Page 10 of Gray Area

“Hi,” I reply softly. It sounds weak, and so I clear my throat and speak a little louder. “I’m Vivian.”

“I know,” he says. I wrinkle my brow in confusion at his response, but his expression remains flat and he just continues, “I’m Declan.”

I give him a tight smile. “Nice to meet you,” I say insincerely. I am desperate to get this meeting over, so I decide to just push through dividing up the topic and getting the hell out of here. “Okay, so we have nepotism, and the syllabus says that we have to take positions for and against the topic and try to come up with a resolution that is ethically and morally sound to both sides,” I say, reading directly from the page.

I look up after reading the words to him and find him staring at me as he did during the last class. I stare back, hoping he will say something, anything, maybe even blink. But after several seconds, I get nothing.

I take a deep breath. Guess I have to grab the bull by the horns. “Do you want the for or against?” I ask with a now tight-lipped smile.

“You don’t like me,” he says in response to my question.

My spine stiffens at his accusation. “I don’t know you,” I answer him.

“And yet I still frustrate you,” he points out, and I swear I see humor in his eyes.

Outrage flames inside of me. How rude can this guy get? “I am frustrated with you right now, yes. I’d like you to please focus on our project so we can divide the workload and get out of here.”

I’m pretty sure I see the corners of his lips turn up slightly, like he is about to smile. But it’s gone so quickly I wonder if I’d imagined it. “Right to the point,” he says. “I like that.”

“Great,” I say hotly. “You take against nepotism and I’ll take for,” I assign. “Next time we can have research to back up our position. Okay?”

“Sounds good,” he says, his deep voice rumbling in his chest.

A shiver runs through me at the sound of his voice. “Great, thank you,” I bite out, glancing up at the clock. I see that we still have a couple of minutes left in class, but since the point was to divvy up the work and we’d done that, I decide to call it a night. I’m not the only one either as I see the other groups start to break apart.

I stand up and push my desk back to approximately where I’d found it and then gather my things quickly. I glance up at Declan and see he has not moved. He’s just sitting at his desk, looking completely unfazed by the flurry of movement around him, and he is staring at me. When our eyes meet, I realize I’m not as creeped out as I should be. In fact, I find it hard to look away from his blue-gray gaze.

“Well, bye,” I say after a few seconds, pulling myself away from our awkward interaction and weaving through the desks and chairs, then finally out the door.

I feel like Declan’s eyes are still boring into me as I make my way outside. I know this is impossible, and I tell myself this as I hurry down the corridor. But I can’t shake the feeling he hasmarked me somehow, branded me in a way so he could be on me all the time. As I burst through the door of the building, I see the bus pulling away from the curb. In a panic, I run, trying to flag it down, but it is a futile effort, as it continues away quickly despite my efforts. I check my watch and see it arrived early.

I stand watching it exit the parking lot—plotting the horrible bus driver’s death in my mind— and take a deep breath of the arctic air. I walk to the bus stop vestibule and see another bus isn’t due for about twenty minutes. I can either wait in the cold for that time or start walking. I pull my hood down a little lower and make my way against the wind in the direction of my apartment.

Chapter 5

DECLAN

Iwait until Vivian leaves the room and then I move from my seat. I still can’t get over how beautiful she is. She is so striking—not just her looks, but the way she reacts to me too. There is just something about her. I could tell that my behavior rattled her, but she is so calm in spite of it. She didn’t fly off the handle or lose her cool. She is just matter-of-fact.

I like it. I like her.

My phone goes off in my pocket and I check it as I leave the classroom. It’s Joey, and he’s texted me to say he has some interesting findings. I wait until I reach my car and call Joey to find out that there has been some sketchy stuff going on at our Flint location. Apparently there has been an increase in patronage in that bar, but the cash flow doesn’t reflect it. Andthere have been reports of a weird interaction between these customers and a particular busboy named Dennis.

After talking to Joey, I reach out to my dad and relay the information to him, and we agree to meet at the Flint bar. I make my way there and park in the back of the parking lot. When my father pulls alongside me, I get out and go over to his car.

“What do you think?” Dad asks.

“I think I should head in, try to see if I can see anything funny,” I tell him. “I haven’t been here in months, so they won’t know who I am.”

My dad nods. “Sounds good. I’m just waiting for our HR reps to arrive.”

I nod and go back to my car, grabbing a flat brim cap and throwing my hoodie up over it. I head inside, passing a lazy-looking bouncer who doesn’t even look at me, and make my way to a dark corner of the bar. I sit at a stool and cross my arms over the top of the bar in front of me, leaning down a bit to shield my face.

The bartender looks my way and I see recognition flash in his eyes, but I shake my head slightly and he immediately turns the other way. He’s an older guy, and has worked at several of our places for the last few years. This isn’t my first time checking in on things at the bars, and it isn’t his either. He slides a water my way and moves on to finish his count of the stock.

I sit there sipping from my glass for about ten minutes and start to think maybe tonight will be a bust. I’m about to call the bartender over when a woman and two men come in and talk to the bouncer. One of the guys is in a T-shirt, scratching at his arms, his eyes darting around. The woman has one of her hands fisted, like she is holding something tightly. The final guy is busy on his phone, a flip phone no less, and he is texting like crazy. They are directed to a table by the bouncer, and they move quickly to sit.

The group isn’t sitting for more than thirty seconds when the kitchen door swings open, and out comes a busboy with an apron and a dish bucket. However, there are no dirty tables anywhere. The busboy stops at the table that hasjustbeen occupied by the new, sketchy people, and he starts clearing off the fresh silverware that’s on the table. The woman very obviously drops something to the floor and the busboy, who is much slicker than she is, bends and picks up the dropped item and hands it back to her. Or so it seems. But I watch as his hand goes into his pocket and he gives her whatever he extracted.

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