Page 165 of Vexatious Queen

“I’ll give you an example. He was upset that Blake wasn’t in class because he was at a doctor’s appointment with Ethan. I don’t know how to describe it, but he was condescending and rude. To the point that he—in a roundabout way—said that Blake was wasting his life.”

“Hmm.”

“I know it sounds crazy, and I’m sorry that I did what I did, but I didn’t want to come to you with this information until I had concrete evidence,” Ren said, taking the blame all on herself.

She’d told me ahead of time that she was going to, and forbade me from arguing. It really was hot when she ordered me around.

I glanced at the side of her face as very inappropriate thoughts shoved the dark ones aside. On a desk…I haven’t had her on a desk.

“Nash?”

I jerked and looked between Ren and Dean Henry.

“Sorry, what?”

Ren shook her head and narrowed her eyes at me. I smirked.

“Do you feel that Mr. Sharpe or Mr. Martelli is a threat,” Dean Henry asked.

“The assignment wasn’t exactly private information. Anyone taking the class got handed the example. And any student around those people could have seen it over someone’s shoulder and decided to use the idea. Sharpe’s been peculiar since Ren started assisting last year. I don’t think he can handle the dynamic of being in a truly authoritative role.”

Ren arched an eyebrow at me.

“What? I’m not saying he’s not a threat. I’m just saying that there are too many possibilities, and that’s why we need Dean Henry’s help.”

“I’m surprised you used peculiar, dynamic, and authoritative in the same breath,” Ren said, and Dean Henry chuckled.

“You two are very funny,” I said, annoyed.

But I loved it when Princess poked at me. The teasing look she gave me got me going.

“Nash does have a point.”

Dean Henry picked up the paper that had been stuck to the door while Ren, Myles, and Blake were snooping.

“So, you went to his office, and this was left while you were inside?” Ren nodded. “Then why does it allude to there being three of you?”

Ren swallowed, and Dean Henry smirked. He held up his hand.

“Don’t tell me who it was. I don’t want to know.”

He stood from the desk and walked over to the coffee machine. I’d been in here enough to figure out that he made coffee when he was thinking and needed to process. We sat quietly and watched him work. I counted, and sure enough, he used exactly twenty stirs before taking a sip and turning back to us.

“Alright, I’ll look into this,” he said.

“That’s it? I will look into this. You don’t have any ideas as to who may be stalking Ren?”

My frustration with anything Curators was now palpable.

He hit me with a hard stare that would’ve made me squirm last year.

“Do I have an idea, or do you want me to confirm your suspicions, so you have carte blanche to do what you want to them?”

I shifted in my seat. His words were oddly close to the truth. I hated when he did that shit.

“I am very aware of your dislike for a certain person. But disliking someone and having proof of them doing this are two very different things,” Dean Henry said.

“You think it’s Sabastian too, just say it.”