She looked as alarmed as I felt. “I am so incredibly sorry. Let me get the plumber on the phone and see if we can get it sorted. It might take him a minute to get here, but you can wait at the café if you don’t want to stay here.” She went to her desk and dug around the drawers until she pulled something out. “It’s a complimentary ticket for a drink and a scone. We give them out if we can’t serve breakfast for any reason. Please enjoy while we get this sorted.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Though I didn’t want to go out like this, a hot drink did sound nice.
I left my suitcase and backpack behind the counter, took my camera bag, and headed toward Cool Beans. It had an artsy, industrial vibe, with brick walls and a dark chalkboard menu. After perusing the menu, I decided to go with the lavender latte and the rose water meringue. The wolfman at the counter took my order and I went to stand at the end, waiting for it to be delivered.
“Sydney Jacobs?” I heard from behind me.
I hadn’t heard that voice in a long time, but it still gave me a viscerally unpleasant reaction.
I turned to see Preston Fairfield standing there. He looked just as average as he did in college—same basic blond hair cut short, same dark eyes, same receding hairline he was still trying to hide.
“Hi,” I said, hoping to keep the interaction brief.
“How are you? I haven’t seen you since college.”
“Yep, keeping busy,” I replied. I looked at the counter, hoping my order would appear so I could go back to the inn, but there was no luck quite yet.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Work stuff. Completing an organic certification.” Though I didn’t want to talk to him, I couldn’t help but wonder why he was here. I was pretty sure he lived in the city, working for his father’s company with his wife. Maybe they were here on vacation. Or maybe she sent him on a solo one. Though we weren’t friends in college or anything, she was way out of his league, and it never made sense why she liked him.
“Do you mean at Hoffman Farm?”
“Yup,” I said, hoping not to engage any further.
“Interesting.” The way he said it had me turning in his direction. He had this evil glint in his eye that made me squirm.
“Sydney,” I heard from the counter. I took a relieved breath and moved to get my order.
However, before I could get far, Preston’s hand shot out and grabbed me. I turned to tell him off, but before I could get a word out, he said, “How about you come sit with me and we have a little chat? I think we could help each other.”
I pulled my arm from his weak grip. “I’m not interested,” I snapped.
I grabbed my stuff, and when I turned around, I expected him to be gone, but he was now totally in my personal space.
“I think we should talk. Maybe about your little… side business in college.”
I froze at his words, my heart falling into my stomach.Does he mean the tests?I didn’t know, but I had to be sure.
“Fine,” I gritted out.
I took my things and followed him toward the table near the window in the corner. I slid the metal chair out, the sound of it on the hard floor grating my nerves as I sat.
He leaned back casually, taking a sip of his drink as if this was a casual meeting. “You know, I really appreciate your help during college. My dad would have been pissed if I’d failed my LSAT.”
I crumpled my cup slightly under my grip. In college, I’d been lucky enough to get a full ride, but there were things you needed to buy that no one talked about: textbooks, clickers to answer silly questions in class for attendance, and software. Why couldn’t every teacher just agree on the platform they wanted to use for homework instead of making us buy a new one every semester?
But because of that, I started taking tests for people. It started with a single test for a friend—her Biology 102 final—and she’d paid me three hundred dollars.
At the time, I had a part-time job, but I was sick of it, and it consumed so much of my time I was barely getting my work done. But when my friend told me someone else wanted me to do the same for them, and they were willing to pay double, I couldn’t say no.
So I kept going. I only had to do a bit of extra studying, and I was quickly making hundreds. It seemed like the perfect gig, and it was always for classes so large no one noticed me.
My friend at the time had acted as a liaison. She got me clients and told me where to be, and I gave her twenty percent. It had been great until I left college and was able to get a real job. Now I was comfortable enough to have an acceptable wardrobe, my own apartment, and the occasional splurge item, and I couldn’t let some rich douchebag ruin me by exposing my test-taking scheme. The school could denounce my diploma, and then I’d be back at square one.
“What do you want from me?”
“Hm, those are the words I wanted to hear,” he said in his slimy way. “I want you to fail the farm.”
