Agreements With Mr Rich Boy | ✓

6 | Not So Warm Welcome

"YOU DEFINITELY SAID Redwood?" I asked, fearful and desperate, for once, that my hearing was just really awful and he hadn't just said what I thought he did.

"For the fifth time, yes."

I wanted to ask about the son, but instead said, "What are they like?"

"They're as good as any, I guess. The dad died years back, so Mrs Redwood looks after the two kids. She works most of the time, and she does well out of her business. The girl, Autumn, helps out the most with her, but the boy's the heir to the dad's business. He's only 18 and he owns a multi billionaire pound business. I don't envy him."

It was clear that people who went to Attwood were phenomenally wealthy, but he actually owned a multi-billion pound business. I didn't know why William didn't seem to want to be in that position. I mean, he could have anything whenever he wanted and probably hardly worked. It sounded like the dream.

I imagined he'd get irritated if I started interviewing him about them, so I slumped back in my seat. I lolled over the idea of the boy not only going to the same school as me, but also having the same driver. Going to Attwood at the same time would probably be completely fine, for the most part. But, if William was to keep as my driver and his, it may get a little trickier to avoid him.

All rich people were the same, everyone knew that. They were conceited and pretentious and egotistical. Most of them were rude, which had been proven swiftly by the boy. He had hardly wasted a moment to project his contempt towards Charlotte or the lady at the front desk, pointing out flaws in the material and ordering each of them about, continuously.

I really, really, really didn't need to worry about holding my tongue around him and staying unnoticed. I knew if I did snap at him, he'd probably have a squat team at my house within mere minutes, or me never being able to work anywhere. No, I did not need that in the slightest. What I did need, was to keep in my room when I didn't have a lesson and avoid confrontation at all
costs. Yes, that's exactly what I needed.

My internal monologue had gone on so long that we were finally turning off of the motorway and down a wide, but secluded road. It twisted this way and that, delving further into the expanse of British countryside. On either side, it seemed trees towered above us like skyscrapers, and latched onto each other overhead so that we were shrouded in shadow.

A few cars followed us off, each looking more expensive than the last; a vibrant red Ferrari was directly behind us, slowing its pace as William did ours, and a spotless Aston Martin followed suit. I couldn't make out the person behind either of the wheels, but imagined it was a similar situation to my own— the indistinguishable figures being certified drivers, and the kids sat in the back.

The road began to wind to the left further up. From there, we got a clear view of the stretch of the way leading up to the school. Crunching could be heard as the ground underfoot transitioned from tarmac to gravel, and I noticed the tiniest of dust clouds forming from the window.

The largest gates I'd ever seen stopped us in our tracks. I looked through the papers that had been included with my acceptance letter, trying to find the pin to enter. Before I'd even turned the page, they opened, automatically.

Closer and closer we got, and I couldn't resist being almost in line with William as I leant so far forward. I just had to get a better view of the nearing school.

The trees receded, now replaced with well-kept, perfectly shaped bushes. They lined the long stretch of road we travelled down, each a rich, green colour. Past them, lay seemingly miles of land. I wondered where the main road was, and just how long we'd been driving on the more secluded one because I couldn't even hear any other cars, besides the low rumble of the engines of those behind us.