Page 10 of Save Me

Besides, I genuinely do believe that Mr. Sutton’s private life has nothing to do with me.

“I just want to forget the whole thing,” I say again.

He exhales slowly. “And you have no…conditions?” When he sees my outraged expression, he hastily adds: “You’re on course to pass with flying colors anyway. You’re one of the best in the class, you know that. All I meant was that…I…” He breaks off, groaning with frustration; his cheeks are red, his body language uncertain, and his eyes are almost despairing. He suddenly looks incredibly young, and, for the first time, I really clock how young he is—not that much older than us.

I try to smile, without much success. “I just want to get through my exams in peace, sir,” I say, putting my copy of the reference in my bag.

He doesn’t reply, and I walk to the classroom door. Then I look back over my shoulder. “Please don’t give me any special treatment.”

He stares at me like I’m a ghost—and not a friendly one. His eyes are suspicious, which is hardly surprising.

“Thanks for writing the reference.”

I see him swallow hard. Then he nods again. I turn away and walk out of the classroom. Once I’ve shut the door, I lean my back against it, shut my eyes, and take several deep breaths.

Only then do I realize that I’m not alone. A soft sound makes my eyes fly open again.

James Beaufort is leaning against the wall opposite me. He’s crossed his arms over his chest and has one foot against the wall. His eyes are on me—his expression is harder than yesterday; his mood seems darker. There’s no more trace of the conspiratorial grin with which he tried to foist his money on me.

He pushes himself away from the wall and comes over. Hissteps are slow and almost threatening. The moment seems to last ages. My heart starts to race. This is his kingdom. And I feel like an interloper.

He comes very close before he stops. He looks down at me without a word, and for a moment I forget how to breathe. Once I’ve got that under control again, I realize how nice he smells. Like star anise. Spicy and tangy, but pleasant. I’d like to bring my nose closer to him, but then I remember who I’m facing here.

James reaches into his inside pocket.

That frees me from my paralysis. I narrow my eyes and glare at him. “If you try to bribe me again, I’ll shove your money down your throat.”

His hand pauses a moment, then draws back. His eyes flicker darkly. “Cut this whole Mother Teresa bit out and tell me what you want from my family.” His voice is velvety and deep—a strange contrast to his harsh words.

“I don’t want anything from your family,” I begin, glad to have the door at my back. “Apart from you to leave me alone, maybe. Besides, Mother Teresa would have taken the money and handed it out in the dining hall or given it to the needy on the streets or something. Love thy neighbor and all that, you know?”

James’s face freezes. “Do you think that’s funny?” he asks, the rage clear in his voice. He takes another step toward me, so close that the toes of his shoes are touching mine.

If he comes another millimeter closer, I’ll kick him where it hurts—regardless of who at Maxton Hall knows my name after that. “I don’t want any trouble with you, Beaufort,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “Or your sister. And I really don’t want your money. All I want is to get through the upper sixth.”

“You really don’t want the money,” he says with an air of suchdisbelief that I can’t help wondering what he and his family must have experienced in the past. Or who they’ve had to deal with.

None of my business, none of my business, none of my business!

“No, I don’t want your money.” Maybe if I repeat it a few more times while looking him straight in the eye, he’ll believe me.

He watches me for what feels like an eternity, studying every inch of my face and reading my intentions. Then he lowers his gaze to my lips, then to my chin and neck, and then lower still. Centimeter by centimeter.

When he looks up again, understanding has dawned on his face. He steps back a bit. “I see.” He sighs and then looks both ways down the corridor. “Where do you want it?”

I have no idea what he means. “What?”

“Where d’you want it?” He rubs the back of his head. “I think one of the tutor rooms over there is free. I’ve got a master key.” He looks questioningly at me. “Do you get very loud? It’s right next to Mrs. Wakefield’s office, and she generally stays late.”

I can only stare at him, wondering what the hell he means. “I don’t have the least idea what you’re on about.”

He raises a mocking eyebrow. “Right. Listen, I’m familiar with the whole ‘I don’t want money’ thing too.” Then he grabs my hand and pulls me down the hall. Outside the room he mentioned, he pulls the key from his pocket and opens the door.

He’s started loosening his tie with his free hand.

Where do you want it?

Once I realize what he meant by “it,” I’m gasping with outrage. But he suddenly takes my hand and starts to pull me into the room. I grip on to the doorframe and tear my hand away.

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