AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He starts to straighten up, so I rush out of there before he recovers, walking away as fast as my blistered feet can take me.
It's only when I'm clear of LACC, far enough up North Vermont Avenue to see Hollywood Boulevard, that I slow down, and lean back against the closest wall to catch my breath.
What the hell was that?
For some unfathomable reason, he wants me to be his whore. He liked what he did to me in June, and he wants more. His hand against my skin. His mouth—
God, I need to get out of here.
When I succeed in clearing my mind off Camden with slow, steadying breathing exercises, I remember Trent's text. We have a date tonight, at a pizzeria up the road. Shit, I didn't confirm.
I rifle through my bag, but my cheap, cracked phone is nowhere to be seen.
Shit, shit, shit.
I had it in my hand moment ago.
Then Camden Hunt appeared. I probably dropped it when I was in shock.
Or he took it.
I return to campus and check the stairs leading up to the building, but of course, my phone is nowhere to be seen.
I’ll have to replace it, which isnotwhat I wanted to blow my savings cushion on, but I need a phone for work, to stay in touch with Willow, and many other things.
At least it was cheap, broken, and four years old.
Guessing Trent's likely to meet me at the restaurant as planned if I don't get back to him, I head over there, attempting to clear my mind of the deluded, arrogant psycho who stalked me here.
I could help you.
Not in this lifetime, buddy.
ChapterSixteen
"Are you okay?" Trent asks for the fourth time. "You normally love pizza.”
I do, but the one bite I managed to ingest sits in my throat, likely to come back up any second.
I attempt a smile.
I should relax. The confrontation with Camden was unexpected and uncomfortable, but it's over. I can put it behind me, never to think of it again. I can focus on what matters. The lovely guy in front of me, for one.
"I'm just a little queasy. Don't mind me. You were saying? About Professor Jeffreys.”
"Yeah, so last year, he graded my robotics work a B, which is fucking ridiculous—three companies are bidding to buy the program!”
"Congrats again.” It’s not the first time he’s told me about the bids. “Decided who you’re going to sell it to yet?”
Trent shrugs, glancing away for some reason. "My father, probably. The startup is offering more money, but Dad will act like I peed in his Cheerios if I don't let him have it. Something about investing that brain of mine in my legacy, or whatever."
He likes to brag a fair bit, but he is just as good as he says—I’ve seen his coding.
“Can you tell me yet what that program of yoursdoes, exactly?” I tilt my head, trying to appear more interested than I am.
I know he’s proud of his invention—and by the sound of it, he should be. It’s not his fault my mind is somewhere else.
"Well, the details are confidential, of course, but let's just say it'll cut the admin budget of any company in half. It extracts relevant information from email, replies, and directly sets up appointments in the calendar. It also handles invoices, and the payroll—"
