Page 3 of Brat Baby
Chuckling, I stand. “Oaks, I think I’m going to keep you.”
Chapter 2
Derek
This is Dylan all over again. The lies. The denial. But it’s worse. So much fucking worse.
Blood thunders through my veins as I surge up the few paved steps into the Department of Mathematics building, the gothic architecture, with its crisp green ivory, not bringing me the joy and sense of purpose it normally does.
A fucking student.
She is a fucking student at my fucking university.
The area is teeming with universities and colleges, so sure, it is possible she could have been a student. And I do admit, there had been a niggling thought in the back of my head that her age puts her in the prime age range for higher education. However, that would mean she lied on the goddamn contract that she signed less than twenty-four hours ago.
The lure of the enormous gift we proposed was a little too much for dear little Emery, it would seem.
Not asking her in person is on us. But Emery committing contractual fraud is another ballgame entirely.
As I storm through the pointed archway of the entry into the building, I can feel the presence of the others following me. None of us have said a word, and the silence continues as we stride across the foyer toward the wooden switchback staircase, quickly ascending until we are on the second floor of the four-story building.
For the first time ever, I am irritated with the fact that I have the corner office that overlooks the university’s main quad. As amazing as the room and its view is, the lack of proximity from the staircase is causing my blood pressure to increase, only deepening the hue of the thunderclouds that surround us.
My fury needs an outlet.
How could she do this to us?
Pangs of disappointment flood my chest as her hazel eyes flash in my mind.
She is everything we have ever looked for. Did we show our cards too soon? Did she pick up on how desperate we are to find someone for all of us? Did she think the clause in the six-month contract about being a student was just so we knew her occupation? Did she just skip that section?
How the fuck did we get here?
A door opens farther down the hall, and a group of laughing students step out in front of us. One of my PhD students sees me and starts to wave, but his arm barely even rises before he drops it to the side and urges his friends out of our path.
The way they scuttle to the side has my inner beast sneering, rattling at the cage door that I lock it behind when I’m out in the real world. I fight a snarl at the notion that the ridiculous rumors that surround the four of us will only be reinforced by this one moment in front of these twenty-somethings.
Emery wouldn’t cower as we approached, even with this darkness surrounding us. She’d stand strong and raise her chin, not allowing any one of us to get beneath her skin. Her inner fire would blaze against ours, neither party caving to the other.
And fuck, that thought enrages me even more, because sheisperfect for us. Absolute perfection. She isn’t afraid of us and the things we want. And she has the steel to stand up for herself when it really matters.
Is that why she did this? Because she isn’t scared? Is it all a game to her? Are we just toys for her to play with? To explore her sexual fantasies with? Is she not worried that all of us could lose everything? Her included?
Whatever her plans are for her future, if it’s discovered that she is having an illicit affair with not one, but four, of the teaching staff at her school, she’ll be expelled and will make acceptance into another university a difficult process.
Even if it all started before any of us knew of our professional link to her.
I reach into my pocket and withdraw a security pass, which doubles as the key to my office, from the pocket of my slacks. The panel turns green after only a second of the card resting against it, and I immediately shove into the office.
Light from the window that overlooks the quad streams across my cherry-oak desk in the middle of the room. I bypass thecouch that sits to the side of the door and stride past the table and chairs against the far wall that I use for student office hours. As I hear the doorsnickshut after the others enter, I go to the coat and hat stand in the corner behind my desk where my leather satchel hangs.
The same satchel that holds the signed copy of the contract.
“What the fuck just happened?” Hudson asks, his voice slicing through the silence like a machete. “A student? She’s a student? How?”
The fury and pain in his voice causes a deep echo within me, and I have to clench my jaw against the wave of emotion. I riffle through the satchel until I find the correct folder and pull it free.
“She can’t be. The contract clearly states she had to tell us if she’s a student and what school she attends so that we could assess the situation,” Darcy replies as he flops into one of the cushioned leather accent chairs on the visitor side of my desk. “We specifically have that section in there to avoid this exact situation. How could she ignore that section? I watched her read the contract, she read every single line.”
