Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“Pretty sure he doesn’t start work until eight,” Victor replied, jerking a chin at the desk. “Go in. If he’s not there, fuck with his stuff and make it look like an accident. He’s got a vase in there worth half a mill.” Shrugging, he winked. “Payback for not believing Winter.”
“My gosh, I’d marry you right now if there was a priest in this building.”
“Don’t think there is, but I’ll take a blow job when you’re done.”
“Jerk,” I said, though it was fondly, and he was definitely getting one.
I knocked once, then pushed into the dean’s office. It was as grand as I imagined it to be. An office in one of the wealthiest, most prestigious schools could be nothing but.
My soles sank into the expensive blue-and-silver Persian carpet. Bookshelves surrounded me, every shelf filled with old, rare tomes. In the corner sat the sitting area, and its centerpiece was the very vase Victor talked about. It looked old, extremely priceless, and obviously a wordless brag. Everything in the office was, from the antique furniture to the oversized portraits of past deans in their ornate frames.
I took a step toward the vase. The desk chair squeaked, spinning my eyes in their sockets. The back of the chair swayed side to side, confirming I wasn’t alone.
“Dean Simmons,” I said. “You wanted to see me?”
“I did, but you don’t have to call me Dean.” The chair spun, and a man who was certainly not the dean smiled at me. “Wolf will do.”
I flicked from him to the door. I could make it and get out before he rounded that desk.
“Thinking about running?” Wolf kicked his legs up on another man’s desk. “I kindly ask that you don’t. I went through the trouble of getting you here so that we could talk. Ten minutes of your time. That’s all I ask.”
I took a step toward the door, then another. Just to be sure he wouldn’t try to stop me. “Where’s the dean?”
Wolfgang O’Rourke let out a gusty sigh. Seeing him in person, he was nothing like the face on the screen.
He was even more gorgeous.
Wolfgang was Wilder’s dark twin. Where Wilder’s hair and eyes were light and soulful, Wolfgang was nothing but ebony locks and enigmatic black orbs. The resemblance between them was strong from the same nose, curve of their lips, and wide forehead, but somehow it still made sense to say they were nothing alike.
I looked at Wilder and felt safe. I looked at this man and felt... scared.
“Cars are so much better these days. They’ve got computers in them now. The esteemed Dean Simmons is currently shouting his head off, calling for someone to get him out of his car,” Wolf sang, grinning away. “Mysteriously, the door locks engaged and won’t open. Here’s a hint. Deans call and leave a message. They don’t summon you through email.”
“You did go to a lot of trouble,” I said mildly. “Why would you be so desperate to speak to me?”
He clapped. “First things first, take a seat. Can’t have a proper conversation if we’re shouting across the room.”
“I’m good here.”
“Why?” His grin widened. “Don’t trust me?”
“No.”
That cracked him up. “I see you’ve talked to my little bro, Wiley. What did he tell you? That I’m evil incarnate. The mean big bro who never let him have his way? We all do what we must to survive, Burkhardt. My mother was no easier on me than she was on him.”
“He mentioned that,” I said, trying to cover my flinch at hearing that name. “I think the real problem is what’s making me hate you right now... how much you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Ooh.” He pouted. “That’s not very nice. I could be putting on an act to hide the frightened, wounded child inside. Did you ever think of that? Give a survivor the benefit of the doubt.”
I gritted my teeth. Was this the kind of smiley, twisted mind games he put Wilder through his whole life? I no longer wondered why Wilder cut himself off from connection and saw everyone as a threat. No one born in a den of vipers ever felt safe.
“Why are you here, O’Rourke? What could we possibly have to talk about?”
“Nothing.” Wolf dropped his feet and crossed to the dry bar, pouring himself a healthy amount of scotch.
I couldn’t be sure if he was old enough to drink it. Wilder never specified his age, but they shared the same mature features that concealed their birth dates better than boyishness.
“I came here to speak to Wiley after that little stunt he pulled with the T.O.D. Club. He recognized my code the minute he peeked under the hood but didn’t stop there. Your doing, I’m sure.” He toasted me, smirking. “Ah, the things Wiley will do to impress a girl. He’s a hopeless romantic, you know. Don’t let the stoic act fool you.”