Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Ashleigh
One Week Later
H ow in the hell am I supposed to go about my life when, at any given moment, Dean Anderson can turn everything upside down? Gathering my books, I look about the room as my lips turn down into a frown. One week. Apparently, that’s all it takes for me to feel the effect of missing him.
Not that he hasn’t stopped by and seen me, fucked me, and told me I’m a good girl. But that’s not what I want. It’s not what I crave.
I didn’t think I was a brat before, at least not in the poor little rich girl sense, but something has to give. Frustration zips down my spine as I pull up my phone and scroll through my texts. Nothing. Not that I’m really expecting much.
He’s made it very clear he has to keep our relationship far more secretive than I’d like. But then, what else can I expect? Should I have planned to bring him home to Mommy and Daddy and tell them about all the wicked, delicious things he can do with his fingers, tongue, and cock?
Right. That would go over like a lead balloon.
No doubt they’d try to find a way to lock me in the house before they marry me off. Probably to Caldwell. A shudder brings about a wave of nausea as I sling my bag over my shoulder and head out the door. Down the hall, others prepare for their classes as if this is a normal sorority and a normal day.
Even when I was on the outside, this place didn’t seem normal. How are they all okay with this? Granted, none of them have anyone in particular they want to spend forever with or anything. I can see why they don’t really care who they fuck just as long as they can reach their dreams.
A soft smile teases the edges of my lips as giddiness replaces the last dredges of revulsion. Being The Society pet certainly has its perks. That is, if Dean Anderson was honest about the meeting he set up for me in a few weeks.
And that’s all it takes to drag my mind away from the drudgery of Chi Sigma Delta and back onto the positives. Sure, I can’t see the dean as much as I’d like. Sure, we can’t just go have dinner together like a normal couple. He’s still in my bed every night and doing his utmost to make sure I can fulfill my dreams.
All I have to do is sell him my body and soul. Thankfully, I was already willing to give him those for free. Seems as if I’m the one who lucked out the most.
As I pass a few of the newer members, my phone buzzes, making my heart leap into my throat. Speak of the devil and he will appear. Only... As I look at the screen, irritation replaces any sense of hopeful happiness as Caldwell’s name appears.
Caldwell
Hey sweets.
Speaking of the wrong devil.
Ashleigh
I’m on my way to class. What is it?
Just seeing what colors you’re planning to wear to the gala in a few weeks. We need to coordinate our outfits.
I’m not going to the gala.
At least not with you, I add silently. If anything, I’d love nothing more than to be Dean Anderson’s date again. Even if it does mean going as the ‘press’.
That’s not what your mother said.
I’m running late for class. Can’t this wait?
You’re always going on about school or the paper. When are you going to make some more time for us? I’m feeling pretty neglected here.
I pause at the end of the steps and stare at the screen as shock roots me to the spot. He can’t be serious. In what world did I ever give him the impression he meant more to me than my career? What us? Fuck. What did my mother tell him?
“Ashleigh?”
A familiar voice washes over me, drawing up the hairs on the back of my neck. Pulling my gaze away from my phone, I look up at the man I met at the benefit not that long ago. Double fuck. Someone I recognize and who can easily recognize me. Fuck, fuck, fuck. No one is supposed to know I’m here.
More to the point, what is he doing here? Not that I’m all that surprised. At some point, I’m probably going to run into someone far more important than him. Then what will Dean Anderson do when they recognize me? I know they won’t say anything for fear of exposing themselves, but they will always wonder.
Plastering a welcoming grin on my face, I slip my phone in my pocket and pretend to give him all my attention. “Mr. Thatcher? Am I correct?”
His smile doesn’t meet his eyes as he looks me up and down. “You remembered. And here I thought I’d be forgettable to a Hartwell. I’m honored to know I’m important enough for you to make note of.”
His tone grates on my nerves even more than the false modesty exuding from his body. He’s not fooling anyone. Especially not someone like me who’s grown up around people far more genuine and important than him. He’s just a slimy sycophant looking for someone to fawn over him.
“I’m the press, remember? It’s my job to make note of people.”
“Ahh. In that case, I’m just lucky a plebeian such as myself can earn a spot in your memory banks. I must say, I’m surprised to see you here. Are you doing an article or...?”
He trails off, obviously fishing. All I have to do is remember the lie. “I don’t need to do an article to be here. I live here.” Mix in a little bit of truth, and they’ll believe anything.
At that, his eyes widen as he leans forward. “I see. And how long has that been?”
“I would say a week or so. Dean Anderson needed to put me somewhere safe for my protection and said Chi Sigma Delta had a state-of-the-art security system. You know. Only the best for a Hartwell.”
Just like that, he deflates. I bite down on the side of my cheek to keep from laughing at the momentary flash of dejection when he realizes I’m not here for him to fuck. At least that’s not what we’re going to allow him to think.
“What brings you here? Do you have a relative attending Loftry?”
For a moment, his nostrils flair, as if caught off guard by my question. Yet another point for Ashleigh.
“I’m meeting up with a student to help tutor her. Failing mathematics, I’m afraid. Parents are paying me handsomely for something a fourth year could do. Apparently, they want the best.”
Best liar. “I see. Well, good luck. Thankfully journalism doesn’t require all that much math, so you’ve dodged a bullet with me.”
“I’m sure you would be such a pleasure to tutor. I imagine you’re a quick study.”
The way he practically purrs the word pleasure has bile once more reaching the back of my throat. I need to end this now. Thankfully, he seems to get the hint and shifts a touch out of my way.
Again, he reaches for my hand, and I accept, hoping to shake and be done with, but he turns my wrist back and forth. So much of our earlier interaction now makes sense, but he’ll be disappointed to see I still don’t wear a Society band. To do so would shatter the illusion that I’m here for protection.
As much as it hurts my heart to not have Dean Anderson show any sort of ownership of me, I get it. It’s painful, but I’ll get over it.
“I see you still don’t have a bracelet,” he murmurs. “Such a sad state of affairs when a Hartwell doesn’t even have an accessory.”
“Who knows?” I tease as I take my hand back, desperate to lighten the mood. “Maybe Caldwell will get me one as a late birthday gift. He’s probably planning something elaborate as we speak. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to class.”
Good girl, I say to myself as I slip past. You let him know you’re not available and you kept your secret about Dean Anderson safe. Point one for the best snoop in all of Upstate New York.
Once more, I pull out my phone and scroll to another name.
Marnie
The number you have reached has been disconnected. If you feel this was in error, please check the number and try again.
Ashleigh
Just trying?
The number you have reached has been disconnected. If you feel this was in error, please check the number and try again.
As much as hope likes to spring eternal, deep down, I knew it was no use. I’m not sure what would have changed from then until now. The only difference is, I have so much I could tell Marnie, but nothing I’d be allowed to. Perhaps it’s easier this way.
If she were still here, I’d want to tell her everything. Hell, she’s the only one I really considered a friend here. Everyone else either didn’t care or wanted to suck up because of my name. Marnie knew nothing about me.
The fact that we bonded over secret societies just makes all of this even better. For a moment, I stare out over the expanse of the campus as my brain churns. It is rather odd that we were just talking about Chi Sigma Delta not too long before she went home to see her family.
It was also the day after the death or murder, depending on who you talked to. Marnie didn’t believe in coincidences. It’s what made our discussions so fun and lively. I’d always give the benefit of the doubt or play devil’s advocate while she was very much in earnest.
How weird is it that I’m now at the very heart of what we once imagined to be a secret society? Could her leaving have anything to do with that? But then, that doesn’t really make any sense.
Marnie was a pretty girl, but not someone who would thrive as a sexual property. I know they say don’t judge a book by its cover, but Marnie didn’t give off adventurous vibes. At least not when it came to getting it on with someone else.
Knowing her, it probably is something just as mundane as a family emergency. I’m probably only imagining the most salacious because I’m literally in the lion’s den of promiscuity. As much as Marnie would have loved to have cracked this case with me, she would have absolutely hated being sexualized and objectified like we are.
I just hate feeling so fucking alone.
Even being at the center of the dean’s attention when he’s able to give it to me, I feel so cut off. I don’t have girlfriends. I don’t have people who really understand me. I’m supposed to be able to make friends with these other Society girls, but how can I when they’ve all been fed the same lie?
They can’t tell me what they do with these men coming in and out. They can’t have solidarity with me. I’m surrounded yet so fucking alone.
Gritting my teeth in determination, I continue on to my class, but soon, Dean Anderson will realize I need more than what I’m being given. If he’s going to keep me trapped like a porcelain doll, then he better damn well give me enough pain to forget I’m in a cage.
Enough is enough.
I’m through with a nice hard fucking.
Bring on the brat.