Clayton. Also known as Clay.
He was excellent at sports, including tennis, golf, track, baseball and soccer. He was smart, acing his tests without much effort from what I could tell. I'd literally never seen him with a book. Even in the hallways at school.
Not surprisingly, he was arrogant as hell.
And wild.
My God he was wild. I'd been watching his antics for years now. He was just two years ahead of me in school so I'd had plenty of time to observe him.
He was the most popular guy in school and I was a nobody. A nobody who lived in his world. Directly, actually, physically in his world. He could have hated me, or looked down on me. But he didn't do either. Not that he went out of his way to hang out with me or anything.
The funny thing was, he didn't ignore me the way you might expect. He never made me feel like a hanger on. In fact, when I was little he'd been kind of sweet to me, even playing tennis with me a few times, even though I was hopeless.
But all that changed when he started noticing girls.
And they noticed him.
Did they ever.
With his athletic build, dark hair and impossibly blue eyes, Clay Westfield was a heartbreaker with a capital H. And I was definitely not immune to his charms.
He was the one I dreamed about at night. Even though I hated everything he stood for. Rich, spoiled, lazy. Loud. Entitled.
Nothing had ever been handed to me in my life. I'd worked hard to catch up with the kids at the Academy. I was smart, but I'd moved around so much that I was behind. The other kids knew I was different. Called me names.
Mouse was the one that had stuck.
Even Clay called me that.
But he never made fun of me in front of anyone. I knew I was beneath his notice for the most part. He did like teasing me on the rare occasions we spoke in high school.
He knew of course, that I had a monstrous crush on him. At first I was too young to hide it, and later, well, the cat was out of the bag. He'd chuck me on the chin and flash his pearly whites, turning my insides to mush.
No one could say that Clayton didn't know his own appeal.
Three years ago he'd headed off to college. Princeton. I barely saw him after that, except during the summers. Even then I'd been too busy working at a local day camp. But this summer, he'd be harder to avoid. Now we had some of the same friends. We were both college kids now and might end up at the same parties.
I wondered what he'd think of the new me?
In addition to filling out, I'd also started wearing a little makeup. I'd even let my honey blond hair grow long, well past my shoulders. The ends had gotten light from the sun, making me look like I had highlights. Not that I would spend that kind of money on a salon treatment.
But for the first time in my life, I kind of looked like I had.
And I'd finally learned to flirt. Boys at college had been after me non-stop. Not that I'd dated anyone seriously yet. But I'd had a few make out sessions. I wasn't as innocent as I'd been.
I smiled for the first time all day.
Yes, Clay was in for a big surprise.
Chapter Three
Clay
"Hello Claire."
I leaned forward to press a kiss on my stepmother's perfectly made up cheek. As usual, she looked perfectly composed, beautifully groomed, and cold as a fish. She smiled at me without warmth.
"Welcome home Clay."
My father stood beside her looking somewhat glad to see me. Comparatively anyway. His hand slammed down on my shoulder.
"Good to see you son. I heard you performed well this season."
Not that he would ever actually come see me play, but I was on the soccer team at Princeton. And the tennis team. He had his private secretary keep track of my grades and stats. It was almost touching.
Not.
"Yeah we did alright. Thanks."
He stood there, staring at me for a moment. It was almost as if he couldn't quite believe I belonged to him. But I fulfilled the legacy he required and then some. He couldn't really ask for more.
"Well, let's get you settled. Dinner's at seven."
I waved off the butler and carried my own bags into the main house. It was always a little weird to be home. Welcoming, and yet... not. The entire place had been designed by my mother. The one thing my father had done right since her death was not allowing Claire to redecorate it. Inside, or out.
It was still my mother's roses that bloomed outside, her wall paper in the library, her layout in the living room. Thankfully, her taste had been impeccable and classic so it still looked current. I was secretly afraid every time I came home that it would all be gone.
Someday, I knew it would.
I dreaded that day. In fact, I'd told the head housekeeper a long time ago to keep some of Mom's stuff in storage if it every came to that.