The Help (Kings of Linwood Academy, #1)(7)

So I just ignore the guys and get back to work, dragging my bucket to a new section of the floor and kneeling on the cool tiles to scrub. I keep my back to them as much as I can, but it’s not always possible. And besides, curiosity goads me into stealing a few peeks at Lincoln’s friends—just to see if I can get a read on them too.

Two of them are definitely brothers. Twins, probably. They look eerily similar in the way identical twins do, although I can tell them apart. They both have coppery hair, but one’s leans more toward blond and the other’s more toward brown. I think their eyes are different colors too, but I can’t quite tell without openly staring, and I’m sure as fuck not gonna do that. The darker haired one is bigger, broader in the chest and shoulders, and seems a little more serious than his brother, although they both laugh boisterously and often.

The fourth guy is quieter, more deliberate. He has ash-brown hair that’s shorter on the sides and longer on top, held up by a little bit of gel. His jaw is square, and he’s got a straight nose and a broad forehead. I don’t know what color his eyes are either, but they’re light. Gray, maybe?

I want to look closer, to know more, but eventually, I stop peeking altogether, because every time I look up, one of them catches me staring.

For fuck’s sake.

I finish with the new section I was working on and move to the next, working my way down the length of the pool. The boys are talking in low murmurs, and as I get closer, I pick up more of their words.

“What, her chest? Eh, I’ve seen better.”

The dark-copper haired guy lifts his volume a little higher as he says it, and it suddenly dawns on me what they’ve been muttering about this whole time.

Me.

And apparently, at the moment, the subject of their conversation is my boobs.

A flush rises up my neck as a weird, sick feeling churns in my gut. Jesus. Have they really been talking about me this whole time? Analyzing my body, my face, my flaws?

I don’t really give a shit what these guys think of me. If they think my boobs are too big, too small, too whatever—it doesn’t matter to me. They can go fuck themselves.

But as I look up, my heart stutters in my chest, slamming hard against my ribcage.

The boy’s words were cool, his tone bored, but the heat in his eyes as he stares at me belies both of those things. He doesn’t look like he’s seen better.

He looks like he wants to eat me alive.

I yank my attention away from him, pretending I didn’t see that, pretending I didn’t feel it. Turning my back to all of them, I scrub harder at the tiles, giving myself a minute to gather my composure.

What the hell was that all about?

Even though I’m facing the other way, I can still feel his gaze on me, and my traitorous nipples harden, standing out against the soft fabric of my uniform. My skin feels electric, like someone hooked me up to a battery and is pumping low wattage volts through my entire body.

The only part of the pool house left for me to clean is the section at the east end that they’ve taken over, but I really don’t want to go over there. My body doesn’t seem to have gotten the message that I hate these guys, and I don’t want it to do something stupid and embarrassing.

I pick up the bucket and hesitate for a second, glancing over at them as I debate my options. That’s when I notice that the guy with the gray eyes—River, I think I heard Lincoln call him, which weirdly fits—left his cell phone on the tile floor next to his lounge chair.

Hmm. Well, if I have to go over there, maybe I can make it worth my while.

If they’re gonna eye-fuck the maid and talk shit about her body while she cleans, maybe they need a lesson in goddamn manners.

Their conversation has veered away from me, thank God. Now that they’ve made whatever point they seemed to be trying to prove, they’ve moved on. Ignoring the hard pounding of my heart, I carry my bucket over to the corner of the room behind them.

I made sure to accidentally-on-purpose leave a small cleaning towel by the section of the floor I was just working on. As I set down the bucket, I make a small noise of irritation, muttering something about needing my rag before cutting between their lounge chairs to get it. When I pass by River’s chair, I slide my foot along the smooth tile floor, keeping it low to the ground so it connects with his phone.

The small black rectangle slides forward with a clattering noise before slipping over the rim of the pool and into the clear blue water.

I freeze in place, my shock only partially an act.

Oh shit. I can’t believe I just did that.

Raising a hand to my mouth, I shake my head. “Shit! I’m sorry! I didn’t see your phone there!”

River’s head was turned away when I kicked his cell, and he didn’t seem to notice the sound at first, but the others certainly did. Lincoln sat forward with a jerk as the phone skittered across the floor, and River definitely turned in time to see it go underwater. It’s below the surface now, probably sitting like a rock at the bottom of the pool.

A lot like the rock that’s sitting in my stomach.

The boy’s gray-blue gaze shoots up to meet mine, and I’m positive that, despite my Oscar-worthy innocent act, he knows I did this on purpose.

Fuck. Fuck! Dammit, Low, how could you be so fucking stupid?

These guys might be dicks, and they might be entitled assholes, but they became that way for a reason. Because their money gives them power. They act like they can have and do whatever they want because… they can.