Right now?
I’m all three.
So, I’m not running. I’m not hiding. And I’m sure as hell not begging for mercy.
I’m going to do what I do best.
I’m going to fight dirty.
But not against him.
Forhim.
Because if Rowan King thinks he’s the only one who knows how to manipulate a situation, he’s about to learn something new about the girl he used to love.
I don’t break easily.
I don’t surrender quietly.
And I’ve never met someone I couldn’t save.
Even from themselves.
Chapter Six
Rowan
By the time the sun sets, I’ve settled three IOUs, drafted a liability waiver for a freshman who thought cheating wasn’t technically academic dishonesty, and explained to one of the first-years—twice—that no, I don’t offer mentorship, internships, or mercy.
I haven’t thought about Tessa once.
Not really.
Not since she flipped me off in property law.
Granted, I shouldn’t have smiled at her.
I definitely shouldn’t have winked.
But there’s something about watching Tessa Whitmore unravel, one tiny eye twitch at a time, that’s always been entertaining.
She’s always known how to take a hit, and I never offer softness where strategy works better.
Now I’m tucked into the corner of Hale & Brooks’s cocktail-hour audition, watching future white-collar felons polish their cufflinks and smile. The whiskey’s underpoured, the lighting’s overthought, and every suit in this room is tailored within an inch of its inheritance.
Hale & Brooks doesn’t host parties. They stage evaluations. Black tie, invitation-only, limited to the five finalists for the most competitive summer associate slot in the country.
I was raised in this world. I know all the trust fund babies and have been to all the legacy dinners and country clubs with more influence than Congress, but fitting in and beating these people at their own game are two totally different things. Most of these men inherited power. I sharpened mine.
Camden Hollis slides in beside me with his perfect suit and half-finished drink. “Think they’ll make us sign in blood,” he says, “or just tattoo the firm’s motto on our asses?”
“If we’re lucky, they’ll blur your face for the children.”
He grins, totally disregarding my jab, and leans close enough to invade my personal space without breaching etiquette. Camden’s old money, new influence. His father is a judge, and his mom is a legal columnist. He’s not the best in the room, but he is the most marketable.
“Why do you think they like their candidates settled?” he asks.
“Probably the same reason why you are here alone,” I say without looking at him.
