Page 23 of Dean's Delinquent

“Sit.”

“I’d rather stand, if that’s all the same to you. I’m rather busy this morning. Can we just get this haranguing over with so I can go to class?”

His eyes narrow as he circles his desk to sit behind it. “Your next class isn’t for another five hours. So unless you’d rather just stand there until it’s time for me to dismiss you, you’ll do well to sit when I tell you to sit.”

Though his words are crisp and tone soft, I can almost feel the ire spewing from his lips like venom. Without my permission, my lips quirk up into an insolent smirk as I make my way to the chair. It’s as if I’m now a woman possessed with no ability to control my actions.

“Was that so difficult?”

“My legs decided they were tired. Since a chair was so graciously offered, my body dictated I take advantage. Nothing more.”

“Are you trying to piss me off?” he growls in a way that sends a mass of butterflies fluttering in my gut.

“Aren’t you already? If not, you might want to get your anger looked at. You might have a control problem.”

Why the hell am I baiting him like this? Oh, I know why. I want him to take me in hand, to let me feel his wrath against my skin. I want him to make me feel. Something, anything… him.

I’m no stranger to putting up a fight when warranted, but this time, I’m partially in the wrong. Try as he might though, he’ll never get me to admit I should have never written this article. With my dying breath, I’ll hold firm the ideals that freedom of speech and freedom of the press will always result in hearing things you just don’t like.

If Loftry didn’t want to have a person die on campus from nefarious means, whether self-induced or not, the faculty should have made damn sure to keep a better eye on things at those frat parties. I mean, Marnie was there. What if she had somehow gotten hurt in the crossfire?

My gut sinks as I think back to the messages from her this morning. She really isn’t herself. What if she somehow overdosed as well? Instead of dying, maybe she was rushed back home to detox. That would certainly explain the anger coming through so strongly.

“Miss Hartwell,” his voice bellows out. “Are you listening to me at all? What can have your mind so occupied? Planning your next gut punch to the public?”

“Gut punch?” I snap out, unable to take this any longer. “You want to talk about gut punches? That article I wrote needed to happen. The students need to know what happened so they can protect themselves. This drug crisis needs a voice of reason!”

“Crisis,” he cries out as he stands and slams his palm against his desk. “One student died. How in the hell does your brain twist that into a crisis? It was a tragedy and nothing more. And for you to spin this for sensationalism-“

This time it’s my turn to stand and smack my hand against the desk, effectively interrupting him. “How do you know he’s the only one? How in the hell can you be so certain that no one else was affected? They might not have died, but the fact that one student did begs several questions, ones you seem incapable of asking yourselves.”

“Oh, really?” His tone turns icy as he leans forward and pins me with that gut-clenching glare. “Then please, as the resident expert in bullshit, enlighten me.”

“Fine. Since you need me to spell it out for you. Here are some ramifications you seem to have missed. One, only one person we know of died. That doesn’t mean others didn’t imbibe and possibly have less deadly reactions. It was a frat party, after all.”

“The medical personnel on the scene assured me no one else seemed affected. To my knowledge, you weren’t even on the scene until a few days later to get your story. So what information could you have that they missed? Or do you also moonlight as an EMT and that’s just not in your file?”

“Wait. I have a file?” For a moment, his words distract me from my original intent and instead steer them somewhere else for my curiosity to latch on to. “Can I see it?”

He raises an eyebrow as a ghost of a smile twitches the corner of his lips. “Would you instead prefer to table this rather heated discussion then? Are you so easily swayed from putting me in my place and telling me where I’m wrong? Silly me. I should have just dangled this in front of you sooner.”

“Not,” I bite out. “I can wait. Despite what you think about me, I do have a modicum of patience. To answer your allegations, no, I’m not moonlighting as medical anything. It’s mere common sense.”

“Then please, take me down this path, because I’m not following.”

“I... I’m sorry. Do younotknow how frat parties work? I mean, I didn’t participate in rush, but-“

He leans forward as if hanging on my every word. “And why is that, Miss Hartwell? I’d assume you’d want to be in the thick of it. You mean to tell me you didn’t put in any bid?”

Taken aback by this abrupt change in conversation, I shake my head, trying to clear out the muddled mess. “If I wanted to look like a jackass during pledge week, I would have considered it. As it is, until there’s a sorority that aligns with my desires and future endeavors, then I’ll refrain from pledging.”

“I see. So here you stand, acting as if you’re an authority on Greek life, yet you didn’t attend rush. Interesting. Funny how you seem to have all these facts, yet you yourself weren’t even at that party.”

“So that’s the angle you’re working. I see. Well, for your information, only one sorority interests me, but they don’t seem to be part of rush. I’d like to get back to the matter at hand, if it’s all the same to you.”

His lips curl up into a pussy-throbbing grin. It’s dark, wolfish, and wholly devastating. Fuck. How can I properly argue my points when all I want to do is bask in the thinly-leashed violence I feel emanating off of him in waves?

“You are under a massive misapprehension, Miss Hartwell. Somehow, you’ve gotten it into your head that you’re in control here. You are not. You are here under my command. You are here at my leisure. You remain in my office because I wish it. Nothing more. Nothing less. If I desire to expel you from this office or from this school, there is nothing you can do to stop me. Here, I am your god, and you will fucking bend the knee in supplication or I will fucking force you.”

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