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  Elite

  A Privileged Novel

  Carrie Aarons

  Copyright © 2018 by Carrie Aarons

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Editing done by Proofing Style.

  Cover designed by Okay Creations.

  This book is for a very special Aunt who has turned into a friend. Eloise contains all of the sass, wisdom and love that you bring to my life.

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Carrie Aarons

  Author’s Note

  I know that some of the college scholarship information and basketball events in this novel won’t be factually correct, or fall on the historically accurate date in which they typically fall on. For the purposes of this story, I needed to change the timing/rules on certain happenings or occasions. I hope that doesn’t detract from your reading.

  And if it does, I’ll buy you an ice cream.

  One

  Eloise

  I was so bloody lost.

  The winding, enchanting roads of Thistle, Vermont had bewitched all of my senses, my eyes roaming over the snow-covered landscape and diverting me into a series of turns I could not retrace.

  This town was straight out of a Grimm’s fairy tale, or a Ralph Lauren catalogue; all tall oak trees, alpine white, chunky knit sweaters, log cabins with smoke puffing from the chimneys and the smell of apple cider somewhere off in the distance.

  And here I was, the British transplant who’d almost gotten herself killed several times while trying to navigate the Mercedes my father had had waiting for me at the airport. It wasn’t my fault that Americans insisted on driving on the wrong side of the road.

  All right, so maybe I should have hired a driver to take me to campus. But I’d promised myself that I’d be more independent, get back to my roots and stop relying on the help to perform tasks in my everyday life that I was more than capable of doing.

  But it didn’t mean I still wasn’t going to do them in style, hence the sixty-thousand-dollar sedan and Italian suede stiletto boots that threatened to pitch said car right into one of these Ansel Adams-like valleys.

  Pulling over, I tapped on my iPhone to open up directions to Jade Mountain University. In my mind’s eye, I pictured the red-blooded, American campus, with its brick buildings covered in ivy, quad filled with antique wooden benches and the famed clock tower that watched over all of is students. Situated at the bottom of Thistle’s small mountain range, and next to the crystal-clear Jade Lake, the school had instantly caught my eye when I’d begun research on how to escape my stuffy existence in Europe.

  Sure, the last two years at the Sorbonne had been educational … eye opening really. On one hand, the rigorous program had solidified my decision to become a chef. But at the same time, the harshness of my professors, not to mention the cutthroat competition presented by my peers, was becoming stifling. Before I immersed myself fully into that world, I needed one last burst of freedom.

  Hence my sabbatical to Vermont, and Jade Mountain, which oddly, had one of the best sommelier programs in the world. I’d pitched it to my professors as an experiment in food and wine pairings, an experience that I could not get anywhere else. Thankfully, the university’s reputation spoke for itself and they’d whole-heartedly agreed.

  But as I pulled the car into a U-turn, back the correct way according to Google Maps, I wasn’t thinking about reds and whites. Instead, I was imagining freedom. Parties. A normal, young adult experience. Not one where everyone dressed in precious metals and foreign silks, or attended balls and charity events.

  Once upon a time, I’d been the typical teenager from the wrong side of the neighborhood. Was it strange that I was starving to get back some of that normalcy?

  At Jade Mountain, I could be anyone I wanted to be. Not the daughter of the most famous actor in Britain, not the self-deprecating diva that I seemed to have adopted as my persona.

  Finally, I arrive, my car floating through campus like some kind of horse-drawn sleigh through the winter woods.

  Walking through the door of the dorm I was assigned on my acceptance paperwork, I’m hit with a blast of warm air, my long camel-colored pea coat suddenly suffocating me. Dragging my Louis Vuitton suitcase over to the elevator, I’m pleasantly surprised when it dings its arrival just seconds after I hit the button. The building is shockingly quiet, no thumping music or laughter heard anywhere. Maybe everyone is in class. Or out with friends. Or simply not moved in yet.

  I was two days early for check in, but I’d done this purposely. I wanted a chance to settle in, tour the campus, get my bearings before anyone could shake them. I was not the kind of person who enjoyed being shown up; there was a certain satisfaction in being two steps ahead of everyone else, even if they’d been here two years longer.

  Reed Hall looks exactly like every other building on this campus; brick outside, white crown molding and wainscoting on the inside, big, beautiful fireplaces that look as if they’ve been here since the creation of this country. Traditional Vermont, again, as if they pulled it straight out of an L.L. Bean catalogue or something.

  My room is on the third floor, the hallway smelling like pine cones and evergreen as I walk down it. Stopping in front of a door that reads 308, I remove the key from my Kate Spade bag and unlock the two deadbolts and finally the handle lock. At least I can feel secure that no one will be trying to break in.

  Except, the minute I walk in, I can sense that someone has been here already. There are no boxes, no signs that my roommate has gotten her pick of sides before me. But the faint whiff of perfume in the air, the way it’s charged with the electricity of another human having stood in the same spot … I can feel it.

  And then I spot it … the envelope.

  Neatly laid on the table just next to the door, the scrawling black ink across the front reads my name, Eloise Mason.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but I can’t help the rush of tingles that excites up my spine. It’s probably a note from one of my mates back home, paying someone off to take the piss out of me. Or maybe my father has sent something else in lieu of his love … gifts being his f
avorite way to gain my affection.

  Ripping it open, I read the three sentences scrawled on the thick, cream card stock inside.

  If you’re in, you’ll never have to ask. If you ask, you’ll never be in.

  University Boathouse, tomorrow night, 9 p.m.

  No signature. No other instructions. No cheeky smiley face or recognizable handwriting.

  I’m no one if not a junky for clues and secrecy … so admittedly, whatever this is, is right up my alley.

  And just like that, my plan for a normal, average college semester flies right out the window.

  Two

  Colton

  From somewhere within the walls of my fraternity house, there was a girl deep in orgasm.

  “Dude, you’d think he was fucking her so hard her eyeballs were about to fall out.”

  Baker plops down next to me on the couch, two beers in his huge mitts. He hands one to me, and even though it’s only eleven a.m., I take it. School isn’t in session, yet, and even though we’re in the middle of basketball season, I’ve never been the kind of player to go sober. They’d never drug test or suspend their star athlete, and I’m cocky enough to not worry that I might be partying too much.

  See, that was what my golden boy status secured me, and that was really all there was to it. I played the part well, taking Jade Mountain University to two consecutive College Basketball Championships … and winning. I’d covered Sports Illustrated as a freshman, all six feet five inches of my carved body, and it brought so many booster donations to the school that I now basically walked on water.

  I wasn’t bragging … these were just facts. And instead of fighting them, I starred in the role brilliantly.

  “Actually, I think there are technically two guys in there. Or in her, should I say.” I took a long swig of sudsy brown ale.

  “Ah, gotta love hoop hunnies. Speaking of that, are we going to The Croc tonight?” Baker polishes off his beer in two seconds flat, and is already up to grab another.

  That’s just how life is here in Keil House, the top male social club on campus. While Jade Mountain won’t actually label the “infamous houses” dotting the south drive of campus as Greek life, we all call them fraternities and sororities anyway.

  And Keil was the most exclusive of them all … for men anyway. Comprised of the wealthiest, most athletic, most connected guys currently attending Jade Mountain, we threw the most epic parties, scored the hottest girls, and in general just caused debauchery … in the best way possible.

  Honestly, the quaintness of Thistle, Vermont hid the taboo shenanigans happening behind the scenes.

  “I’m in. It will probably be less crowded because not everyone is back yet, but I think some of the Charter House girls are here, so it’ll be a good time.”

  The Crocodile Tavern was our favorite off-campus bar to frequent, and we’d spent almost every night of winter break there. With its dimly-lit corners, original wooden walls, and cheap liquor, it was every college student’s escape.

  “I love the smell of a new semester. It means new Charter girls; fresh meat.” Griffin, the center on our basketball team, and one of my closest friends here, walks into the room.

  He and Baker fist bump one and other as they load the PlayStation, arguing over whether to play NBA 2017 or Madden. Baker, a defenseman on the college’s football team, is constantly arguing with us over which sport is better. We let him think he wins most of the time, even though we know the real answer.

  The start of a new semester always meant new pledges in each of the six houses on campus. Three for boys, Keil, Evans and Rowan, and three for girls, Charter, Yardsley and Whitman. While the other four houses were exclusive, no one compared to Keil and Charter. I wasn’t much a part of our pledge process, but I respected the tradition.

  Out of all of the pledges, the Charter girls had it the worst. There was something about gorgeous females and power struggles that made everyone hot and bothered … and fucking nasty. Gretchen Bauer and her band of diamond-clad minions were seriously beautiful, and brutal as hell.

  “Maybe some of them will already have arrived on campus. Or at least I can grab Nina if there is no other option.” Griffin shrugs, referring to his on-again, off-again fling who was number two over at Charter.

  “Hopefully there are some new faces. I’m getting bored.” I pouted, finishing off my beer.

  The winter had been a cold one thus far, and while there was more than enough tits and ass to keep me warm, I was growing tired of the same old girls. I needed someone spicy, a girl with a great rack but a mouth on her as well. It wasn’t enough for them to just fall onto their back and let me have my way … because that could happen any night of the week.

  Multiple times a night, if I felt like it.

  The last two years had been much the same, but to keep up appearances, I’d screw and play until no one saw past the thick coat of varnish I’d painted on myself.

  Because in reality, the clock on my good luck was a ticking time bomb. I could only pull off my secret dealings for much longer … always feeling as if I was outrunning a train about to slam into me. No one knew the burden I carried, the secrets I’d strapped to my back and pulled across the snowy landscape of Vermont like a cross nailed to it.

  Baker pulls me out of the darkness. “Chin up, you’re Colton fucking Reiter. Badass, basketball god with a head of hair to rival that dude on that doctor show where everyone is either dying or fucking.”

  “I’m shocked you’ve actually seen Grey’s Anatomy. Actually, on second thought, I’m really not.” Griffin rubs his chin and looks at our roommate.

  “What? A lot of the girls on that show are hot. Or they’re showing blood and guts. I’m a sucker for nudity or gore.” He hits a couple of buttons on the controller, making Griffin groan in annoyance when he scores a touchdown.

  Maybe Baker is right, although the fact that I’m listening to inspirational speeches from a guy who insists on eating breakfast at the family-style dining table in his tighty whities is somewhat crazy.

  And even if he isn’t right, I can keep convincing myself that my secrets aren’t slowly dragging me under; the weight of reality isn’t shattering the ground beneath my feet.

  Three

  Eloise

  When I was younger, I used to pray for a miracle to lift us out of the poverty my family existed in. It wasn’t until years later that my father finally struck gold, and we were thrust into the kind of wealth that people only dreamed about.

  Except, once I was part of the privileged, I had to leave England to get away from the pressure of British society.

  Then, I left Paris to get away from the demands of an education that left me constantly stressing and second-guessing myself.

  So it’s only fitting that I’ve come full circle, sitting in a wood-paneled bar that so resembles the pub down the street we used to frequent in Liverpool when my parents only made scraps from blue collar, working class jobs.

  The Crocodile Tavern is a cozy, but rather large, building just down the hill from campus. I saw it on the way in, and instead of sitting alone in my dorm room tonight, I thought I’d celebrate my first day as an American student with an extra dirty martini.

  After calling my mother, who was on set with Dad in Scotland, to let her know I’d made it okay, I’d texted a handful of friends, including Nora Randolph, my American friend turned British royalty who was only a few states away in Pennsylvania. We’d made tentative plans to visit each other, and she promised to introduce me to her favorite things in the States. I was so looking forward to drinking a Slurpee from this mysterious place called Wawa, and potentially meeting a real live cowboy.

  Running a hand through my long blond hair, I inspected the ends. I’d had it died with lowlights by my favorite stylist in Europe before I’d left, and I was pleased with the outcome. It went perfectly with my blue eyes, that also matched the green and blue plaid scarf I wore. I went a little nutty on my pre-Vermont shopping spree, snapping up every pla
id, houndstooth and suede item I could find … but damn, I looked cute.

  This outing was also a way to distract me from that mysterious letter I’d gotten in my dorm room. Who was it from? Was it a prank? Was I really going to show up at the boathouse tomorrow night to find out? I already knew the answer to that; of course I was. There was no use in denying I’d follow the bread crumbs, because I’d sensed from the minute I’d stepped onto this campus that it had some buried secrets, and I relished in a good treasure hunt.

  “Is this seat taken?” A deep voice sparks my ear.

  Rolling my eyes, I take the olives out of my glass and pop them in my mouth, and don’t even entertain looking at him. I came here tonight for me, not to meet anyone. Sure, I liked a sexy man as much as the next girl, but I was off the male gender for a while. After plowing through actors, musicians, club promoters, and every socialite playboy from Vienna to Ibiza … I needed a break. Fame and fortune had come swiftly into my life, making relationships and trust somewhat impossible. Every guy I met from my world knew who I was, and wanted to use me and my body in some way to further themselves.