Page 24 of Dean's Delinquent

There’s something in his eyes, some unnamable emotion. There’s anger and then there’s whatever this is. All I know is, I want so desperately to kneel at his feet. It’s insane. It’s absolute lunacy, and yet, I want to know what his fingers will feel like around my throat for real.

I don’t want a dream anymore. I want the reality. I wanthim. But how in the fuck can that happen?

Taking in a deep breath, I hold my ground, refusing to allow him to see how he gets to me. I can’t. For some reason, this feels far more important than some article for the school paper. My heart tells me this is life or death, and I’ll be damned if I lose this skirmish.

“If you expel me, you’ll have to explain to my father why. I’m sure he’ll find it very interesting, seeing as he owns several papers and is very familiar with free speech. Same as our family lawyer.”

“Are you threatening me, Miss Hartwell? I can assure you my pockets are just as deep as your family’s. And our lawyer can be just as vicious. Besides, something tells me your father won’t care one bit if I expel you, forcing you to go back to your pastel debutant existence. Especially if it makes room for your three brothers.”

For a moment there, I see red. Anger flashes over me so hard and fast, I nearly lose the ability to see straight. How dare he threaten me with this?

“Over a fucking article? You’re going to align with him over a fucking article?”

“But then, it’s not just an article, is it, Miss Hartwell? Did we not stand here just last night and discuss at length how this article was inflammatory and not fit for publication? Did you not stand there and tell me you’d rewrite it?”

This time, it’s my turn to give him a dark smile. “I did. I told you I’d rewrite it. Never once did I say I’d publish the piece of swill I crafted for you and my advisor. That was your mistake for assuming.”

“Semantics. I see. So that’s how you wish to play this.”

“I’m not playing at anything. I’m simply informing you of your oversight.”

“Yes, you are,” he hisses. “You know exactly what you’re doing. You are a conniving fae sent to torment me.”

Again, those flutters in my stomach beat about out of sync until I feel as if I’m going to be ill. “I’m not fae,” I laugh, dispelling that ridiculous notion.

“Fine then. Fae adjacent. Seems as if I’ll have to watch my words around you and weigh each thing you say to look for loopholes.”

“Or,” I cross my arms. “You could just not assume. I did nothing wrong here. I gave you a different article as you demanded.”

“That’s not the point, Miss Hartwell. You know good and damn well this article was never supposed to run. You have this campus in a tizzy, and for what? Do you feel good about yourself now? Are you pleased with the chaos you’ve caused?”

“If it helps keep others from overdosing, then yes. I’ll say I’ve done my job.”

“That’s just it, Miss Hartwell. Only one person died from fentanyl. That’s it. No one else was affected, despite your desire to paint a different story.”

“That you know of!” I shriek.

My head pounds as everything swirls about in a way that I can no longer control. Marnie, the reaction to the article, the inability of this jackass to see reason all come to a head until I simply sit back down in the chair and do my best to just breathe.

The moment my ass meets the cushion, Dean Anderson makes his way over to my side. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Gone is the foreboding taskmaster, and in its place is someone far different. Though he still exudes strength and a commanding presence, there’s something a bit gentler, tender almost as he rests his hand on my shoulder.

“Talk to me, Ashleigh. What’s going on?”

ChapterTen

Dean Anderson

As much as I want to throttle the girl within an inch of her life, there’s something about her tone, the hesitancy in her voice that gives me pause. There’s something more here. Something deeper.

Her breasts heave as she sits there, looking almost ill. Dammit. I didn’t want to have to deal with Doctor Bradley today. Unfortunately, if she continues to sit there looking like death warmed over, I might have to intervene.

“Ashleigh,” I bark out, desperate to pierce the fog gathering around her. “Talk to me.”

As she turns, her gaze hardens just a touch, as if she remembers why she was so angry in the first place. “Something’s wrong, and this administration is just too stupid or complicit to see that.”

“Now listen here, young lady-“

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