Page 14 of Wreck Me

Even now, it galls me that he thought he could pay his way into my panties. Then again, he’s not the only man to make that assumption. The past couple of weeks have presented plenty of lucrative proposals–all of which I’ve politely declined.

Even my boss, Christopher Cole asked if I’d given any consideration to offering any ‘additional services’ as his bright eyes lingered on my lingerie. My answer was a resoundingno. Though to some men, especially wealthy, powerful men, the wordnois a foreign concept. It only serves to drive them harder. And as the days blur into weeks, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that Christopher Cole is one of those men.

But, as I told James, some things aren't for sale. Another image of his onyx-like eyes claws its way into my brain. I thrum my pen on the desk.

Professor Buckley pauses his pacing at the front of the room, halts mid-sentence and turns his attention to me. His gaze narrows. ‘Ms Fitzgerald. Is there a problem?’

‘No, sir. Not at all.’ I sink into my seat, willing the floor to crack open and let me slide through. I’ve spent the last five years doing everything and anything not to be noticed. Flying just under the radar. It would be a shame to fail now the finishing line is in sight. Even under the stage spotlights at the club, the wigs and make-up are so extreme that I feel hidden even when I’m almost fully exposed.

‘Given your blasé attitude, I assume you’ve organised your work placement already.’ Sarcasm drips from each word as every head in the rooms swivels in my direction.

Oh, the shame.

I clear my throat and straighten myself in the plastic chair. ‘Er, not yet.’

‘Well if you have a hope in hell of finding one, kindly use that pen to write down the criteria for said placement, instead of playing the bongos on the desk,’ Professor Buckley’s forehead ripples with frown lines.

The guy in the seat adjacent fires me a knowing grin. ‘If you like, you can copy my notes this evening,’ he whispers. Shane Stenson is the college football captain, and son of a former Irish politician. He has his pick of the women. With his sunny disposition, dirty blonde hair, and a drop-your-panties smile, it’s not hard to see why.

Which is precisely why I was shocked when he sought me out in the campus nightclub six months ago, and kissed me like he meant it, before begging me to go home with him.

Obviously, I said no. Even if I was ready to let a man intomy life, which I’m not, there’s no point in starting a relationship.

The second I graduate, I’m on the first plane out of here. The urge to see the world eats at me, and now thanks to my job at the Luxor Lounge, I’ll be able to afford it.

Shane didn't try to kiss me again after that, and somewhere along the line we sort of became study buddies. It helps having someone to bounce things off, even if his eyes sometimes linger on my lips a little longer than study buddies should.

I shake my head at Shane and offer a tight smile.

Eventually, class ends.

When Professor Buckley finally draws the lecture to a close, Shane rises from his desk and perches on the side of mine. His neatly clipped fingertips graze over the scratched pine as I stuff my notes into my satchel.

‘Want to go for a drink? It’s Friday, after all.’ He cocks his head and flashes that famous grin, showcasing years’ worth of expensive orthodontics. His bright blue eyes glitter with hope.

‘I can’t tonight.’ I push my chair back with the backs of my thighs and stand. ‘But I’ll see you next week.’ I scurry out of the door with the weight of Shane’s gaze on my back.

Reaching into the front pocket of my satchel, I fumble around for my mobile, an iPhone as old as the hills, with the scratches to prove it. Even now I have the money to upgrade, I won’t. I don’t need a fancy camera or access to a hundred stupid social media sites. Apart from Avery, there are only two people who ever call me.

Eleanor Thorne, my former teacher and saviour in my hour of need.

And Nathan Sterling, the detective in charge of my mother’s case. The man who convinced me to testify against my stepfather. Not that I needed much convincing. JackO’Connor claimed he was unaware my mother was in his whiskey distillery when he burnt it to the ground, but I don’t believe that for one second.

The man is unhinged. Why my mother married him in the first place is beyond me. Clearly she had a thing for bad boys, given my birth father was a professional fighter back in his day.

Nathan checks in on me periodically. He’d have preferred it if I’d left Dublin after the trial because of the threats I received from Jack’s sons. The parting words of my stepbrother, Declan, ring through my ears as fresh as the day he spat them in my face. ‘If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.’

But given my scholarship offer from Trinity Business School, and my lack of other options, Nathan and I agreed I’d change my name and start a new life.

I scroll a thumb over the scratched screen of my phone and call Eleanor’s number. She answers on the fourth ring.

‘Scarlett.’ There’s a maternal warmth to her tone. My heart aches in my chest, remembering my own mother. They say time heals pain, but it doesn’t. Not really. You just learn to live with it.

‘Hi Eleanor. I’m just checking in.’ I stride through the bustling streets of Dublin, pressing the phone tightly against my ear. It’s not even five o’clock but the sky is a shade of midnight and there’s a fierce wind whipping against my face.

‘You don’t need a reason to call.’ After my mother’s death, Eleanor fostered me until I turned eighteen. It couldn't have been easy for her but I’ll always be grateful for what she did for me.

‘I was thinking about you earlier.’ She pauses, ‘You know, with your mother’s anniversary coming up.’

---