That’s not why I came to college. But feeling a tight burning sensation spreading under my sternum, I couldn’t get her words out of my head. A center where foster parents and kids could see each other. That was a need; that was a good need in that world. The good parents, of course.
Miss Marcie was one of those for me.
I wasn’t going to take the job. Nope. That’s not why I came here, but the longer I stood there, I-I needed to change my thoughts.
I’d come a long ways, and I could, in a way, appreciate it.
The new brownstone I was living in.
Just a few train stops away was Times Square.
Now I was being offered the type of job that wasn’t a job, but it was wrapped up as an “opportunity” for a world beyond just my bachelor’s degree. Me. People like me didn’t get offered “jobs” or “opportunities.” We had to beg, borrow, plead, and sometimes steal for every rung we needed to climb up. And now I was getting offered a position.
A sudden bubble burst out of me, half sounding like a bark and a laugh. I didn’t know what it was, but it was something unreal because this world—a year ago, I was planning my escape. Two years ago, I was just trying to keep going. Three years ago, I was a fish out of water. Four years ago, I wanted to crawl into my own coffin and pull the lid over me.
How did I get here?
My eye caught on a student farther down the hallway, leaning against the wall, his head tipped back, watching me, and I came crashing back down to Earth. No, this wasn’t my new life. This was just my reprieve. Anger lit in me, and I took a step toward that student.
I didn’t know what I was going to say to him, but it wouldn’t matter. My problem wasn’t with him.
His head tilted forward, but he didn’t move from his leaning stance. His arms were crossed over his chest. He was the image of cool and relaxed, and other students were taking note. This was always how it was with these guys because this wasn’t a student at all.
There was an extra air to them. They came from the street. They were dangerous. They gave off this whole “cool” air, but it was only because they didn’t give one fuck about anything or anyone around them. The others around were able to sense this. I’d seen it time and time again. The only thing these guys did care about was their job, to watch me.
My problem wasn’t with him or the others that had come before him and the others that’d come after him. It was with their boss.
This was one of Creighton’s guys.
Chapter Six
Creighton
I loved technology.
Or I loved that the guys I employed could do almost anything with technology, including getting my own fob for Blake’s townhouse. Using it on the back door, I let myself inside.
She was on the second floor, but it was four in the morning. The last of her roommates had arrived home an hour and a half ago with their light turning off forty minutes earlier. Everyone was asleep, and that meant I was free to peruse the interior.
I could’ve done this during the day. The house sat empty for a longer period of time during the waking hours, but I would’ve missed out on my favorite part of this entire expedition.
I wanted to see Blake.
In her bed.
Sleeping.
Without her walls.
Where she was vulnerable.
The kitchen was to my left. Moving through it, I took in the mugs hanging on the wall. The schedules on the fridge. The marker board. The messages scrawled there for other roommates. I recognized Blake’s own handwriting, a message not to forget to grab more coffee creamer.
I frowned at that. She knew she could utilize my men to do her shopping. She could save her money. I had more than enough for the both of us, but no. She had her pride.
She was such a stubborn one.
I grinned faintly, proud.
