The Dom Games by Rachel Robinson

Author:Rachel Robinson [Robinson, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rachel Robinson
Published: 2016-05-22T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

“The Clampets”

Kayla

Escaping the sub house and then the studio undetected was easier than I thought it would be. Dominic typically takes weekends off, so no one will find it odd that he’s gone. My absence will be explained away easily as I never interact with the other contestants anyways. The only person who may miss me is Tim. And he’s being kept busy with other work. We flew in a Reed Studios private jet to Colorado where a stretch town car awaited our arrival at the private airport. His family’s private airport. That should have been my first clue that I wasn’t in Kansas or even Hollywood anymore. Relief from my departure soon turned to dread.

My stomach has stayed in knots the entire time. Half because the aircraft we flew on was small and bumpy—I mean seriously, I’m surprised we arrived alive—and the other half because Dominic is wearing faded jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and he’s holding my hand. I don’t recognize the man sitting next to me in the backseat of the car. He smiles at me occasionally, but mostly his gaze is fixated out the window—the grim set of his jaw reflecting back at me in the tinted glass.

The mountains and overall scenery remind me of a delicious dessert—white chocolate melting over mounds of creamy cake. The clouds are puffy cotton candy confections. The beautiful plains speed by us and finally the driver turns down a side road blocked by an enormous gate. He’s told me several stories about his parents and siblings. Mainly it was so I could get a feel for their personalities. His mother seems like a sweet matriarch who takes care of everything in the absence of her husband, who is a cynical workaholic who will never be satisfied by anything—he’ll never have enough, he’ll never conquer the world. His siblings are a mix between the two of them. Mostly, I think they’re probably jerks. Dominic, like I assumed he would be, is pegged as the black sheep. I need to meet them before I determine if that’s a good or bad thing.

“Welcome to the Reed estate,” Dominic says, squeezing my hand lightly. His eyes dart from the side window to the windshield in front of us. The house, if you can really call it that, appears in front of the winding paved road. Notice I didn’t call it a driveway. It’s a road. Back in grade school we learned about plantations—how servants had their own quarters. Well, here, it looks as if the house help, and every close relative in their family tree, have their own mini mansions instead. As we pass by smaller, but equally impressive houses, Dominic tells me who lives where. Some are employees of his father’s companies, others are indeed house help, and in one of the largest houses his grandma. His Dad’s mom. It’s information overload, and he sees it written in my expression.

“Don’t worry. They don’t expect you to know anything about them. They expect me to convert to their black gold ways,” Dominic says, patting my knee.

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