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“You joke, but I have some insights about you, baby girl.”
I glared at his back as he turned to leave. Before he reached the edge of the stacks, I called out, “Why do you have a reputation on Stanford’s campus?”
He stopped and looked back. “I have a reputation everywhere.”
“My roommate heard of you.”
“I’m sure she has.” His face gave away nothing. “I have my fingers in every honeycomb.”
“That’s a gross metaphor. How much time do you spend around here, anyway?”
“Not as much as you’re thinking.” He hesitated and ran a hand through his hair. He did that when he was hiding something.
“Tell me the truth. You want to work together? Don’t start lying.”
“I own this school.”
I snorted a laugh. “Even for an Oligarch, that’s an absurd statement.”
“I mean it literally. Half of Stanford’s endowment comes from my checkbook. And you know how much universities love to be well endowed.” He smiled at his own bad joke.
“So you think that gives you the right to sleep around with any willing coed?”
His smile faltered. “Yes, it does, but that’s not what I’ve been doing.”
“Then why did Sarah say it is?”
“I don’t know what your roommate thinks she knows about me, but this school is a useful pool for recruiting. The best and the brightest come here, and I want them to work for me.”
“You’re kidding me. You’re running a job fair?”
“Something like that, except my jobs tend to be somewhat illegal.”
“I think you’re lying to me, but it doesn’t matter. I want to meet my uncle in three days.” I jammed my finger onto my notebook for emphasis.
He watched me carefully, and his face was an emotionless mask, like he was keeping his true feelings locked down deep. I wanted to pry them back up again and understand him—why did he care about me at all?—but couldn’t quite bridge that gap. After a painfully long stare, he turned and left without a word.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I whispered to his retreating back.
Chapter 8
Melanie
My head was full of Nervosa as I left the library an hour later. It was after ten and campus was quiet. Scattered students wandered the walkways, flitting from light pole to light pole. The night was cool and comfortable, a slight breeze coming from the coast. I breathed the air deep and let it out, head spinning with that man, that strange Oligarch.
I couldn’t trust him. I believed that he donated money to Stanford, and it might even be as much as he was suggesting—Oligarchs had notoriously deep pockets. But Sarah knew him, and why else would my roommate hear about Nervosa, if he weren’t doing something terrible?
Rumors were ugly. Sometimes they were rooted in truth, but more often they were nasty attempts at stirring up drama and cutting people down. I shouldn’t put stock in them, but it nagged at me, the way Sarah stared at me with such conviction, like she knew Nervosa personally and desperately wanted to convey how dangerous he was.
I hurried back to the dorm. As I got closer, I noticed a figure on the path behind mine. It was a lone person, a man from what I could tell. He didn’t have a backpack, or anything except a pair of slacks and a casual flannel shirt over his broad frame. I thought I recognized him, but couldn’t be sure in the darkness, punctuated only by the weak orange glow of the outdoor lamps. I picked up my pace, but the person continued to trail after me.
My heart raced. First Nervosa, now this. I was probably overreacting. I was headed to a dorm, and all sorts of people came and went at all hours of the night. The guy was probably a boyfriend of a girl in my building, and I’d run into him at some point, which was why I thought I recognized his face. He didn’t care about me, and I didn’t care about him.
But as I came within sight of the dorm and its bright white lights, Palm materialized from the gloom and stepped onto the sidewalk beside me.
“Oh, shit,” I said, jumping. “What is with you people and popping up out of nowhere?”
She didn’t smile. “You’re being followed.”
I clenched my jaw and came to a stop. She looked dour and glanced back toward the person on the sidewalk. He halted twenty feet away beneath a light, hands shoved in his pockets.
I got a good look at him then and my mouth went dry.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I know who that is.”
“I’m not sure that makes it any better.”
“Stay here. Don’t go anywhere.”
“You’re talking to him?” She grabbed my wrist.
I pulled it away. “It’s fine, Palm. And by the way, Nervosa paid me a visit an hour ago. Did you notice him?”
Her eyes widened. “I was watching.”
“I’m sure you were.” I stormed off. Some bodyguard. My pulse was racing so fast I thought I might trip and fall over, but I worked on calming myself as I got closer to Liam Quest.
