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“Thalia,” she blurts. “Thalia Grace, and these are my cousins, Mia and Charis.”
“Well, Miss Grace and her cousins, I look forward to receiving your emails. Should you miss your Monday evening deadline, I will call on you on Tuesday to stand up and present your findings or lack of to the class.”
Her features melt into a mask of gormless shock. It’s the most satisfying sight.
“Chop chop.” I shoo her and her little cousins away.
All three of them turn on their heels and disappear down the hallway and into one of the stairwells like rodents escaping the light.
I pull out my phone and send Phoenix a text:Naughty girls who tease their professors with bananas are in need of discipline.
She replies an instant later with:I was hungry!
Clearly I’m not feeding you enough.
Morning BJs don’t count!
I smirk.You may have to arrive earlier, so I can give you two loads.
“Professor Segul?” asks a voice from the other end of the hallway.
I turn to find Dr. Xander jogging toward me, his cheeks flushed. My lips tighten. If only all pests were so easy to expunge.
“Is this important?” Slipping my phone in my pocket, I walk in the opposite direction. “Only I have other engagements.”
By that, I mean a suitable punishment for Phoenix. One that will provide maximum chastisement for her but will optimize my pleasure. I open the door to the stairwell and descend.
If Dr. Xander intends to follow, then he may as well trail behind me as I explore the university campus.
“I went to see you at six last night, but you weren’t in your office,” he says.
“That’s unfortunate.” I rub my chin.
“We still need to discuss the students.”
“They behave well enough in Advanced Finance and Accountancy.”
Dr. Xander huffs. “Not all lecturers can throw chairs at their students without consequences. How on earth did you get away with that behavior at LSF?”
I purse my lips. “Different culture.”
There’s a fire exit at the bottom of the stairs. I push open the metal bar, letting in a gust of rose-scented air.
Marina University’s grounds remind me of the well-tended gardens of an institution, because that’s essentially what it is: a holding-place for underworld offspring who want to explore their educational options but without the threat of assassination or abduction.
Shango, Odin, and the other leaders are gentrifying the world of organized crime. What does Great Britain have now? Its own mob-run university, prison, and taxation system.
Absurd.
I walk down a gravel path with a rose garden bordering the building on the left, and an expanse of lawn on my right that stretches toward the distant security walls. The midmorning sun warms my back, while Dr. Xander’s gaze warms the side of my face.
Joking aside, the university’s vetting process had been thorough. Crius had ensured there was no link between him and myself, so anyone scrutinizing my background would see someone who had clawed his way up from a troubled childhood with a drug-addled single-parent.
“Miss Athena Belus complained that you made a sexist comment today,” Dr. Xander says, his voice low.
“News travels fast.”
He pulls out his smartphone. “She’s the University Student Union’s Women’s Officer and the complaint is on the intranet.”
