Page 48 of Unwritten Rules

The professor in question is surrounded by females on all sides, at the base of the elevated seating, allowing everyone to have a full, unbiased view of our educator. The seating spans the entire room, yet all seats are taken except a handful at the very top of the space, where I see Percy and Desmond side by side.

Percy stands, waving us over.

“The nosebleed section is the only one that’s ever left. That’s why there’s such a fight to get in. He tends to call on the ones down the front and ignore those of us way back here.”

I’m still pissed at all his fuck-ups of late, namely that fucking kiss last week. And my ire is spilling over tenfold when I take my seat while simultaneously watching the barrage of women throwing themselves at his feet.

“He never calls on students back here, did you say?”

We’ll fucking see about that.

CHAPTER 15

NATE

Last week had been interminable.

I send up any number of prayers to whatever divinity that deigns to listen to sceptical assholes.

Please let this week be minutely better.

After my run-in with Zara on the lawn Tuesday morning, I should have guessed things weren’t shaping up to be a knockout. However, it had resulted in illicitly tasting Heaven in an entirely chaste, utterly restraint-shattering kiss.

Things had gone from bad to worse with the arrival of Monica fucking Higgins before I’d even exited my SUV.

I’d spoken to Mila much more harshly than intended, berating myself ever since for my prick tendencies.

The conversation with Monica had taken no more than thirty seconds.

* * *

Watching Mila’s interaction with Monica, I automatically knew Mila came out on top – as she obviously would, considering the sharpness of her tongue. When she strutted away, she’d left Monica’s mouth hanging open in a way that would have been hilarious had I been in a laughing mood.

I exit the vehicle, grab my briefcase from the backseat, and lock the SUV before spinning to find Monica right up in my personal space, her eyes spitting fire.

“You said you don’t fuck little girls, you lying prick. She can’t be any older than me!”

Taking a deep breath in through the nose, I blow it out slowly and carefully while maintaining heavy eye contact with my aggressor.

Monica’s eyes flutter repeatedly, and she begins to nibble on her bottom lip, her nervous tell making the sadist in me want to smile broadly.

Instead, I continue to glare at her for several long beats.

“Firstly, you’re onto a non-runner, love. Not going to happen.”

Her brow puckers in confusion as I go on.

“And secondly. Don’t you ever, ever call me a liar. That is one thing I most assuredly am not.”

“But she—”

Side-stepping her, I look down into her face. We’re almost shoulder-to-shoulder when my voice drops below zero, and I hiss coldly.

“I don’t want to see your face again, Monica. Now fuck off like a good little girl.”

* * *

Before heading to meet Mila at 5 p.m., I’d received a call from my solicitor in London, and it had fucked up the rest of my week.