Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Before I have time to take a deep breath and count to ten backward, a last ditch attempt to thwart my rage, the door swings open with Kincaid on the other side.
I hate how fucking good he looks, even working late at night. Black dress shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, his dark hair spiked up as if he’s been running his hands through it. His expression is slightly unhinged, a wild sort of concern that belies any professionalism between us.
“Sydney?”
“I need to talk to you,” I manage to say, anger bubbling over as I storm past him into the room.
He closes the door behind me, and I slam my hand down on his desk, displaying the two cameras and microphone.
“What is this?!” I shriek, whirling around to face him. “Tell me what this is! And don’t you dare fucking lie to me.”
He strides over to me but as soon as he spots them, his pace slows. He stops in front of me, a sharp inhale.
I watch his face closely. I’ll know a lie when I see it.
He meets my gaze and swallows. In the dim light of his office, lit only by a couple of candles that emit the scent of santal, and a lamp in the corner, his eyes are the color of a thunderstorm, mirroring how I feel inside.
“I can explain,” he finally says, licking his lips.
“Then explain it,” I snipe, leaning back against his desk and crossing my arms. “Explain why there are fucking cameras in my room. Was it you? Was it Everly? Michael?”
“It was me,” he says. He says it so simply without an ounce of remorse.
I grind my teeth together, huffing through my nose. “Do they know?”
He stares at me for a moment then shakes his head. “They don’t know. If you want to report me to them, I completely understand. My studying of you is…unauthorized.”
“Studying?” I repeat. “You call that studying?”
“Observing, then.”
I blink at him, my mouth open. “You violated my privacy! What have you been doing, just sitting in your office, watching me get undressed? Watching me sleep?” The horror hits me. “Oh god, you knew I was having sex dreams! You saw it! You heard it!”
He doesn’t say anything. His face remains so impassive that I can’t help what I do next. My anger rolls through me like an earthquake, my palm shooting up and across to SLAP him in the face.
The sound reverberates across the room, and my palm stings, sharp spikes of pain.
His nostrils flare but he takes it.
He doesn’t repent nor does his expression change.
He just stands there and takes it.
“Say something!” I scream at him.
“What do you want me to say?” he says, gruff but still calm.
“Tell me why!”
“You don’t want to know why,” he says quietly.
“Fuck you!” I shout, and I attempt to slap him again.
This time his hand catches my wrist and holds my palm inches away from his face.
“You’ve been drinking,” he says. “You need to calm down, for your own good.”
“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down,” I sneer. I feel violent, out of control, like I’m finally unraveling, every thread that had threatened to come loose is finally being pulled. “As if I don’t have a right to be upset! To be horrified!”
His grip on my wrist tightens. “I won’t let go until you do. Come on, Syd. Let’s get your heart rate down, take in a deep breath.”
“Fuck you,” I say, trying to pull out of his grasp, but he reaches out and grabs me by the back of the neck. I automatically freeze.
“Calm down,” he repeats sternly. His grip on my neck is as strong as the one on my wrist and for a moment I feel true fear. It penetrates my alcohol-induced bravado, a sharp shard of clarity, and I realize I’ve been a fool. I came here alone to confront my teacher, someone I barely know, someone who has all the power and all the secrets, and I stoked him into these flames, a fire that could consume me whole.
He could hurt me. It would be my word against his. Who would believe me after all the stuff I’ve been saying? I’m sure his computer is full of files about me and my behavior.
About how crazy I am.
“There,” he says softly, still staring deep into my eyes. “Breathe. That was fight. Next is flight. But right here I see fear. It’s good to be afraid of me, Syd. It’s good to be afraid of everyone. Promise me you won’t lose that.”
What the fuck is he talking about?
“Why?” I whisper, noticing the grip on my neck has loosened. He starts to move his thumb back and forth over my skin, rubbing it. It’s bringing my heart rate down but it’s doing something else to me. Making my knees weak. “I hate you,” I whisper.