61. Thea
61
Thea
“ S ettle down, everyone!” I rolled my eyes. If I settled down anymore, I’d be in a coma. Unlike most of the other students, who actually seemed excited about the class.
Yawn.
Like I cared.
I was all out of fucks to give and pretty sure the professor guessed as much from the way he scowled at me. It hadn’t escaped his notice that my assignments had been late more than a few times. Probably because I put very little effort in.
What was the point?
“For this project, you’ll partner up to start a fictional business together. We need a business plan, cash flow statements, the whole nine-yards. I will assign each pair a business idea. Some of them are more difficult than others, but the point of the project is to show how you can turn an idea into a successful venture. At the end of the semester, you and your partner will do a presentation. Your grade will be based on this presentation, as well as the projected success - or failure - of your company, given the level of difficulty you faced. So those of you assigned the more difficult projects, fear not. As long as you can resolve some or all of the issues, it will not hurt you. Are we clear?”
I yawned again, and once again, the professor glared. He could tell I was really into this project. On my left, Cassian chuckled.
“Excited, Thea?”
“Excited for lunch, definitely,” I muttered. A double espresso coffee with ten sugars was in my future, followed by something with cheese. My stomach was on the verge of eating itself after an intense workout first-thing. Because I’d woken up late, I’d barely had time to shower and shove a protein bar down my neck before this class began.
“I have already chosen who’s working with who for the assignment.” Half the class groaned, no doubt unhappy that they couldn’t couple up with a friend. “Check your email at the end for all the details. Now, open your textbooks on page 267.”
The rest of the lesson passed in a blur. I tried to make notes, but gave up after 30 minutes. My stomach was too growly and my eyes scratchy with fatigue.
Sitting through lectures on topics I cared little about made me wish, not for the first time, that my father had signed me up for history or something. Hell, even art with Eden would be better than business.
I concentrated on doodling while the professor droned on and Cassian tapped away on his laptop. Thank God one of us gave a shit.
He probably had no choice, though. No doubt in 10 years, he’d be heading up some government department while sitting on the board of directors of another five companies. Meanwhile, I would be stuck in a hellish forced marriage, popping out babies, and praying for death.
Depressing?
Yes.
An accurate projection of the future?
Absolutely.
I didn’t need a set of tarot cards and a crystal ball to show me what lay ahead. Landon’s sister was in a similar position, except her husband was at least age appropriate and she probably liked him.
If only Fate gifted me Landon Fucking Rothmore as my future husband. But I wasn’t that lucky. In ten years, he would have married some blond with a name like Amelia or Portia. The society pages would be full of double-spread features showing off their country estate, kids, and impeccable taste in interior design.
Was I jealous of the mythical Amelia and Portia?
Yes.
I stabbed my notebook viciously. Cassian’s fingers paused on his keyboard while he glanced sideways.
“Do I need to be worried?” he whispered, leaning in. A whiff of cedar assailed my nose, and I inhaled deeply. Why did he smell so good? They all smelled amazing. It was pure torture.
“Not you. You’re good.” He looked down at my latest violent doodles and smirked.
“I am, yes.”
The professor’s voice faded away as my libidinous brain taunted me with images of a naked Cassian. I didn’t even need to use my imagination. It turned out Google had plenty of fan accounts devoted to Cassian Forsyth, all full of carefully curated images, some of them candid shots of him shirtless, looking like a Greek God.
Had I used them as spank bank material?
Yes.
Was I ashamed of it?
Hell, no. A girl had needs.
“Egotistical asshole,” I muttered while rolling my eyes.
“Got something to add to the discussion, Miss Ricci?” Professor Dickhead said in a loud voice.
I squirmed uncomfortably on my hard chair, disliking the way everyone turned to look at me with a mix of envy (Cassian sat next to me) and scorn (I’d pulled on an old sweater with a hole in the sleeve after my workout and paired it with ancient Levis).
“Um no, thanks.” Professor Dickhead glared at me for a few long seconds before resuming his lecture. Cassian carried on typing, and I spent the rest of the lesson doodling pictures of the professor dying in horrible ways.
It was very satisfying.
“Check your emails, people!”
I sailed out of class, eager for coffee and calories. The professor’s words barely made a dent in my consciousness as I hustled along the covered passageway to the cafeteria.
The temperature had risen in the last few days and college was no longer snowed in. Eden was excited about that, as her cousins had planned a trip to Glasgow and invited her over for the evening. She’d asked me if I wanted to go with her, but I’d declined.
I was much too socially awkward to sit with a bunch of strangers, even with alcohol involved. And besides, Declan Kelly was Irish Mafia, so I didn’t think it was a good idea to be on his radar. Not with who my father was.
He might see the family resemblance and shoot me in the face. Last time I checked, Dad had pissed off Seamus Kelly, Declan’s father, and relations were fraught.
The cafeteria was still half-empty, so I grabbed a coffee, filled a plate with pasta, and took a table by the window. It wasn’t until I’d demolished my food that I bothered to check my email.
Oh, great. Professor Dickhead had paired me with Cassian. I sat for a moment while considering whether this was a good thing or a bad thing.
It was both.
A good thing because it meant we would need to spend more time together, which my father would be delighted about. A bad thing because he’d expect me to pull my weight on the project. And I had zero interest in working long hours on building an imaginary company.
“I see you’ve read your email?” I looked up just as Cassian sat down opposite me with a tray of food. Unlike me, he’d picked up a healthy wrap and bottle of carrot juice. Gross.
“Yeah.”
“I need a good mark on this project, so be prepared to work your ass off.” My jaw dropped.
“And if I don’t want to work 23 hours a day on some bullshit company?”
Cassian’s gaze narrowed. “You’ll do as you’re told, Thea.”
A small whimper threatened to escape. Was it wrong that I loved it when he growled at me and went all dom on my ass?
“And if I don’t?” I had to know.
He leaned forward over the table. I bit my lip, and the world stopped spinning on its axis.
“Then I’ll have no choice but to punish you.”
Sign me the fuck up.