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“Come on, come on.” She jogs to my side “If I got a first then you’ll have a double first.”
“There’s no such thing,” I mutter and fire up the app. “It’s probably going to be a 2:1 or even a 2:2. My head hasn’t been straight since Dad left.”
“So?” Charlotte elongates the syllable and rests her chin on my shoulder.
I stare at the screen, my stomach sinking toward my feet.
“Third,” I rasp.
“What?” she screeches. “But you’re like an accounting goddess.”
My nostrils flare. “Professor Segul graded me a third.”
I’m going to kill that bastard.
ChapterThirty-Seven
MARIUS
The leather armchair creaks as I lean forward toward the coffee table, my elbows held at an uncomfortable angle as I type. This is the only place in this office where I haven’t had Phoenix, and it’s the only place where I can finish grading assignments.
In a word, I’m pathetic.
Her investment appraisal project was perfectly executed, and the write up on the theory included points not included in the text books. She even tailored her answers to the specifics of organized crime. Clearly, her father, the mobster accountant, has given her instruction on how to direct the finances of an illicit business.
Everyone else, however, has performed abysmally. I had the misfortune to read Veer Bursison’s attempt, which was badly calculated and a point-for-point rewrite of the Gregg, Washer, and Thornbush textbook. It’s obvious to anyone he’s not suited for the management of business.
And don’t get me started on the Grace cousins. I skim another abysmal essay and award it a third. And that’s being generous.
The system brings up another essay. I’m now on the students whose last names begin with W, and I’m hoping this will be the last. I read the first paragraph over and over.
None of the sentences will stick. Nothing will when my mind keeps drifting to the last words I shared with Phoenix. They run around my mind like ants escaping the nest.
She had exercised her safe word. Not just over a scene but the entire relationship. She hadn’t given me the benefit of the doubt, but she wouldn’t find the truth of Sunday morning any more palatable.
“Stop this,” I whisper. “It’s for the best.”
Exhaling a sharp breath, I focus my attention back on the marking. This joker has copied and pasted excerpts from the internet and hasn’t even kept the fonts uniform.
“What are they teaching these people?” I mutter, ready to put the entire document through a duplicate content checker.
A loud knock sounds on the door, tearing my attention away from the plagiarist.
“Enter.”
It swings open, and Phoenix storms in.
Red spots bloom across her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose. The color spreads down her neck, past her collarbones, and into the blue wraparound top that both separates and showcases her pert breasts.
My gaze lingers on her slender thighs, which are exposed by a scandalously short denim skirt. When heat surges to my cock, I realize my mistake and drag my gaze back to her face.
When Phoenix pauses, not finding me behind the desk, she glances at the sofa and then back to the armchair.
“Miss Stahl?” I rise from my seat. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
Her pretty face hardens. “I knew you were a sadistic bastard but a third for breaking things off?”
“Sit down.” I point at the sofa.
