For only the second time in my life, I admit who my father is without shame.
I expect my name-dropping to have Mr. Darcy slotting Melody in for an immediate admissions interview, so you can imagine my shock when our exchange switches from friendly to unpleasant in under a second.
“Unlike Dartmore, you can’t buy a degree at Browns.” I’m about to tell him Melody will work hard for her grades, but he continues talking, stopping me. “And I strongly suggest you encourage Melody to stop this farce immediately.”
I stare at him in shock, confused as to how he knows Melody’s name. I never mentioned it, and although she’s been putting in a new request every time one is returned denied, there are thousands of students doing the exact same thing, so he couldn’t have just plucked her name out of thin air.
“How do you know her name is Melody?”
When he attempts to brush me off as he did earlier, I press my hip to his driver’s side door, fold my arms in front of my chest, then stare him down. I haven’t grown much the past year, I’m still an inch or two under six foot, but for what I lack in size, I make up for in attitude, especially when I’m wearing my protective mask.
“I never told you her name, so how do you know it?”
Mr. Darcy acts as if I can’t see his lips quivering. “You’ll remove yourself from my car immediately, or I’ll have you removed from the premises… permanently.”
There’s no threat to his tone whatsoever, which can only mean one thing—he isn’t running the show around here. He went from collective to tightening a noose around his neck way too quickly to be a decision-maker. He’ll turn on a dime. I guarantee it.
“Accept Melody’s transfer application to Browns—”
His scowl cuts me off more than his sneered words. “I will not be strong-armed, young man.”
I continue talking as if he never spoke. “Or I’ll tell the board you accept payments from wealthy business associates to guarantee their child’s placement at Browns.”
His huff blows hot air onto my face. “They’d never believe such preposterous lies.”
For once, he speaks the truth. He didn’t look up and to the right like he’s accessing his imagination, aka, inventing an answer, and the length of his blinks didn’t extend. He’s not even sweating more than he was when I approached him.
They’re all clear signs he’s telling the truth, so I try another angle. “Then I’ll tell them you accept payments to refuse admittance to students who’d generally be accepted.”
His eyes dart to the left as he blinks three times in a row. “That isn’t true.” He’s lying. I’m so confident in my assumption, I’d put money on it. “I’ve never accepted money to alter any admission applications.”
Now he’s telling the truth. The white line on the top of his lip faded when he un-pinched them, and the pink hue on his cheeks quickly followed it.
Putting two and two together, I reach four. “Then what did you accept?”
While I scan his face, seeking hints of deception in his body language, he grabs my arm to yank me away from his shiny black sports car.
Sports. Car.
With the twitch in my jaw concealed by a smile, I say, “This is a flashy ride for an admissions officer.” I whistle like he did earlier. “What’s the average salary of an admissions officer these days? Twenty-seven, twenty-eight thousand—”
“Thirty-three thousand,” Mr. Darcy snaps, incapable of ignoring my underhanded goad at his poorly-paying profession.
I smirk like a smug prick. “Thirty-three thousand. Excuse me.” I step back from his door, so I can get a better look at his sixty-thousand-dollar ride. Once I’ve got him sweating to the point I can smell his body odor, I mutter, “How does a thirty-three thousand dollar a year soon-to-be divorcee afford such a sleek ride? I bet your wife wants you to pay out the ass in spousal support, and she’ll keep the family home, so how have you kept this little plaything off her divorce lawyer’s radar?”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, revealing I’m on the money. I hadn’t researched him as Mr. Gregg urged me to do before approaching a target because up until ten minutes ago, I had no clue an admissions officer at Browns University was a threat to Melody.
I know better now.
I step back from his car. My smug grin only just hides my ticking jaw. “Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Darcy. I’m sure we’ll talk again soon.”
He watches me for a few seconds, shocked I’m seemingly letting him off scot-free. I’m not. I just need to dig a little deeper before presenting him the evidence that will have him granting Melody admission to Browns for study next year without a formal interview.
After blubbering out an incoherent reply, Mr. Darcy tosses open the driver’s side door on his sleek ride, slides into the leather-trimmed seats, fires up the engine, then throws the gear stick into reverse. I maintain eye contact with him in the rearview mirror as he tears out of the lot, my eyes only dropping when I spot the only bumper sticker on the pimped-out BMW 7 Series.
McGee for Office
So, he knows of my father and supports him, but he backpedaled when I hinted he’d be owed a favor from him if he helped Melody. That makes no sense whatsoever. Unless…
