“She’s nobody,” Sadie says loudly. “We need to talk, Grant baby. It’s important.”
“I’m Aspen Hughes.” Whatever flirting she wants to do can wait. The paper is more important! “We’re in the same class—Culture and Music in History—and we’re doing the group project together. Did you get my texts and emails?”
“I was thinking we should attend the gala in San Francisco together!” Sadie’s trying to talk over me…and doing a pretty good job. She sounds like a banshee on crack.
Grant’s eyebrows pull together, and he winces like he’s getting a headache. Wonder why he’s acting like he’s pained. I’m the one in pain from him and her!
“I don’t check texts and emails from people I don’t know,” he says finally.
“The gala—”
“Well, now you know me. And the project’s due in four days. So we need to get together as soon as possible.”
“Meh.” He shrugs. “I have other things to do.”
“What the hell could be more important than a major school project?” I say.
Sadie tries to stand in front of me. “I really think that the gala—”
If she says “gala” one more time, I’m going to drag her to the stable and throw her into a pile of horse manure! “You’ll have to cancel them,” I tell him, placing a hand on my hip.
“Why?”
His seemingly genuine confusion makes my blood boil. Didn’t he hear anything I said? Maybe God made him stupid. Or maybe he got hit by polo balls once too often. Regardless, I’m not letting his lack of IQ get in the way of maintaining my GPA.
“Because it’syourfault that we only have four days left. If you’d checked your emails or even come to class sometime in the last two weeks, we could’ve already been done with all this.”
He shrugs. “If it’s that important,youdo it. And feel free to keep my name out of it. I don’t care.”
I ignore Sadie’s smug laugh. “This is ateamproject, Grant. Professor Taylor expects us to do ittogether. You know, teamwork?”
“That’s what they always say.” He lifts a shoulder and drops it. “There’s no I in teamwork.” He starts to trot away on his horse.
Damn it!“Yeah? Well, there arefourin irresponsible idiot!” I yell at his back. He keeps going. “And two S’s inasshole!”
Chapter Two
Grant
The market is moving as expected.Excellent. I smile with satisfaction as I thumb through the charts on my phone.
Everything in life is about timing, what you know and what you can predict. And I’m about to clear a little over twenty grand in two days.
It isn’t luck that’s going to net me that sum. It’s perseverance, determination and an appetite for smart risk. I have all three.
I block out the sound from the crime show that Will put on the TV. Silence apparently gives him anxiety. But given how high-strung he is, white walls could probably make him nervous. The apartment is painted mustard yellow—probably Will’s doing. I bet the campus housing division doesn’t know about it and won’t be too happy when they find out.
Shots are fired on the TV, and people make dramatic noises as they keel over. How can Will watch crap like this all day and not have his brain rot?
I wish I were back in the quiet two-bedroom apartment that I leased for myself in the fall. However, a bolt on one of the toilets broke three weeks ago, resulting in a leak. The sound of the fire alarm from the unit below woke me up, the wiring in the alarm having been short-circuited from all the water. When I got off the bed, I stepped into two inches of cool puddle.
Half my stuff got soaked, but that’s what insurance is for. The real problem was I had no place to live, since my apartment required significant work to make it habitable again. The general contractor claimed it would take six weeks, which is probably going to mean more like six months. I got in touch with a realtor, but unfortunately, all the decent off-campus places are taken. What’s left are dumpster rejects. Even when they look sort of okay and my realtor smiles reassuringly, I’m suspicious. There’s a reason they’re still available in early February.
The only acceptable option that remained was sharing this on-campus three-bedroom suite with William Thornton IV and Heath Harringer. Their other roommate got suspended at the end of last semester for some hushed-up scandal. My money’s on drugs or girls—possibly both.
I pray that the realtor comes through with something decent fast, although so far he’s been failing. Nothing he showed me in the last few days has been acceptable. Money isn’t a factor. My time and sanity are—I don’t know how much longer I can tolerate the endless TV noise.
Thinking of time and sanity reminds me of the redhead from two days ago. Aspen Hughes was in a ratty T-shirt and faded denim shorts. No makeup or fancy hairdo. But I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she placed her hands on her hips and demanded I do the group paper, her moss-green eyes flashing. Sadie seemed like a lifeless prop by comparison.
