Authors: Brooke Cumberland
One thing my dad always said about me was that I was a real charmer. I’ve had the ability to manipulate and deceive people for as long as I could remember, and I fully intend to use that to my advantage. Using charm and seduction—my two secret weapons—I confidently walk in.
“Welcome, please take a seat.”
Three men sit in a row behind a long cherry table. They all have files lying on the table and shuffle through them as I make my way to the chair.
“Hello, gentlemen.” I lean over and urge my hand in front of them, quickly shaking the first two men’s hands. I shift my body, so I’m angled toward the last one whom I assume is Mr. Leighton from the pictures I found.
Oh my god.
He’s intimidatingly stunning. I try not to stare, but it’s impossible not to when I’m trying to put on a show of confidence.
He hesitates, but grabs my hand anyway and shakes it. It sends a chill down my body, and I immediately jerk back.
I smile as I slowly sit down and set my folder on top of the table.
“You are Miss Casey West, correct?” The one in the middle asks.
“Yes, sir.” I remind myself to keep eye contact while controlling my facial expressions.
“Excellent. Well, welcome. I’m Paul Landers, and this is my colleague, Logan Sommers, and this here is Mr. Bentley Leighton.”
I glance at each of them, but my eyes halt on Mr. Leighton. As I get a better look at him, I swallow as I take in his face, mouth, and biceps. Little butterflies appear in my stomach as his eyes make contact with mine.
Paul and Logan look like typical businessmen. They’re the most engaged, whereas Mr. Leighton looks bored and irritated that he’s been called into these interviews in the first place. He shifts uneasily as our eyes make contact.
He also doesn’t look the part. Where Paul and Logan wear the clean-cut look—short slicked hair and clean-shaven face—Bentley looks straight out of a motorcycle ad. He has shaggy dark blonde hair that has a little curl to it and a week’s worth of trimmed facial hair. It’s actually a good look for him, but it definitely is not what I expected a future CEO to look like.
“It’s a pleasure,” I say as I make sure to keep my smile seductive. It’s a talent I nailed down years ago.
“Can you tell us what you know about Leighton Enterprises? And why you think you’d benefit from the intern program here?” Paul asks right away with a pen ready to start taking notes on everything I say.
I clear my throat and sit up taller. “I know all the basic information that is on your website, and honestly, it’s just the tip of what this company is really about.” I notice all three are now staring intently at me. “What is not on your website is that Leighton Enterprises is one of the largest charitable contributors in the Midwest. You give the most to foundations that support Amber Alerts, Missing Children Programs, and unresolved cold cases to name just a few. You truly believe in the justice of finding missing persons, and giving justice to the families of the victims. Besides your charitable contributions, you also hold the highest record in the country for reporting the most open cases from over ten years ago. And I think I can benefit from all of that.”
Paul and Logan’s jaws drop as Mr. Leighton’s expression remained unchanged. I’m unsure if he’s impressed or pissed off, but I continue smiling as I make eye contact with each of them.
“That’s very impressive,” Logan finally says.
“Thank you. I did an extensive background search, but I’m very fascinated with this line of work.”
“What do you see yourself doing in the future?” Paul asks.
“I’d like to be a journalist. Perhaps a news reporter. I want to dig into open or even seemingly impossible cold cases. I want to make a difference to someone’s family, even if it’s years later. I want to do the unthinkable.”
This earns an eyebrow raise from Mr. Leighton. Well, it’s a start. I’ll get him to warm up to me before I walk out that door.
“Excellent choice,” Paul nods as he writes his notes down.
“What do you think you can offer Leighton Enterprises during your internship?”
“I hope to offer my skills, but mainly, I hope to make your lives easier. I want to be the middleman that helps get you whatever is needed to help you do your job better.” I know I won’t be working on any cases, so I won’t even pretend that’s an option, but I can definitely use the advantage to get my foot in the door. Once I am in, I can do my own digging.
“Sounds very ambitious.” My head jerks to Mr. Leighton, who finally speaks. His voice is low and stern. It takes me by surprise.
I smirk and cross my legs. “I guess you could say that.” I like the attention he’s finally giving me. It makes me feel like I’m cracking him.
“What can you tell us about your college experience thus far? What major are you?” Logan asks as I tear my eyes away from Mr. Leighton.
“I’m a double major in journalism and criminal justice. My plan is to find a career where I can merge both of those since they both fascinate me,” I answer honestly—well, as honest as I can be. I do plan to double major in college when I attend next year.
“You sound very busy,” Mr. Leighton interrupts. “How do you plan to juggle it all?”
I pull my bottom lip in between my teeth just before releasing it and answering. “I’m very skilled at juggling.”
Cecilia
I
WALK OUT with confidence and feel optimistic that I nailed the internship. I had Paul and Logan eating out of the palm of my hand. Mr. Leighton was impressed. I could tell—and
feel it
, but he didn’t let it show to his colleagues.
While I was researching Leighton Enterprises, I came across many pictures of Mr. Leighton himself. He’s gorgeous on screen, but in person, he’s
trip-over-yourself-just-to-lick-him
gorgeous. His hair is a shade of light brown—golden, almost—but purposely messy. I could tell his suit fit him just perfect. I imagine his body is rock hard, chiseled to muscular perfection. It was hard to tell with him sitting down, but from his pictures he looked tall—well over six feet. The thing that tripped me up was his age. He’s certainly successful and extremely smart for only being twenty-six.
After doing more research, I learned it’s a family owned company. After the interview, I can successfully assume he’s just getting started, and his family is now forcing him to be a part of the bigger decisions like interviewing and being involved in the mechanical aspects of the corporation. He certainly acts as if he belongs there, yet he acts completely bored and irritated for having to waste an afternoon.
My mother pays little to no attention to my antics anymore. After dad died, and the insurance money drained from expenses, she started working full-time to keep up with Casey’s tuition. And with three kids, she has a lot to balance.
She used to take me to therapy after the incident, but after thousands of dollars and no results, she was finally convinced I wasn’t going to participate anyway. Best decision she ever made. All I did was sit and stare at the wall anyway. I didn’t want to talk. It didn’t help. It didn’t bring my dad back. And it sure as hell didn’t take the memories away.
“Why are you dressed like that?” my younger brother, Nathan, asks as soon as I walk into the kitchen.
“None of your damn business.” I open the fridge and grab a can of soda.
“Cecilia,” my mother warns, “be nice.”
She only calls me by my full name when I’m in trouble, which is actually, most of the time.
I slam the fridge shut. “That
was
me being nice.”
I turn to walk away before remembering I need her to sign that form. I spin back around and grab it out of my purse. “Here, sign this.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “What did you do this time?”
“It was an accident,” I defend. “No one got hurt.”
“Oh, my god! Hurt? What the hell, Ceci?” She unfolds the note and reads the note Mr. Jamison typed out. “Jesus, Cecilia.” She shakes her head in disapproval before scribbling her signature on the line. “I don’t work forty plus hours a week to save up for your bail money,” she scowls. She assumes I’m going to get in enough trouble some day, or that I’ll smart off to the wrong person, and end up behind bars.
I wasn’t worried about it.
“You’re not invincible, Cecilia,” she warns after I roll my eyes at her lame lecture.
“I don’t know why I need your damn signature anyway. I’m eighteen.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re still living under my roof. Mr. Jamison and I have a deal.”
I snatch the letter from her hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” I turn on my heel and head back upstairs to my room.
I watch my phone like a hawk wishing they’d call me today and just tell me I got the internship. I know they said a few days, but that’s going to be torture waiting.
I grab my lock box from under my bed and place it on top. I have the key in my bedside dresser underneath My Little Ponies and Barbie’s I used to play with when I was a child. The only reason I keep them is that they are the last thing I could find that was from my dad. Mom went crazy and started throwing all of his shit out that would remind us of him. She said it would help us ‘heal’ and ‘move on’.
I didn’t want to heal. And I sure as fuck didn’t want to move on.
I couldn’t.
Not until that bastard was caught and sentenced to death.
* * *
“O
h, my god, that was brutal!” Cora giggles as she slams her body into the locker next to mine.
Cora’s been my best friend since we were in elementary school. She’s the only one who knows all the gory details of that day.
“You’re a drama queen,” Simon spits out who’s standing on the other side of me. Those two are always fighting for my attention and never getting along.
“Go away, Big Brother,” she spat back, waving her hand back at him.
“Okay, you two...just go hump in the closet already. Your pretending to hate each other is driving me insane.”
“Oh, it’s not pretend, babe. It’s as real as Montana Greyson’s nose job,” Simon snorts.
I laugh at his remark.
“Okay, well I have class. See ya guys at lunch,” I holler over my shoulder. I know those two are secretly crazy for each other. I’m just waiting for both of them to figure it out.
I check my phone every five minutes for a missed call or voicemail. Nothing. I know I’m impatient, but I can’t help it. I’m fidgety as hell.
My whole life is weighing on this internship, and although, it’s technically not counting for anything, I just need to get into their system long enough to find what I’m looking for.
The position wasn’t a typical college internship. Most students that needed internship credits didn’t take any college classes during the semester because they worked at least forty hours a week. However, Leighton Enterprises was looking for a weekend intern—someone they could train and mold into a future employee.
It was a rare occasion that they held internship interviews since most were found from within—someone’s son or daughter, niece or nephew—but not this time. And this time, it would be mine.
It’s spring semester for college students, meaning many are getting ready for graduation soon. And although I’m preparing for mine as well, mine’s a high school graduation. And this would be my one and only chance to get into this company.
I’ll need to learn a lot about their software system, and how to crack into the private and restricted information—for my own personal research—but Simon is a computer genius. He teaches me anything I want or need to know. He doesn’t know the extreme measures I’m about to go through, but I know he’ll help me if I ask him.
I don’t pretend to be an expert, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to find out information and piece them together. Given the right tools and details, I know I can find out more about my dad, and at least with that, I can have closure.
To distract me from checking my phone, I decide to search Bentley Leighton during computer time. Okay, so it’s not the
best
distraction, but it doesn’t hurt to know more about my potential boss.
The second I click on images my entire body heats. Apparently, he was into modeling before he started working at Leighton Enterprises. There are professional shoots and magazine spreads of him shirtless...though, I am definitely not complaining about them.
He’s completely ripped and lined with tattoos on one arm and his chest. That, I wasn’t expecting to see under his suit and tie, but the more I dig into his past, the more sense it makes. He wanted to be a model. He was getting his career off the ground, booking shoots and ads, when his parents told him it was time to become involved in the family enterprise.
Explains his damn attitude.
My entire body tightens and butterflies reappear in my stomach. It’s a foreign feeling—it’s nothing I’ve ever felt before. There was no denying I was attracted to Mr. Leighton’s looks, but his attitude sure could use an adjustment.
Interestingly enough, he majored in English with a minor in criminal justice. So he has the background to be a reporter or journalist. And from the reports that I found online, he’s damn good, too.
* * *
I
grab my lock box that I left on my bed and open it. I have numerous files, pictures, and ‘evidence’ from my dad’s death. I wish I could put the memories in there as well, lock them up, so I don’t have to be constantly reminded of them.
I look through the newspaper clippings that are all headed with
Murder on Maple Heights
and
Man Shot Down in Front of House
. Let’s not forget about his three innocent children standing in the front yard.
Who fucking does that?
I rub my scar as I close my eyes and remember. It’s hazy, and I wish I could remember more. I wish I could remember the man who was driving the old ‘79 Cadillac. It was like slow motion—his car slows right in front of our house, he pulls out his gun and aims for my dad. As soon as my dad falls to the ground, the car speeds off.
And then nothing. All I remember are sounds. Screaming. Crying. Sirens. That’s it. My memory is literally useless.