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“Unless you want to find yourself in detention again, you will tell me. I’m not a patient man.”
“1507 Pelican Street. Why?” she whispers into the phone with a huff.
“Stay there, I’m coming to get you.” I shut my front door, jogging to the car.
“Absolutely not,” she hisses.
“Stay put, Miss Madison,” I order.
“Good luck getting up this tree.” Her voice is full of bratty sass.
“That bratty mouth will be dealt with as soon as I get to you. Count on it, Doll Face,” I rasp into the phone. Voice tight with images of my promise.
“Mr. Boyd—” I click the Off button on my phone screen, throwing my car into drive as I race out.
What the fuck am I doing?But as I leave my Victorian mansion, driving in the direction of Pelican Street, I realize… I don’t give a fuck.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Journal entry: My life is like a movie and I’m the girl who trips over thin air and ends up being butchered.
Dresses plus climbingtrees equals scraped knees. I’ve never been to a party that’s been busted by the cops. Never. I should have been able to jump into the car I came in, right? Wrong. Because my stupid, can’t-get-me-off boyfriend disappeared, again. Fucking left without me to go on some adventure. Whatever.
The cops left a little bit ago, but I’m too terrified to come down, even though I haven’t had anything to drink. But, also, Mr. Boyd’s commanding voice has me holding still. I didn’t mean to call him, I don’t think. Maybe a part of my brain did, but I personally was trying to call Jake. To cuss him out and break up with him. Because I deserve better, I know that. But something about my first boyfriend makes it hard to just give up on us.
The tree shakes beneath my body that’s wrapped tightly around it. I look down, seeing the rich raven head of hair coming closer. He stops on the limb beneath me, looking up. His eyes are challenging. “How’s that for getting up the tree?” he asks.
“Don’t be harsh, Mr. Boyd. I was just worried for you since you’re so old. I didn’t want you to throw your back out.”
His jaw hardens as he reaches for me. “Let’s go.”
I grab his hand, and he maneuvers us down the tree, him jumping down first. As I look to the drop, I wonder how the hell I even climbed up here to begin with. He waves me down. I shake my head. “No way. I can’t afford an injury during the season.”
His face softens barely, but it’s there. “I’ll catch you, Callum.” The way he says my name is all the encouragement I need. I jump, eyes closed, heart racing until his arms wrap around me, cradling me to his chest. I think he may have just sniffed my hair, but adrenaline always does weird things to me. “Are you drunk?”
I press my head in closer to his chest, listening to the harsh beat of his heart. I shake my head. “No.”
“Good, we have something to discuss.” I allow him to carry me to his SUV. Allow him to buckle me up. Allow him to drive me to a place I’ve never been to before.
My chest hurts from the pounding in my heart. The way he saidwe have something to discussmakes me excited, but it also makes my stomach twist into knots with nerves. And when we arrive to the Victorian mansion on the outskirts of town, no welcome mat, or even flowers, I know. I know just from the uninviting feeling the house is giving off, that this, this is Mr. Boyd’s lair.
* * *
Dark wood floorsand dark gray walls greet me as I walk in. I can see a tiny glimpse into the living room, but almost everything is cast in shadow, only the moon highlighting the furniture and fireplace through the floor-to-ceiling window. He drops his keys at the entry table, taking the carpeted stairs that are just off to the right of the entry room. I follow him up the stairs. Pausing at the top to look down both long-winding hallways. I catch a glimpse of him and follow him to the big oak door at the end of one hallway.
He sits behind his big oak cherry-stained desk, his hands folded, resting them on his stomach as he leans back in his chair. “You wanted to discuss your grade?”
I leave the door open as I step in. Giving myself the false illusion that it’ll save me. I inhale the smell of leather and cedar. Trying to keep my eyes from closing. It smells divine. “Yes, but I don’t think it’s appropriate here.”
He raises his eyebrows, grabbing a watered-down scotch and taking a sip. “I didn’t ask if it was appropriate.”
Fair, he didn’t, but still it felt like something I should point out. “Very well.” I take a seat on the cold leather couch. “Yes, my grade. Is there some way I can do a makeup test?”
He takes another sip, eyes watching my every single move. “I have a policy, no retaking tests unless you were absent.”
I sigh. “I know but maybe—”
“Should I break my rules for you?” He cuts me off. “Do you think that’s fair to the other students?”
