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The class is silent, a collective breath held. Eyes dart from me to her, back and forth like we’re the only two players in a high-stakes tennis match. A hand shoots up, not Brielle’s—someone eager to jump into the fray.
“Isn’t there merit to both arguments?” The interruption comes from the back row, a voice trying to slice through the tension.
“Merit?” I scoff, barely acknowledging the interjection. My focus narrows back on Brielle, her pulse visible at her throat. “This isn’t about merit. It’s about understanding the fundamentals of business warfare.”
She bristles, ready to pounce on my every word. “Warfare? So we’re reducing human interactions to battlefields now?”
“Business is a battlefield,” I shoot back, my words clipped and certain.
The rest of the class fades away. It’s just her fire and mine, clashing in a blaze that could burn this whole lecture hall down.
“Then what’s your strategy, Professor?” Her eyes challenge me, smoldering coals. “Because it looks like you’re losing soldiers left and right.”
“My strategy,” I repeat, a smirk tugging at my lips despite myself, “is knowing when to fight and when to regroup.”
“Maybe you should start thinking about a peace treaty then,” she retorts with a sly tilt of her head.
“Enough!” The word is a whipcrack, reverberating off the walls. My heart hammers against my ribs, undeniably alive. The debate dies, but the air is thick, heavy with unsaid things and unspent storms.
The bell rings, a shrill reminder that the world is still turning. Chairs scrape, students murmur, but my gaze doesn’t leave hers as they file out. She gathers her books, her movements all smooth grace and defiance.
“Miss Rose.” My voice anchors her in place, low and commanding. She turns, an eyebrow raised in silent question. “You stay behind.”
The room empties, the door clicking shut with a sense of finality. Only the echo of our earlier words remains, a ghost between us.
“Trying to sneak away?” I step toward her, feeling the magnetic pull. Her scent is intoxicating, a mix of lavender and something wilder.
“Levi…” she starts, but I’m already there, towering over her.
“I told you to drop my class.” My words are a growl, rough around the edges.
“I know,” she whispers, her defiance a palpable force.
“Are you deaf or just stubborn?” I ask, my body betraying me, leaning closer to hers.
“Neither,” she answers, her breath fanning across my skin. “I’m just not afraid of you.”
“Should be,” I mutter, my resolve melting, my desire climbing.
“Maybe.” Her lips twitch, almost a smile, almost a dare.
And God help me, I want to take it.
Heat coils in the pit of my stomach, a knot of frustration and something darker, as I watch Brielle square her shoulders.
“I make my own choices, Levi,” she says, her voice steady even as it sends shivers down my spine. “You don’t get to bully me out of this class, or anywhere else.”
I can feel a muscle in my jaw twitch as I lean down, my hands planted firmly on her desk. The wood creaks under the pressure. “Bullying?” I scoff, letting out a bitter chuckle. “Sweetheart, if you think this is bullying, you really are as naive as you look.”
“Naive?” Her laugh is sharp, almost manic. “That’s rich, coming from you. Mr. High-and-Mighty Professor who can’t handle a bit of a challenge.”
“Challenge?” I spit out the word like it’s poison. “You’re not a challenge, Brielle. You’re a joke.”
Her eyes narrow, and I swear I see lightning flash in their depths. “A joke?” she repeats, her voice rising. “Tell me, Levi, what exactly have I done wrong?”
“Where should I start?” My words come fast and hard. “Tardiness, disrespect, undermining authority?—”
“Undermining your fragile ego, you mean,” she cuts in, and I can see the flush creeping up her neck, a rosy tint that does nothing to douse my anger—or the heat that seems to be building with it.
