Nathan Kingston has been forgotten by the world. A dad that fucked off when he was young and a mother gone days at a time with work he feels alone. Especially since he goes to the most elite private school in the city on scholarship. He's falling do...
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Nathan Kingston
The building in front of me is imposing. A large skyscraper covered in windows and stretching a good 250 feet skyward.
Without any further hesitation, I open the large glass doors with the large embossed logo in the center of the door and make my way inside. The cheap dress shoes I wear for work click on the marble floor as I approach the circular desk towards the back of the room next to the elevators with sweaty palms. I swivel my head left and right as I walk, taking note of the four security guards at every corner of the room, every one of their expressions flat and intimidating.
"Hello, sir. Who are you here to see today?" An aging woman with her salt and pepper hair pulled into a tight bun asks me, her glasses resting partway down her nose while her fingers clack against her MacBook keyboard.
I run an anxious hand through my hair and run my sweaty psalm down my dark dress pants, "I have an appointment with August Matthews at 11:30 AM."
"August Matthews?" She questions.
"Yes." I respond plainly.
"What's your name?" she eyes me suspiciously like she can't believe that I have a meeting with August Matthews.
It's not like he's the president of the United States.
"Nathan Kingston." I answer, this woman already thinning my patience.
"Can I see some ID?"
"Does a motorcycle license work?" My tone is ruder than it probably should be, she is just doing her job, but this seems slightly excessive for an appointment in a building already with lots of security.
"It's a photo ID isn't it?" Her tone is even snappier than mine as she talks, raising an eyebrow in my direction.
"Yes." I take out my wallet and pull out my license, handing it to her and tucking my wallet back in my pocket.
She takes her sweet ass time checking my license, shining it under every light imaginable, bending it to almost the point of breaking, and looking at it so closely her breath fans against the plastic.
"What's your birthday?" She starts up with her questions again.
"October 13th."
"What's your middle name?"
"Julian."
"Alright, your information checks out. Take the elevator up to floor 21, the elevator code is 0827."
"Fucking finally." I grunt under my breath, taking my ID back from her outstretched hand and tucking it back in my wallet as I make my way over to the elevators.
With the amount of security it takes to get to the appointment you would think that my ex-girlfriend's dad is the president of the United States.
I wince outwardly at my thoughts as I reach the elevator. It's been almost a week since I've spoken to Ivy. I see her walking in the hallways with Dylan at school, but she doesn't have the same sparkle that's been radiating off of her the entire time I've known her.
