Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Ashleigh
M y heart pounds in my chest as I take the stairs as slowly and gingerly as I can manage without looking like a total freak or like I have some sort of issue preventing me from walking right. Lord knows I’ll probably have a reason to not walk straight when I’m done. Maybe if I play my cards right, I’ll have more than one.
That’s not right. I can’t think of this as a sexual escapade or virginal foray when I know damn well he’s going to blister my ass. Unfortunately, that thought alone is enough for me to forget Marnie, forget the angry rants on the Loftry Lantern social media pages, and focus solely on the man I’m about to confront.
Squaring my shoulders, I push my way into the dean’s front of office where Shelaine clacks her immaculate nails on the keyboard. The instant the door closes behind me, she looks up and winces. Oh God. Is it going to be that bad? Her lips thin as they curl up into what I can only assume is a sympathetic smile.
“Is he-“
“Ashleigh Hartwell,” Dean Anderson booms from his office door. “Inside. Now. Shelaine, hold all calls and push my next meeting back. This will probably take a while.”
“Yes, Sir.” Her voice is soft and dutiful, the perfect paragon of what I’m sure my parents would like me to be.
If only I could just be demure and obey their edicts without any fuss. But then, I’d probably be planning my wedding to Caldwell instead of going toe-to-toe with one of the most commanding, influential men of Loftry University. A perverse thrill slithers down my spine as I ease my way past him, making sure to allow some part of my arm to brush against his body.
Again, like last time, if he notices anything, he gives nothing away. He’s a bulwark, a tower of unyielding flesh, and God, a stern slash of lips as he glowers down at me. Even now, my clit throbs as arousal dampens the gusset of my thong.
“Sit.”
“I’d rather stand, if that’s all the same to you. I’m rather busy this morning. Can we just get this haranguing over with so I can go to class?”
His eyes narrow as he circles his desk to sit behind it. “Your next class isn’t for another five hours. So unless you’d rather just stand there until it’s time for me to dismiss you, you’ll do well to sit when I tell you to sit.”
Though his words are crisp and tone soft, I can almost feel the ire spewing from his lips like venom. Without my permission, my lips quirk up into an insolent smirk as I make my way to the chair. It’s as if I’m now a woman possessed with no ability to control my actions.
“Was that so difficult?”
“My legs decided they were tired. Since a chair was so graciously offered, my body dictated I take advantage. Nothing more.”
“Are you trying to piss me off?” he growls in a way that sends a mass of butterflies fluttering in my gut.
“Aren’t you already? If not, you might want to get your anger looked at. You might have a control problem.”
Why the hell am I baiting him like this? Oh, I know why. I want him to take me in hand, to let me feel his wrath against my skin. I want him to make me feel. Something, anything… him.
I’m no stranger to putting up a fight when warranted, but this time, I’m partially in the wrong. Try as he might though, he’ll never get me to admit I should have never written this article. With my dying breath, I’ll hold firm the ideals that freedom of speech and freedom of the press will always result in hearing things you just don’t like.
If Loftry didn’t want to have a person die on campus from nefarious means, whether self-induced or not, the faculty should have made damn sure to keep a better eye on things at those frat parties. I mean, Marnie was there. What if she had somehow gotten hurt in the crossfire?
My gut sinks as I think back to the messages from her this morning. She really isn’t herself. What if she somehow overdosed as well? Instead of dying, maybe she was rushed back home to detox. That would certainly explain the anger coming through so strongly.
“Miss Hartwell,” his voice bellows out. “Are you listening to me at all? What can have your mind so occupied? Planning your next gut punch to the public?”
“Gut punch?” I snap out, unable to take this any longer. “You want to talk about gut punches? That article I wrote needed to happen. The students need to know what happened so they can protect themselves. This drug crisis needs a voice of reason!”
“Crisis,” he cries out as he stands and slams his palm against his desk. “One student died. How in the hell does your brain twist that into a crisis? It was a tragedy and nothing more. And for you to spin this for sensationalism-“
This time it’s my turn to stand and smack my hand against the desk, effectively interrupting him. “How do you know he’s the only one? How in the hell can you be so certain that no one else was affected? They might not have died, but the fact that one student did begs several questions, ones you seem incapable of asking yourselves.”
“Oh, really?” His tone turns icy as he leans forward and pins me with that gut-clenching glare. “Then please, as the resident expert in bullshit, enlighten me.”
“Fine. Since you need me to spell it out for you. Here are some ramifications you seem to have missed. One, only one person we know of died. That doesn’t mean others didn’t imbibe and possibly have less deadly reactions. It was a frat party, after all.”
“The medical personnel on the scene assured me no one else seemed affected. To my knowledge, you weren’t even on the scene until a few days later to get your story. So what information could you have that they missed? Or do you also moonlight as an EMT and that’s just not in your file?”
“Wait. I have a file?” For a moment, his words distract me from my original intent and instead steer them somewhere else for my curiosity to latch on to. “Can I see it?”
He raises an eyebrow as a ghost of a smile twitches the corner of his lips. “Would you instead prefer to table this rather heated discussion then? Are you so easily swayed from putting me in my place and telling me where I’m wrong? Silly me. I should have just dangled this in front of you sooner.”
“Not,” I bite out. “I can wait. Despite what you think about me, I do have a modicum of patience. To answer your allegations, no, I’m not moonlighting as medical anything. It’s mere common sense.”
“Then please, take me down this path, because I’m not following.”
“I... I’m sorry. Do you not know how frat parties work? I mean, I didn’t participate in rush, but-“
He leans forward as if hanging on my every word. “And why is that, Miss Hartwell? I’d assume you’d want to be in the thick of it. You mean to tell me you didn’t put in any bid?”
Taken aback by this abrupt change in conversation, I shake my head, trying to clear out the muddled mess. “If I wanted to look like a jackass during pledge week, I would have considered it. As it is, until there’s a sorority that aligns with my desires and future endeavors, then I’ll refrain from pledging.”
“I see. So here you stand, acting as if you’re an authority on Greek life, yet you didn’t attend rush. Interesting. Funny how you seem to have all these facts, yet you yourself weren’t even at that party.”
“So that’s the angle you’re working. I see. Well, for your information, only one sorority interests me, but they don’t seem to be part of rush. I’d like to get back to the matter at hand, if it’s all the same to you.”
His lips curl up into a pussy-throbbing grin. It’s dark, wolfish, and wholly devastating. Fuck. How can I properly argue my points when all I want to do is bask in the thinly-leashed violence I feel emanating off of him in waves?
“You are under a massive misapprehension, Miss Hartwell. Somehow, you’ve gotten it into your head that you’re in control here. You are not. You are here under my command. You are here at my leisure. You remain in my office because I wish it. Nothing more. Nothing less. If I desire to expel you from this office or from this school, there is nothing you can do to stop me. Here, I am your god, and you will fucking bend the knee in supplication or I will fucking force you.”
There’s something in his eyes, some unnamable emotion. There’s anger and then there’s whatever this is. All I know is, I want so desperately to kneel at his feet. It’s insane. It’s absolute lunacy, and yet, I want to know what his fingers will feel like around my throat for real.
I don’t want a dream anymore. I want the reality. I want him . But how in the fuck can that happen?
Taking in a deep breath, I hold my ground, refusing to allow him to see how he gets to me. I can’t. For some reason, this feels far more important than some article for the school paper. My heart tells me this is life or death, and I’ll be damned if I lose this skirmish.
“If you expel me, you’ll have to explain to my father why. I’m sure he’ll find it very interesting, seeing as he owns several papers and is very familiar with free speech. Same as our family lawyer.”
“Are you threatening me, Miss Hartwell? I can assure you my pockets are just as deep as your family’s. And our lawyer can be just as vicious. Besides, something tells me your father won’t care one bit if I expel you, forcing you to go back to your pastel debutant existence. Especially if it makes room for your three brothers.”
For a moment there, I see red. Anger flashes over me so hard and fast, I nearly lose the ability to see straight. How dare he threaten me with this?
“Over a fucking article? You’re going to align with him over a fucking article?”
“But then, it’s not just an article, is it, Miss Hartwell? Did we not stand here just last night and discuss at length how this article was inflammatory and not fit for publication? Did you not stand there and tell me you’d rewrite it?”
This time, it’s my turn to give him a dark smile. “I did. I told you I’d rewrite it. Never once did I say I’d publish the piece of swill I crafted for you and my advisor. That was your mistake for assuming.”
“Semantics. I see. So that’s how you wish to play this.”
“I’m not playing at anything. I’m simply informing you of your oversight.”
“Yes, you are,” he hisses. “You know exactly what you’re doing. You are a conniving fae sent to torment me.”
Again, those flutters in my stomach beat about out of sync until I feel as if I’m going to be ill. “I’m not fae,” I laugh, dispelling that ridiculous notion.
“Fine then. Fae adjacent. Seems as if I’ll have to watch my words around you and weigh each thing you say to look for loopholes.”
“Or,” I cross my arms. “You could just not assume. I did nothing wrong here. I gave you a different article as you demanded.”
“That’s not the point, Miss Hartwell. You know good and damn well this article was never supposed to run. You have this campus in a tizzy, and for what? Do you feel good about yourself now? Are you pleased with the chaos you’ve caused?”
“If it helps keep others from overdosing, then yes. I’ll say I’ve done my job.”
“That’s just it, Miss Hartwell. Only one person died from fentanyl. That’s it. No one else was affected, despite your desire to paint a different story.”
“That you know of!” I shriek.
My head pounds as everything swirls about in a way that I can no longer control. Marnie, the reaction to the article, the inability of this jackass to see reason all come to a head until I simply sit back down in the chair and do my best to just breathe.
The moment my ass meets the cushion, Dean Anderson makes his way over to my side. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Gone is the foreboding taskmaster, and in its place is someone far different. Though he still exudes strength and a commanding presence, there’s something a bit gentler, tender almost as he rests his hand on my shoulder.
“Talk to me, Ashleigh. What’s going on?”