Chapter nineteen Bexley
Chapter nineteen
Bexley
I smile sweetly at the older man, and I’m not entirely sure if it’s because I anticipated and prepared for this moment or because I fucked his son. Probably both, but still, I take some pleasure in the bulging vein protruding angrily from his forehead.
I’m still dressed in Liv’s spare uniform which isn’t helping my cause. Dean Lannister’s powersuit-wearing ass kisser nearly fainted when I waltzed past her to enter when I was summoned over the speaker.
“I told you last time, Ms. Spencer, that if you continued to cause trouble, you would face the consequences,” Dean Lannister spits out. “At this stage, you leave me little choice but to…”
“Hold that thought,” I interject, holding my hand up. Pulling my buzzing phone from my bra, I flick open the text, grinning.
Ry: Liv is having an absolute meltdown. I have no idea what the fuck that was about, but is it wrong that I want to fuck your brains out in that uniform?
I start typing a reply which prompts the livid man to slam his hand on the desk as he attempts to bring my attention back.
“Ms. Spencer! Put your cell away. Now.”
“Why?” I answer smugly, peering up at him. “I’m already in trouble, aren’t I? Go on—expel me. Issue detention. I’m open to suggestions.”
Crossing my legs, I lower the phone to my lap, toying with the hem of the skirt mockingly. I just know that out of everything that went down, stealing her uniform is by far the worst crime in Liv’s mind. What’s the bet that the Dean isn’t even aware that I snapped her nail off again?
The man stands to glower down at me. I don’t flinch though—Max Astor already got the better of me. It won’t happen again.
Probably because I fucked his golden heir in his house.
Before the Dean can speak, words failing to coherently form, the intercom dings. The familiar nasally voice filters through, laced with an edge of annoyance and panic.
“Sir—he’s here. He’s demanding to be let in.”
Wow. These men don’t play around.
Dean Lannister presses the button. “He can wait, Elizabeth. This only concerns me.”
The door swings open and we both turn to look. My eyebrows nearly disappear into my hairline at the figure in the doorway. Here I was expecting Rylan or Hunter to come charging in, but instead, there’s another familiar face—one I haven’t seen in quite awhile.
“Principal Samson,” I murmur, eyes dancing with amusement as I stand.
His gray eyes scan over the uniform with a look of perplexity. The usual dark blond strands are pulled back into a low ponytail, and when I spot movement behind him, it takes all my willpower to stay composed as Mr. Martin follows him inside.
“Actually, Marcus, this does not solely concern you,” Principal Samson says coolly. “Just because you currently have supervision of my students, it does not give you the right to exclude Cedar Heights’ involvement.”
I’m stuck in the middle of the two men as they shoot laser beams out of their heads at one another. Mr. Martin gives me a wink from over the shoulder of our Head Educator, and I bow a little curtsy, holding my—Liv’s—skirt out slightly like the lady I am.
“Ridiculous!” Dean Lannister scoffs, and I have the sneaky suspicion he’s referring to me. “What occurs at Willowbrook is under my jurisdiction. Your student is liable for the consequences.”
Oh. So I’m just some student now. Cool beans.
Mr. Martin steps forward to join me in the middle of the room, offering silent support. “Well, according to what was reported to us, Ms. Spencer and Mr. Roberts were attacked earlier today. I assume you’re dealing with that accordingly?”
I turn to look at Dean Lannister, portraying the perfect face of innocence. “Yeah, look,” I say, lifting the cheer top slightly to reveal a growing bruise on my ribcage. “I was injured while under your care. And by a rather large male footballer, I might add.”
Cold eyes narrow on my face, clearly dismissive of the evidence.
Let’s be real—neither of us are overly fazed by the physical attack.
Perkins could have a dick, a nice DD rack, or chicken wings and I’d feel the same.
But… this man is all about appearances and reputation.
He knows that we could twist this. I’ve never been one to play the victim, I’d rather be seen as strong, but I could totally be the damsel in distress.
And be rescued by his son’s large, beautiful cock. Okay. I’ll stop now.
“That is news to me,” he replies shortly. “I can only deal with matters that I am aware of.”
Principal Samson’s voice darkens. “Are you saying that two students were attacked while on academy property and you neglectfully failed to take notice?”
Ooh. Checkmate. I knew I missed this guy.
“You… didn’t know?” I mumble in an exaggerated tone of defeat. “Are we not safe here?”
Mr. Martin puts a hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze in a clear warning to shush.
“I think what Bexley is saying is that you should perhaps take all matters into consideration before disciplining her. From what I can see, it appears there are multiple parties involved. If you deem punishments as suitable measures to deal with what has occurred, it would only be fair to ensure all students are held accountable.”
Lannister Senior’s face hardens, cheeks hollowing as he sucks on invisible sour candy. “Ms. Spencer,” he starts, turning slowly to face me. “You are excused for now. However, you are to promptly return the academy attire immediately.”
“This thing?” I question, fluffing out the skirt for dramatic flare. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any spare clothes since my uniform was covered in garbage.”
“Elizabeth!” Dean Lannister snaps, the woman darting in way too quickly. What a nosey mouse. “Find a spare uniform for Ms. Spencer and ensure she’s escorted to her next class.”
She nods, flushed. “Yes, sir.”
Mr. Martin removes his hand from my shoulder, offering me a fist bump which I take as I head toward the door. Stopping for a brief second when I reach Principal Samson, his face softens and he gives me a small nod.
“Off you go, Bexley. Stay out of trouble.”
“For you?” I grin. “Always.”
Bex: Tell me more about this idea. It better not be that you want to picture me as Liv.
Ry: Who? Never heard of that psycho before in my entire life. Speaking of psychos, Soph is here berating her brother in your honor. Where are you?
Bex: I’m just heading to the restroom to remove these gym shorts from my ass. I’m certain they purposefully gave me the wrong size as torture. I’ll come find you after.
I sneak into the closest restroom, checking for the all-clear first. Ironic since it’s the same one that Millie’s friend overheard someone talking about the fire during the night of the dance.
I wouldn’t put it past Liv to arrange another ambush but, thankfully, there’s only one other person inside a stall when I enter.
Darting into a stall, I close the door behind me. I waste no time jiggling around as I dig the shorts out of the unholy darkness, cursing quietly under my breath when they immediately get sucked back into my ass crack. Dammit.
These stupid things are a lost cause. I swear I’m cursed to endure booty shorts at this academy. Maybe Rylan might be more generous this time and let me have his pants if I let him into mine.
Do these things even count as shorts? I’ve seen bikini models with more clothing on their peaches.
As I fetch my phone out to ask Rylan if he’s got a spare pair, the sound of soft sobs catches my attention from the next stall.
“Hey?” I say, frowning. “Are you okay in there?”
There’s a sharp sniffle as someone obviously wipes their nose in a hasty attempt to cover up their despair.
“I’m fine,” a meek voice replies, and I’m taken aback. Why do they sound so familiar?
I exit the stall and stand in front of their door, tapping my knuckles on the wood gently. “Are you sure?” I ask. “Do you need a tampax or something?”
Soph has trained me well. I always make sure I carry multiple spares now in case there’s another period emergency. But hey—it led to one hell of a friendship. Girlhood could solve a lot of the problems in this world.
“No,” the soft voice answers sadly. “I’m fine.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue, face twisting as I run through possibilities. Finally, it clicks, and I lean closer to the door.
“Peyton? Is that you?”
The person on the other side of the door falls silent, movement halting. Slowly, I hear the lock turn, and Peyton’s face appears, mascara streaks staining her cheeks.
“I’m okay, Bexley. Thank you for checking on me,” she mutters.
She goes to close the door again but I stop her with my hand. “Wait,” I say quickly. “Did Liv do something to you because of me?”
I swear if that narcissistic idiot took her frustration out on her friend, I’ll lose my shit.
Peyton has been nothing but nice to me this entire time, only tied to Liv by association.
Even though she’s a cheerleader and I know very little about her, I get the impression she’s not in the same camp as them.
Especially since she looked rather cozy with Steele at the dance.
Peyton shakes her head, wiping her nose with a snotty inhale. “No, nothing like that. She’s gone to get her nail fixed.”
“Oh,” I murmur in relief. “Want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”
I expect her to refuse politely, but when she hesitates for a moment, I recognize the desperate silent cry for a friend.
“Come on,” I gesture with a warm smile. “Let’s go for a drive. I’ll sneak you out.”
Peyton’s light brown eyes glimmer molten honey in the sunlight, fixed on the tiny waves lapping at the rocks.
I don’t know why the beach is always my go-to, but there’s something soothing about the quiet, gentle breeze and water that helps calm my nervous system. So, I figured it might help Peyton too.
We barely spoke on the drive here, and even now, she’s a locked fortress. But her body is less tense, hugging her knees as we sit in the sun.
“Can I call anyone for you?” I offer. “A friend or relative?”
A small smile cracks through, but she shakes her head. “I just need a moment. I’ll be okay.”
I nod. “Sounds like one of those days all around.”
Peyton turns her head to face me, cheeks still pink and blotchy. “I’m so sorry for what they did to you. I don’t understand why they are so cruel.”
“It’s not your fault,” I tell her. “Some people are just like that. But we’re not—and that’s the main thing.”
Her brows furrow. “If they are the mean ones then why do bad things happen to good people?”
Shit. Her question is rather deep, catching me off guard.
“I guess environment can influence it a lot,” I answer. “They have power at Willowbrook, probably one of the few places they do. They do it because they can. They know they can get away with it.”
Peyton nods. “That’s true, I guess. Aren’t you worried about getting in trouble for leaving?”
“Nah. I’ve got some friends covering today,” I grin to myself, holding back a laugh as Principal Samson and Mr. Martin spring to mind. “Will you get in trouble?”
“Dean Lannister is my uncle,” she replies quietly. “But I don’t think anyone will notice that I’m gone. They never do.”
A chill rolls through me at her admission, deeply unsettling me. “I don’t think that’s true,” I say softly, pausing. “Hunter’s your cousin?”
She smiles bittersweetly. “If I say yes, will you hold it against me?”
I snort out loud, wondering if I should tell her and whether I could make her laugh. “No,” I promise. “It’s just a little surprising.”
Peyton shifts positions, dropping her legs to stretch them out in front of her. “He’s not a bad person,” she says slowly, clearly somewhat doubting her own admission. “He just makes really dumb decisions.”
We chat for a little longer—albeit I keep my secret to myself. Though, I am a little sneaky, texting Steele to meet us at the beach. What’s one more missing student?
I know I’ve made the right decision when he arrives, Peyton’s face lighting up as he walks over to us.
“I’m going to head back,” I tell them, excusing myself from becoming the third wheel as I hand over the reins to my friend. “But I’ll make sure you’re covered. If you want to talk anytime, ask Steele to give you my number. Don’t let anyone ruin your sparkle, Peyton. They aren’t worth it.”