. His social circles. The charities he’s donated to. The women who have been seen on his arm. His life in Silicon Valley.

He’s never been married despite the various beauties that have been photographed with him at events. Flawless women with curves and grace. I’ve even dug into the rumors captioned beneath their pictures only to find nothing salacious or out of the ordinary that I could use to my advantage.

The question still remains. Why us? Why now? Why an industry that is uncharted territory for him?

“Miss Rothschild?”

I look up to find a woman standing in my doorway. Her presence in this office has been a constant as she has followed Holden like a shadow, but she has yet to be introduced to any of us. She’s petite with beautiful silvery-gray hair in a pixie cut, a cream-colored pantsuit, and an efficient smile.