Happy Thanksgiving!🤎🦃🧡 hope you all had a wonderfully turkey day!

"Vienna I'm serious. I need real ideas for the fall fundraiser. You do know this money is going toward your precious art club, along with various other underfunded programs on campus."

After receiving the spreadsheets from Luka containing all our schools financial records and each department, club, and organization where money is allocated to, I realized there was a great disparity between certain ones. As in, the most popular activities on campus received way more money than say, the computer department or any of the language clubs. With that being said, my first order of business was balancing the scale and making sure all the underfunded programs on campus received fair funds this year.

"And I'm being serious," she says over the phone. "A haunted house is a great way to raise money. People can pay for entry, and you can have different booths and games. You could even have a costume contest!"

"Vienna, do you even know the students we go to school with? They're not gonna wanna to go to a stupid haunted house. That is so sixth grade. I need something that people will break out their daddy's checkbooks for."

"Well how much are you trying to raise?"

"Okay, so after some calculations I came up with about thirty programs on campus that don't receive a lot of funds."

"Wow. That's a lot."

"Yeah. They're usually about a couple thousand short. So, I want to be able to give them at least ten thousand dollars for the year. Now, thirty clubs times ten thousand-"

"Three-hundred thousand dollars?! Kennedy are you crazy? You'll never make that much!"

"Are you doubting my abilities?"

"No, I'm doubting our greedy classmates who despite most being rich, won't even spare a dollar for the homeless."

"And that's why I need to come up with an event that they'll want to shell out cash for."

"Well good luck with that. Just know I'm always here as moral support. You know, for when you inevitably fail."

"I'm gonna hang up on you now."

She starts laughing and I hang up on her mid-laugh. In a way, Vienna is right. I'd need a fucking amazing event to make that much money.

"Kennedy!" My mother calls from downstairs. "Come here!"

I huff in annoyance and slide off my bed. This better be good.

"Kennedy!"

"I'm coming!" I shout. I take the steps down two at a time. When I don't see my mom anywhere I walk into the foyer. There, she and my father stand with another man and...

I almost double back upstairs. My eyes widen. What the hell is Winston doing in my house?! Blinking, I turn to my father for an explanation. He gestures me forward and I take a stiff step towards him. He wraps an arm around my shoulder.

"This is my daughter Kennedy. Kennedy, this is Norman King and his son Winston."

"Pleasure to meet you," he smiles politely and holds out his hand for a handshake. I'm shocked, but thankfully my practiced manners kick in and I take his hand.

"Nice to meet you too," I force a smile. He nods in approval.

"Firm handshake. I like that."

"I taught her well," my father laughs.

"Indeed. Your father talks a lot about you. Congratulations on winning student body president."

All I can do is stare and nod like an idiot. "Yes. I mean, thank you." My eyes flicker to Winston, who is staring back. At first his face is blank, which is then slowly replaced by a smirk. I cough and turn away, willing myself to clam down. I feel like I might actually faint.

"Norman King is your fathers latest client," my mother speaks. "I've invited them over to have lunch with us. Please, have a seat in the living room. It's this way."

I break away from my fathers grip and hurry to catch up with my mother, who is leading the way and coincidentally enough, the farthest from Winston.

"Mother," I whisper. "Why didn't you tell me they were coming over?"

She waves her hands airily. "It must have slipped my mind."

"Well I'm not dressed properly for entertaining guests."

"Don't be silly darling. You look fine."

I'd hardly call my self appointed school uniform which consists of a pleated skirt, button up shirt, blazer, and long socks, 'fine.' Not to mention I have absolutely no makeup on, so my freckles are on full display. I hate my freckles. They make me look childish. If I could erase them I would.

I stick to my mother like glue as she gets the men all situated in the living room and avoid Winston's gaze at all costs, even though I can feel it burning a hole in the side of my head. When she announces she's going to go check on the chef and make sure everything is being prepared accordingly, I follow her.

"Mother I don't feel well. Can I skip lunch?"

"Absolutely not. This is a big case for your father. I'm sure you can suffer through one meal," she nudges me. "Plus his son Winston is certainly nice eye candy."

"Mom!"

She smiles innocently. "I'm just saying. Now run upstairs if you want to get changed."

I do as she says and return to my room, but I don't change clothes. Instead I quickly cover up my freckles and apply a coating of lipgloss. I debate taking my hair down, but I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard. I leave it up as is then smooth down my slightly wrinkled clothes. At the last minute I remove my blazer.

Grabbing my phone I text Vienna.

Me: SOS!

She replies instantly.

V: what? Is the penthouse on fire?

Me: no, even worse. Guess who's here right now?

V: yeah no. Just tell me who.

Me: Norman. King.

V: 😱

Me: and Winston

V: 🤯🤯😱😱😱

V: omg how? Why??!?!?!

Me: I guess my dad is representing him in some case, so my mom invited them over for lunch.

V: fuck! I knew I should've come over after school😤😤😤

Me: gotta go. My moms making me join their lunch

V: uhhh what? Making you? This is the universe giving you a second chance with Winston!

Me: did you read my earlier text? His dad is my dads client. Emphasis on client.

V: sooooo...what's the problem?

Shaking my head I throw my phone on the bed and head back downstairs just as lunch is being set out on the table. We're having shrimp Alfredo with buttered bread rolls. My  stomach growls. I'm too nervous to eat, but I'm also really hungry.

We all take a seat and I'm seated directly across from Winston. I finally catch his eyes again then look away just as fast. The sooner this lunch is over, the better. Then I can lock myself in my room and attempt to regain my equilibrium.

At first everything goes well. My parents, Norman, and Winston discuss the case and I focus on eating my food and brainstorming fundraiser ideas in my head. Occasionally I'll tune into the conversation and hear snippets, but for the most part I stay silent and invisible. 

When lunch is over, my father invites Norman up to his office to discuss the case some more. I assume Winston will join them, and I can safely return to my room.

This does not happen.

"Your house is lovely Mrs. Davis," Winston comments.

"Thank you," she beams. I know she takes personal pride in our home because she designed and decorated it herself. "Kennedy would be more than happy to give you a tour if you'd like."

I nearly spit out my water. I certainly would not!

Winston glances at me, then my mother before smiling. "I'd like that very much."

The sly bastard.

Once the table is cleared my mother disappears along with Norman and my father, leaving me with Winston. Alone.

I turn to face him and muster up my best nonchalant facade. "So? Shall we start the tour?"

He ignores me. "Kennedy Davis huh? You never told me who your father was."

"It never came up," a thought occurs to me. "How come your sister didn't come to lunch?"

"She's off jet setting as usual," Winston rolls his eyes. "Between you and me, she's a bit of a brat."

"I mean, she did threaten to sue a guy over a broken vase. A tad dramatic if you ask me."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about," He laughs.  "By the way, why'd you cover up your freckles?"

I cross my arms. "Because I hate them," I admit. "And don't ask me why."

"Wasn't going to," he says. "But for the record...I think they're cute."

I can't stop the small smile from spreading across my face. "How about that tour now?"

...

"And that is our entire extravagant, opulent, ridiculously expensive, penthouse," I finish with a flourish. We're back in the living room where we started. "Thoughts?"

Winston walks up to a family portrait hanging on the wall. "Are these your brothers?"

"Yes. Austin and Tristan, soon to be lawyer and doctor respectively. Austin is currently at Harvard completing his J.D. while my brother Tristan lives with his fiancée in California and is finishing up his Ph. D in medicine at Stanford."

"Huh. Ambitious."

"It runs in the family."

I sit on one of the couches and smooth out my skirt, patting the spot next to me. He lowers himself down onto the soft upholstery with a questioning look.

"So," I start. "I need your help."

"Ah," he chuckles. "That's why you were being extra nice. You need something from me."

"I don't need anything from you," I huff. "Okay, I need your brain power. I mean, your dad is a hotelier, so I assume you're in the business as well."

"You would be correct."

I briefly pause, imagining Winston wearing a power suit as CEO, in a large office running the entirety of King Hotels. His inheritance. His legacy. The thought alone is enough to make me cross my legs. Sue me. I have an affinity for powerful men.

I shake my head and clear my throat. "Anyway, you have experience getting people to spend their money. So I need you to bestow some of that wisdom on me."

Winston smirks. "Mhmmm. My knowledge isn't cheap love. It'll cost you."

I sit up straighter and ignore the butterflies in my stomach that stir up at the nickname . "Name your price."

A part of me feels like I've signed a deal with the devil as his eyes glint mischievously. "Alright. What do you need help with?"

I explain to him my dilemma concerning our schools fall fundraiser. A part of me feels silly asking for help for a high school event when he's literally being groomed to take over a multi-billion dollar company, but I'm desperate here. How pathetic would it be if I already failed at being student body president during my first month?

However to Winston's credit, he doesn't mock me or make me feel stupid. He listens carefully, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"And so I need to come up with a spectacular event to raise three hundred thousand dollars or I'm screwed," I finish, slightly breathless from my rant.

Winston nods. "Two things. One-"

"Wait!" I yell. Then I rush upstairs and grab a notepad and pen before returning to the living room. Pen poised above paper, I look up and nod at him to start again. He chuckles before continuing.

"Two things. One, rich people love rich things. Two, rich people love exclusivity. Meaning it's not accessible to just anyone. If you can combine those two and sell it, people will empty out their pockets. You need an event that's both of those things."

I sigh. "Yeah well, no matter how amazing, a haunted house doesn't exactly scream luxurious or exclusive."

Winston quirks a brow. "Wanna know what my favorite decade is?"

Suddenly I have no idea where this is going. Why are we talking about favorite decades? Nevertheless I reply: "What?"

"The roaring twenties. Sex, booze, music, and money, all wrapped up and dripping in dirty decadence."

Okay. It should be illegal for those words to come out of his mouth all at once. I will myself to concentrate on what he's saying and not on his lips.

"What I wouldn't give to travel back in time and experience it," Winston reclines back on the couch. "Anyway, one of the defining key characteristics of this decade was the prohibition era. You know what that was right?"

"Yeah," I shrug. "It was a nationwide ban on the sale and import of alcoholic beverages from the twenties to early thirties. It also lead to a spike in organized crime."

"Exactly," Winston leans forward and taps my notebook. "Insert speakeasies."

"Okay...what does this have to do with my fall fundraiser again?"

"Come on Kennedy. Thing big."

I furrow my brows. Speakeasies were secret establishments where alcohol was illegally sold to people during the Prohibition era. They were usually glitzy and glamorous, with customers who not only drank illegally, but also partook in other various indulgences such as gambling, eating, and dancing. Not only that, they were often owned by criminals themselves who were very wealthy, and required a secret passcode of some sort for entry...

Exclusivity and luxury. Both combined.

I jumped up. "You're a genius!" I exclaimed. Why hadn't I realized it sooner? I, Kennedy Davis, was going to throw a twenties themed prohibition era speakeasy party for the school fundraiser. My mind was already racing with ideas, and I felt as if I couldn't get them all down fast enough. I'd need music, food, drinks, activities, a venue...

"A venue!" I said aloud. "Shit." I started making a list of possible venues when Winston interrupted my thoughts.

"How about a hotel?"

My mouth falls open. "You don't mean-"

He shrugs casually. "A select few of our hotels have private rooms. I'm sure I could speak with my father and pull some strings-"

I don't even let him finish. Without thinking I automatically hug him. "You're freaking amazing! Thank you."

I hug him for two more seconds before I realize what I'm actually doing and pull back, my cheeks cherry red. "Whoops. Sorry. I got a little too excited."

Winston just shakes his head, looking rather pleased with himself. "Kennedy Davis, has anyone ever told you you're simply extraordinary?"

My heart is cartwheeling in my chest. I quite possibly think that's one of the best compliments I've ever received.

I open my mouth, close it, then open it again, unable to wipe the silly smile off my face.

"Now about my payment..."

"Of course," I nod. "Anything."

"Wonderful. I'll take your number."

Slowly the smile fades from my face. Not because I'm unhappy, but because I'm shocked.

"My what?"

"Your number," Winston repeats.

"But...why do you want my number?" I ask stupidly. Internally I face palm.

"For someone so bright, you're awfully slow to the take," he smirks.

I secretly pinch myself behind my back. My mind can only focus on one thing. Winston King wants my phone number.

I sit back down next to him on the sofa, then hold out my hand. He places his phone in it, and I enter my number into his contacts, which is scarily extensive. How many people does he know?

"You can call it if you want," I say. "To make sure it's not a fake number."

"Oh I know it's not."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I know you wouldn't give me a fake number."

Cocky bastard.

Just then my father and Norman appear from his office, laughing together. Winston stands.

"I believe that's my cue."

Disappointment washes over me. I don't want him to leave. Not yet. What if he never texts me and this is the last time we ever speak?

And why do I care so much?

...