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I shoot off a text to Kade.
Me: I need you to run that errand first. I’m sending a sheet to the printer in the conference room. Take that to the address attached. Classroom 212. Jensen Stone.
Kade: On it.
I type out a message telling Jensen to meet me at the Planetarium at nine.
I try to refocus on the papers now shoved in my drawer. The proposal created to convince Patricia to sell. A deal she won’t refuse. It’s never been clear how she got her hands on the shares in the first place. Early on, she tried to convince me it was my father’s wishes for her to be a partner in the club. They were in love and going to get married, but his death got in the way. Well, love didn’t seem to stop her when she seduced me into sleeping with her three weeks after we put him in the ground. That’s where I first went wrong with this place—picking up exactly where my father left off. Starting with his mistress. The special treatment, the gifts, the money. Once the high wore off, I realized I was getting played. I smartened up and cut her off. But getting rid of her wasn’t easy.
Her signature managed to make its way onto the deed, legally claiming a percentage. Getting rid of her business wise seemed impossible, but not getting her out of Exquisite. I made some calls and offered her a chance at a real life, paid for her degree at the elite university and used my connections to land her a job.
She hadn’t been a problem for years.
Up until now, when Jensen popped up in her class.
I sign the bank transfers moving money around into certain accounts, then look at the time. Three hours have passed. My phone indicates no texts, so Jensen’s phone is still dead. Until I see her, my focus is shot. I drop my pen and get ready to head to my loft to shower.
A knock sounds on my office door.
“What is it?”
Tracy, the first shift bartender, opens the office door and peeks her head in. “Hey, boss. Sorry to bug you, but this was just dropped off for you.”
She steps in just far enough to hand me the note, and then quickly exits.
Unfolding the piece of paper, I read the typed message.
Play a game with me.
Help me fulfill a desire. Meet me in Private Room H at ten o’clock.
Come hungry.
<3 Jensen
An ease settles in my stomach and my lips curl into a mischievous smile. Looks like my little pet has better plans for us tonight.
I toss the letter onto my desk and head upstairs.
Oh, I’ll come hungry all right.
LAYING IN MY TINY BED, I stare at the bottom of Christine’s empty bunk, wondering how long it takes a university to get wind of failures. How long until someone comes knocking on my door with an eviction notice. Not that I care about getting kicked out of this room. It’s been nothing but a lonely place since we got here. A place I’ve sat, waiting for my best friend to come around and talk to me.
Playing house with Damien had been a breath of fresh air. The two weeks I cozied up with him at his loft were like heaven. The way he tended to me. Fed me. Sated me. It allowed me to forget about all the sorority stress and my crumbling friendship with Christine.
The only thing that sucked was anytime I left the comforts of his loft to attend class, my anxiety returned until I made it back to the safety of his place, unscathed. Sylvia had been leaving me alone, and it appeared Christine had moved into the sorority house since our dorm looked untouched every time I came back to shower or collect my books.
But now, being in here, alone, the weight of everything seems to almost bury me.
I curl into myself and let the tears come.
I’m so angry at how I let myself get taken advantage of. This is not me. Sylvia is right to call me those names. That’s who I’ve become. A call girl, running around with a man who is using me. Why did I even think, for one second, I would be anything more than just a deal? That he would fall for someone like me? I’m plain and ugly and apparently a stupid, naïve idiot! I punch the bunk and grunt, holding my wounded hand. Flipping onto my stomach, I bury my face into my pillow. He even stopped bothering to dress me up. That’s how pathetic he probably thinks I am—too dull to even attempt to shine. And here I was trying to show Sylvia I was his shiny prize.
“I’m nothing but a fake. A loser,” I cry, feeling so disappointed in myself. I cry at how upset my parents are going to be once they find out about my grade. Ms. Phillips has probably already contacted the student records department letting them know I suck and to cut off all funding.
