Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Dean Anderson
M y pulse pounds in my ears as I make my way back to the campus. Even though it’s not that long of a drive, I find I need to collect myself before I bring Ashleigh into my office. One quick drive will not be enough.
Anger tinges my vision as I make a circle around the quad, then another, and another. Thoughts and counter thoughts swirl in my head, but nothing seems to make any sense. How in the hell did she know about the murder already?
As I understood it, our local campus police, who also happen to be Society members, found the body late last night. Pretty soon after the overdose, in fact. They were doing a routine check around the campus when the murder was discovered.
There’s absolutely no evidence to prove anyone else was there or knew about what happened. That is, unless I misunderstood Louis’s veiled answers and little Miss Hartwell was part of the crime? But that seems absolutely preposterous. Slamming my car into park, I take to the paths winding around the luscious lawns.
Maybe air is what I need. Maybe I just need to breathe deep and puzzle through what’s going on. There’s been far weirder things that have happened here at Loftry. Would it really be so preposterous to think someone as ambitious as Miss Hartwell could have murdered someone to get a headline?
It’s a school paper, for Christ’s sake. Who would kill someone for a fucking headline? But then, with the way she persisted, with the way she nearly demanded I allow a paper at this school... It might not be so far out of the realm of reality.
Two deaths. One of them murder. At least one that we know of for sure. I’m still a little suspect about the overdose. Despite being an opportunistic jackass, Chase was a smart, decent guy deep down. It honestly makes more sense for him to have an enemy.
Lord knows after the Melody fiasco, he was watched carefully to make sure he didn’t pull any bone-headed stunts like that again. But overdosing? And where would he even have gotten it?
Pausing, I rub the bridge of my nose and stare up at the main building that holds my office. Could it be that Miss Hartwell is some devious serial killer who uses the press to hype up her murders and put the suspicion off of her?
I know one person who might have an answer. Pulling out my phone, I shoot a quick message over to Doctor Andrew.
John Anderson
Have you had any run-ins with Ashleigh Hartwell?
With the way my luck has been holding out, he’s in a session and won’t be able to answer me until I’m already forced to confront the girl.
Doctor Andrew
Let me check my notes.
His response pings on my phone far more quickly than anticipated. The fact that the name doesn’t instantly send off alarms in his brain tells me she’s at least not an immediate threat. Those individuals usually catch his eye during orientation.
I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting her. Should I schedule a session? See if she’s a good fit for The Society?
It’s not as if I haven’t had that very thought, but the fact that it’s Doctor Andrew asking makes the idea feel wrong somehow. As if his asking a very simple question is all of a sudden invasive. If anyone else asked me, I wouldn’t mind. But with Doctor Andrew...
I’m asking as the dean of Loftry and not as the head of The Society.
In that case, she’s not drawn my attention in any way. Do I need to have a meeting with her? If you’re asking me this, then there’s something about her giving you pause.
Do I really want Ashleigh in the clutches of someone like Doctor Andrew? Granted, now that he’s happily settled with a submissive of his own, his predatory nature has calmed down a bit, but is it enough?
Just as a student meeting with a counselor. Nothing more.
The silence on his end is deafening. I stare at the screen, waiting for his response.
I do hope you are not calling my ethics into question. I was hired by you for my skills as a doctor of psychiatry. Are you changing your opinion because you’re precumming your slacks over some girl?
A frisson of rage slithers down my spine at his words. Not because of what he’s implying, but because he’s right.
Fuck you.
Fuck you too. I’ll see her Monday at three.
Honestly, the idea that she had anything to do with this is even more comical than Sergei being a master linguist in disguise. As a nepo baby, she’d be more likely to order a hit than to actually do the deed herself. But that still begs to reason how she knew about the murder in the first place.
Unless there’s someone who’s feeding her information. The killer themselves, perhaps. Until I know more, I should probably consider this to be more of a blessing than some horrid plot.
Besides, if she’s not the murderer, this could be the opening I need to get her into my grasp so I can discipline her, fuck her, and get her out of my brain. Right now, she’s an ephemeral obsession, an infernal need that drips through my veins until it consumes every thought. But I’m an intelligent man. I know I only want her because I can’t have her.
But I will have her. Somehow, some way, little miss Ashleigh Hartwell will kneel at my feet. I will make it happen.
Taking the steps two at a time, my cock swells behind my designer slacks as I picture everything I’d do to Miss Hartwell. Would she cry and beg for more? Or would she just cry? Either way, I’ll be satisfied.
As I stride into the office, the first thing I notice is Ashleigh’s platinum blond hair glinting in the bright lights. The soft waves caress her face and dip down her breasts as if demanding I bring my gaze there. One cursory glance. That’s all I allow myself. To linger any longer would lead to madness.
Ignoring her completely, I walk over to Shelaine and question her about my messages, missed calls, and things like that. From the corner of my eye, I watch as Miss Hartwell squirms about, no doubt not used to being kept waiting. The blasted paper flutters in her hands and she shuffles about, sighing every few moments.
Such rudeness. Such insolence. My hand twitches as I watch her fluttering about in that chair as if I’m supposed to stop everything for her lack of foresight. The problem is, the more I ignore her, the harder she is to thrust out of my mind.
Forget getting her an appointment with Doctor Andrew. Perhaps it’s my time to lie down on his proverbial chaise. Because I swear it’s as if I can smell her perfume from across the room. I can almost feel her body heat washing over me.
Insanity.
I just need to fuck the girl and get her out of my mind.
Storming over to where she’s sitting, I hold out my hand for the paper. As she hands it to me, she rises, but I instantly motion for her to sit back down. “I’d like to take a moment to look this over without your input or interference.”
Is it my imagination, or does her foot tense just a touch as if she wants to stomp it down on the floor and throw a tantrum? My cock twitches at the idea of such juvenile behavior. Out of all the students and submissives I’ve disciplined, none have brought out these urges nearly as strongly as she has.
It’s almost as if she’s seen into my mind, pulled out every fantasy I have, and is bringing them to erotic life. I can’t let my cock rule my emotions right now. Even if I wanted to bring her into my fold, now is certainly not the time. There are far more important matters to attend to with her blatant salacious article being at the forefront.
As I turn to leave, she stands and plants her hands on her hips. “I don’t understand. Nothing I’ve said in this article is incorrect. I’ve checked the facts myself.” She pulls out her phone and frowns. “I’m far closer to the printing deadline than I’d like to be. Can’t I just come in and plead my case?”
“I don’t care if it’s due to the President of the United States for him to read over. A concern was brought to me making this my problem now. And if it’s a problem for me, it will surely become a problem for you. Now sit.”
With a humph, she plops back down into the chair and crosses her slim legs, causing her skirt to ride up enough for me to catch a glimpse of her creamy thighs. Insanity indeed. This girl will be the death of me. I’m sure of it.
Off to the side, Shelaine covers her mouth with her hand, but not before I catch that irksome knowing grin. Brat. Just because she belongs to Luke now doesn’t mean I can’t put in a text for him to deal with her.
As I stride past, I flex my free hand where she can see. Almost instantly, she sobers and goes back to work. At least she hasn’t forgotten the taste of my strap when I was the one seeing to her discipline.
Fisting the paper in my hand, I make my way over to the desk and slide on my glasses. There, in bold, just as the picture showed, is the blasted headline—Murder Most Foul. Just as when I was out in the hedge maze, my anger rises as my stomach plummets.
Thankfully, as I skim through the article, it has nothing to do with the actual murder. It’s about that damned overdose. Granted, there’s not much to it. However, both that and the headline are too inflammatory.
Tossing it to the desk, I press my intercom, instructing Shelaine to allow the reporter to come inside my office. Her pale cheeks are quite flushed as she bustles in, as if she’s the injured party here. With a flounce, she sits across from me and folds her arms into a defensive stance.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I slide it over to her. “Care to explain?”
“What’s there to talk about? A death happened on campus, and I’m duty-bound to report it.”
“And are you also duty bound to place such a salacious headline?”
She leans over and squints at the paper before giving me a lackadaisical shrug. “It’s made to grab attention.”
“It’s obscene, and you know it,” I snap back, taking the page away from her. “What were you thinking putting something like this here? You know people are going to jump to the wrong conclusion.”
“Is it wrong though?” She insists, jumping up from her chair. “Of all the people I interviewed, none of them considered him the type to do drugs. It’s very suspicious, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you, though. No one did.” With a heavy sigh, I slide back into my chair.
I can’t fault the girl. Not really. She’s only saying what we all were thinking. Chase had a bright future. He wouldn’t throw it all away like that. And definitely not with Fentanyl.
“Change the article,” I finally grind out. “Put something else in there. I don’t really care what.”
“You cannot be serious right now.” Her voice raises with every word until she’s just below actually screaming at me.
“Sit. Down. Has it ever occurred to you that this might be an ongoing investigation? Did you not think that if he was murdered, this might cause the perpetrator to go into hiding? Is the anguish his friends and family might feel from reading this worth the sensationalism you’re trying to cause?”
“Sensationalism? So your answer to all of this is to censor me because you don’t like my method of reporting.”
A headache forms at the base of my skull as I stare at the girl across from me. Her eyes blaze with righteous indignation as she taps her Louboutins against my wood floor. Nothing will make her see reason it seems.
“Yellow journalism will not be tolerated at Loftry University. Either you pick a different article, or you’re not publishing. It’s as simple as that.”
“You honestly think you can suppress the truth and I won’t fight back against it?” she hisses, planting her hands on my desk.
My vision blurs for a moment as I picture her bent over, her pretty skirt flipped over her hips so it can expose her backside.
“The truth? I counter. This isn’t truth. This is a sensational slant to get readers. Admit it. That’s all this is. A ploy to solidify The Loftry Lantern and start making a name for yourself. Pure and simple.”
The way her lips part as she gapes at me has my pulse pounding in my cock, making it twitch with every breath, every heartbeat.
“I have integrity!” she finally cries out.
“Integrity? If you had integrity, you’d do a better job at considering others before splashing such an inflammatory article about without a care. I swear,” I mutter under my breath. “It was so much easier back in the older days of Loftry.”
“Why,” she sneers. “Because then you could control me like you’re trying to control the press?”
“No, Miss Hartwell,” I bite out as calmly as I can. “It’s because back when Loftry was first founded, the Dean had the final say, and his word was law. If anyone so much as tried to fight back or argue, there were consequences.”
“Censorship, you mean.” Her voice drips with disdain as she sneers at me.
“Allow me to give you a small history lesson, Miss Hartwell.” I begin, leaning over the desk to look her straight in the eyes. “Back when Loftry was first founded, did you know what they did to recalcitrant students who would not fall in line? No? Allow me to elucidate it for you. They would receive the cane across their backsides. Thankfully, we have evolved past such archaic methods of discipline. But you tempt me, Miss Hartwell. You tempt me very much.”
“Tempt you? Really? So cane me then,” she snaps out, crossing her arms as she oozes rebelliousness. “If that’s what will settle this between us, go ahead. Do your worst. See if I care.”
“Oh,” I growl out, rising to my full height. “Miss Hartwell. Do not goad me. You will not like the result.”