As if that could deter me. If anything, it does the opposite. I enjoy fucking with people. What can I say? Maybe Zayden is right—I’m spoiled. Wasting no time, I pull out my keys and grab the multi-tool hanging on the ring. Amazing tools that always come in handy. I wrap a hand around the knob and slide the pick into place, and pick the door, already knowing the guy I’m looking for is too deep in his shit and has zero awareness of his surroundings. It takes about three seconds before I press the spot that unlocks the door, with a grin on my face.
When I barge inside, I loudly greet the man who sits behind the screen. “Teddy, my man.”
Ted pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, not bothering to look my way. His finger clicks furiously as his free hand continues to type away. The small clicks create a symphony of sounds, and I find myself enjoying it. But I’m here for business, so I do what I always do and get right to it, and all it takes is the invasion of his space, casting a shadow over him.
“Didn’t know knocking wasn’t a thing anymore.” His voice is laced with annoyance, and frankly, I don’t care. “And stop calling me Teddy, we are not friends. Only acquaintances."
“All semantics to me,” I retort before plopping on the couch in front of him, resting my legs on his desk and crossing them, causing his gaze to drift from the monitor to me, finally getting his attention.
“Rich and no manners, tracks. What can I do for you, Safra?”
I lean back into the uncomfortable couch, feeling the wooden frame press into my back. The smell of sweat and takeout lingers in the air. The fabric is crusty against my skin, and just like that, I regret making myself so uncomfortable. We already know the person behind the blog is in the school, now it’s just finding out who.
“Find out who’s behind the blog.”
He snorts, pushing his glasses again as he clicks loudly on his mouse. “We tried that.”
“Well, try harder.”
“Try harder?” Ted echoes, stopping his aggressive clicking before looking up at me. “What’s in it for me this time?”
I smile and raise my hand in the air, extending all five of my ringed fingers. I like the different bands that adorn them. You know the little things; mine just happens to be designing my avatar. It’s not like I can make any real-life choices; this is the best I get, and I make the most of it.
“Five minutes in heaven with any girl of the Kappa Delta you want.”
His thin lips curl into a grin, exposing his gummy smile. “Five minutes?”
“Ten and my yacht.”
Ted chuckles, “You got yourself a deal.”
It’s always easy to do business with Teddy here; his family is involved in big tech, and so is he. For him, social interaction isn’t worth it; his life is here. Cold and detached. There are more loud clicks before he finally looks at me. “Where do you want to start?”
I lean back, the back of my head resting on my folded arm, as I gaze at the beige ceiling as if it could give me any real answer. Only to go with my intuition, following the hunch inside my chest. “The girls and I mean all of them.”
“All of them?” he echoes, which I nod to before lifting my gaze to him. “Why the girls?”
I shrug. “It has to be a petal. Someone close to either the team or the sorority. Someone with a grudge.”
“That could be a lot of people, not just the girls. That’s sorta sexist,” he retorts, continuing his aggressive clicking.
“Well, I guess you have a lot of work on your hands,” I reply coyly, dropping my legs from his desk and sitting upright toswipe the dust particles that settled on my tailored uniform. “There’s something else I need you to do for me, too.”
“That is?”
“To hack into some phones,” I reply smoothly, filling him in on what I need him to do. Ted hesitates at first, but it's nothing, the right price and promises of a fun night of pussy couldn’t fix. After thirty minutes of negotiation and breakdown of instructions, I’m on my way to my next class, which I’m already running late for. Then my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull out the device, and my heart drops when I see a picture of Ezra with Peter.
Anonymous: How much do you trust him?
Nowadays, who knows, but I don’t type that.
I keep that to myself even if the question gnaws at my brain. Doubt pollutes every memory of my best friend. When did he stop being the Ezra I remember, the one who wasn’t like them? And what has he been up to with Peter? My jaw clenches, and I decide that class can wait. I have other pressing matters.
“Yo, T, “ Wyatt shouts from somewhere behind me. I spin around, using my grand comical gesture… just the man I want to see. He tussles his onyx curls, and I feel his attention drift to somewhere behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I catch the long black hair, the goth accessorized hottie that has claimed Wyatt’s heart.
Michaela Santores.
