I file the observation away. Leverage is always useful.
What many people don’t realize—or perhaps choose not to acknowledge—is that apex predators can sniff each other out as easily as animals in the wild. And once we’re aware of each other, we keep a wary distance.
Dark attracts dark. Evil attracts evil.
You don’t get where I am without making friends along the way.
You don’tstaywhere I am without leverage.
A swell of conversation has me turning in my seat to check if Yolanda is on her way over. My pants rub against the leather seat of my booth, and I suppress a wince.
These jeans were a mistake.
I’ve been aware of this since I put them on this afternoon, but awareness doesn’t translate to giving a fuck.
Not today.
Not after the week I’ve had.
The thick denim feels wrong against my skin—too rough, too common. A glance at my reflection in the bronzed mirror beside the booth confirms what I already know.
I look tired.
My jaw is dark with stubble I couldn’t be bothered to shave. The smudges under my eyes are clearly visible, even in this forgiving light. The handful of people who recognized me when I walked in all gave me a double take.
They’ll attribute my appearance to grief, no doubt.
His mother just died, poor man.
Let them construct whatever narrative appeases their limited imaginations.
In truth, it’s been a productive week.
Not in the way I’d planned—nothing this damn semester has gone according to plan—but productive, nonetheless. I’ve achieved a certain…equilibrium. The infernal buzzing that made it impossible to think, to sleep, to do anything except obsess over two ungrateful children who fled from me like I was the monster under their bed?—
That pressure has finally eased.
Emotional release will do that.
I think of Parker’s pretty face, and the tightness in my chest dissipates.
She was so much more pliable than I’d expected. After the initial unpleasantness, when she’d realized screaming wouldn’t help, she became almost cooperative. Almost peaceful.
With her peace came mine.
That’s the nature of?—
“Professor Rooke.”
I look up, rearranging what might have been a feral smile into something appropriately solemn. “Yolanda.”
Her steps falter at the diminutive address, but she doesn’t mention it. I’ve called her much, much worse things.
She slides into the booth across from me, a shrewd look in her dark eyes even as a sympathetic smile crinkles their corners. She’s wearing a tight-fitting bodycon dress in burgundy, hair down and perfume freshly applied like this is a date.
How predictable. Yolanda’s arsenal consists of her authority as dean of Agony Hollow College…and her body.
Tonight, I care for neither.
