Page 70 of The Deceptions
But for now, it’s time for my meeting with my new advisor in one of the administrative wings.
The smellof old paper and coffee has my nose wrinkling the moment I sit across from my newest academic advisor. Dr. Temperance Moreau. Her glasses perch on the tip of her nose as she riffles through page after page in a file marked with my new name.
Oliver Davenport.
Her teased and curled blonde hair sways every time she licks the tip of her finger while sorting through the copious amounts of papers in a stack. Odd. Why would they have so many on me? What the hell did Jonathan send to her?
"Okay, Oliver." Her nasally voice rings through the small office as her dark eyes dart to me. “It looks like you're here on scholarship." Her eyes narrow, looking me up and down. “You understand you must keep a 3.8 grade point average to stay here on scholarship, correct?"
There's judgment in her gaze as she does another sweep of my body, refusing to look me in the eyes. I keep my eyes forward,my Veritas issued glasses trained on her facial expression and how her lips tighten with disgust. It’s something I’ll have access to later and can watch for signs of deceit or trickery.
"I'm well aware." I wasn't. I have no idea what the fuck scholarship I was on. I've already been through online classes and graduated with ease—between missions, of course. So, actually going into a classroom and having to keep a good GPA puts a wrench in my—watching everyone during class and coasting through the education part of this mission.
Fuck.
And I can't come out and say,"Well, I'm not here to learn. I'm here to shake your institution up and get rid of the gangs and crimes and whatever else is happening within these walls.”
Thewhatever elseis the important part. I know there’s something fishy about this school. Between the rules the RAs laid out and now the looks Dr. Moreau is giving me, has my mind spinning in every direction. Fuck. I need a partner on this case. How am I supposed to do all of this alone? The campus is huge, covering so many acres of land and tons of students.
How can I pinpoint the funny business happening when it’s happening everywhere around me? The frats. The institution. The streets. Businesses.
Where the hell do I even start?
My mind spirals as Dr. Moreau speaks. It’s probably important what she’s saying, but I can’t seem to focus until she clears her throat, unimpressed with my lack of concentration.
She raises a haughty brow, her bracelet jingling with every move she makes as she slams my file shut. Obviously unimpressed with that, too.
"You understand that your performance will need to be high to maintain the grades and workload at Greenwood U. We have a very rigorous program.” Her lips form a straight, tight line like she doesn’t quite believe I’m up to snuff. I wonder if she hasa bias for scholarship students, too. It would make sense if all the other students hated them. They learn from their leaders. “Now, it says here that you were a Criminal Justice major at your previous institution." She lifts a dyed blonde brow, waiting for me to acknowledge her.
"Yes," I say, clearing my throat.
"And you're hoping to continue that major here?" I nod again wordlessly. "Good, good," she hums to herself, sliding over a sheet of paper. "Here's a tentative list of classes for you to look over. It looks like you're very close to completing your hours and classes. Your other university speaks highly of you."
I offer her a tight smile, looking over the classes she has down. They're all the classes I've taken online and should be easy to fly through. Maybe that's why Jonathan gave her the transcripts. He knew I'd appreciate having easy classes.
"They look good for the fall semester," I say, handing the paper back, feeling confident in my class options.
This will give me the time and energy to look into the people around me without suspicion. I'll know the material—probably better than the teachers—and ace each class with ease.
At least, I fucking hope so. If this place is as rigid as Dr. Moreau is making it out to be, maybe the material will be harder than my online courses.
I blow out a breath, my shoulders slightly slumping from the relief. Jonathan has had me in questionable positions before. Cases I didn't think I'd make it through without getting killed. Like my previous one right before this job. I almost didn’t make it out alive, scrimping by the skin of my damn teeth.
But this one? It can't be too bad, right? It’s simple. Straightforward as they come.
Famous last words.
She grins, opening her laptop and pounding out a few words while humming to herself. "Well, good. This will be yourschedule for the Fall semester, then. I'll have it emailed to you promptly with class times and a list of your professors. Four classes. 12 credit hours. And then the same next semester." She taps a few more times and sighs, sitting back in her seat. "Your teachers will update me weekly on your performance, and if you're slipping up and falling behind, we will have another discussion. Tutors are available through the library, if you need them." She raises her brow, emphasizing her point.
"Weekly?" The words slip out before I can think about it.
So, they’re going to be keeping an eye on me. At all times. Interesting.
"Yes. We take ourselves very seriously here. If you haven't noticed, we produce top-ranking students. Senators. Presidents. Even movie stars." She holds up three fingers, cockily smirking. "And scholarship students have to prove themselves to us. You're here because we want you to be here. So, prove your worth."
That's a good pitch, lady. Prove my worth? This place is fucking weird. I feel like I’m about to enter some sort of challenge to show the leaders of this place I can be an asset. It makes me wonder if that’s what’s happening.
"And I thank you for the opportunity." I try to sound as polite as I can, but I'm feeling rebellious. My skin itches with the way she looks at me like prey she wants to devour.
