Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“I’m not about to let Aspen spend a minute alone with her.”
“Follow your instincts on this. I know you’ll keep her safe.” I tent my fingers under my chin, staring over his head at the wall but seeing Delilah. Flirting with Marcel, touching his arm, making the same suggestive comments to him as she’s made to me so many times.
“That bitch needs to stay away from my wife.”
“Leave that to me.”
“You’ll keep her away?”
“I’ll do what I can. Including talking to her and Marcel. They have class together, you say?” He nods. “Not for much longer. Get to class or wherever you need to be now. I’ll take care of things.”
Marcel will be lucky to have a face by the time I’m finished with him. Nobody touches what belongs to me—and as long as she’s staying with me, under my watch, Delilah is mine.
Within fifteen minutes of my sending for him, Marcel steps into my office. The sight of his face turns my stomach while my fists clench under the desk. “You wanted to see me?” he asks nonchalantly.
A moment later, Delilah knocks at the partially open door. The apprehension written on her face turns to understanding once she sets eyes on Marcel. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “I can wait until you’re finished.”
She thinks she’s clever. “I wanted to see both of you at once, as a matter of fact. Come in. Close the door behind you.”
Marcel is still clueless, his gaze bouncing back and forth between Delilah and me. “What’s this about?”
“I understand the two of you have a class together.”
“Yeah. We have math together.” Marcel glances at her again. “So?”
“Not anymore.” I pull up his schedule on my laptop. “You’ll be taking math Tuesday and Thursday afternoons for the rest of the semester.”
His eyes go wide. “Why?”
It’s not his reaction I’m watching. It’s hers. She’s staring at the floor, chewing her lip. Unwilling to look at me. She’s hiding something.
“Because I said so. I’m sure you won’t have trouble making the change.” I forward the information to his school email address. “And now you have the time and room number in your email account.”
“I don’t understand why this is happening.” His gaze turns hostile as he places his clenched fist on my desk.
“Are you forgetting whose office you’re standing in?” I shoot a pointed look toward his hands, which he shoves into his pockets with a grunt. “It’s happening because I say it is. Now, the two of you have no reason to meet up in the halls and chat.”
I turn my full attention to her and relish the way she squirms. “Right?” I prompt.
“Right,” she whispers before sliding a glance toward Marcel.
I look at him, smiling, though I know the expression doesn’t reach my eyes. Nor do I intend it to. He’s lucky he’ll live beyond this moment. “Do you have anything else to say?” I ask.
He blows out a heavy sigh but isn’t stupid enough to argue. “No. Message received.”
“You can go.” The sooner he’s out of my sight, the better for him.
Delilah, however, thinks I’m speaking to both of them. She starts to follow him to the door, freezing when I clear my throat. “No. Not you. We have more to discuss.” Marcel leaves without a backward glance. What a fucking surprise. He doesn’t give a shit about the fact that he might’ve gotten her in trouble. Too busy thinking about himself.
The moment he’s out of the room, she whirls around. “You can’t blame me for this.”
“Excuse me?” Standing, I glare at her until she shrinks back. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? I can see that asshole getting an attitude. He’s not as intimately acquainted with me as you are.”
She begins to back away as I advance, and that’s good. It satisfies me. When she’s afraid and under my control.
“You should know better,” I murmur. “Just as you should know better than to make friends around here. Let me spare you the trouble. Nobody around here wants to be your friend, nor do you deserve any.”
She reaches the door, her back pressed to it. For one brief second, her hand grazes the knob like she’s considering making a run for it. I almost wish she’d try. All the more reason for me to make her beg for mercy.
“I was only talking with him about class,” she whispers, her chin quivering. “What did Quinton tell you?”
“You assume this has anything to do with him?” I take one slow step after another, eliminating the distance between us. Her breathing picks up speed, as does mine.
But she holds her head high, just the same. “I’m not as stupid as everybody thinks. I know it has to do with him. He’s the one who made a big deal about it.”
“Did you ever stop to think he has a good reason?”