Sweet Little Nothing

A shiver works its way through me as I knock. Shuffling sounds from behind the door, and then it swings open, revealing the last person I wanted or expected to see.

He regards me disinterestedly before his lip curls into a sneer. “Are you coming in or not? My time is valuable, Miss Price.”

“Um.” I dart my eyes around the room, looking for Professor Ellison. Surely he’s around here somewhere. Why would he set up a meeting and not show?

“Um,” he mocks in a high-pitched tone. “Drop the act. Either come in or leave.”

“I... I’m supposed to have a meeting with Professor Ellison.”

“Which he so kindly left in my capable hands.”

I gulp. I’m pretty sure the only things his hands are capable of right now is strangling me.

“Stop wasting my time.” Sterling’s voice is a low growl that sends flutters of fear through my belly.

“Are you going to let me in?” I ask, sounding one-hundred percent braver than I feel.

Smirking, he steps back a fraction of an inch. If I want into that office, I’m going to have to press myself through the microscopic opening between him and the door.

Our chests brush as I cross the threshold. The hint of contact between us sends shivers down my spine.

Aware of his effect on me, Sterling laughs as he pulls the door closed behind us.

“To what do I owe the displeasure of this visit, Miss Price?”

He remains standing, and so do I. He’s already taller than me, I’m not about to give him an ounce of additional power over me.

“I think you know.” My voice is flimsy, even to my own ears, but I pretend not to notice.

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m sure I do, but I think I want to hear you say it.”

Squaring my shoulders, I force my gaze up to his. “I would like to be transferred into a different section.”

Sterling rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “That’s too bad.”

“Why?” I ask, even though the sinking feeling in my gut says I already know.

He’s not going to make this easy for me. It wouldn’t surprise me for him to outright refuse me, if only out of spite.

“All of the other classes are full.”

“All of them?” I ask in disbelief.

A dark grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Every. Single. One.”

“Then I’ll drop the class!” I shout, my voice far too loud for the small space.

He advances toward me, boxing me back until he has me caged against the wall. My chest expands and contracts rapidly. His uninvited nearness makes my pulse go haywire.

“Sure.” He leans his right forearm against the wall, dipping his face toward mine, so we’re eye to eye. “You could, but I wouldn’t advise it.”

“Why not?” I whisper.

Sterling brings his left hand up and trails his knuckles over my cheek.

Suddenly, I’m thankful the wall is at my back to support me, because his touch—as unwanted as it is—has my entire body off-kilter. Whether it’s the juxtaposition of the threat in his words and the softness of his touch, or simply fear, I’m not sure. Either way, I hate that a man as rotten as him can make me feel anything at all.

“You’re a psych major, right?” He pauses and I nod. “Then you need this class.”

“I can take it next semester.”

“No, I don’t think you can.”

“Why?” I want to stomp my feet at the injustice of this whole situation.

I’m the one who was wronged, in the most atrocious of ways, and yet I’m also the one being punished.

“Because, little mouse, if you drop this class, you’ll derail your entire college career.”

“That’s not... that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

I know there’s a shred of truth to his words. I guess what it really comes down to is how much I’m willing to endure to make my dreams a reality. Yesterday, I was willing to do anything to cement my future.

Plus, what’s the worst Sterling Abbot can truly do to me?

Chapter Nine

Sterling

I can see the implication of my words as they hit. She knows I’m right; she knows if she drops this class, she won’t be able to take at least one of the classes she wants next semester.

However, I need to make sure she stays.

Emmy falling into my lap like this is too good of an opportunity to pass up, and I’m damn sure willing to play dirty if it ensures she gets what’s coming to her.

“Well, maybe—”

“It’s so interesting to me,” I cut her off, my words intentionally vague.

“What is?”

“You showing up here, in that little dress.”

Her eyes widen at my insinuation. “What? It’s... it’s just a dress.”

“Short.” I reach down and finger the material of the hemline, my knuckle grazing the soft, smooth skin of her thigh. “Thin. It’s barely fit for public.”

Wetness gathers along her lashes, but she doesn’t speak. In fact, she doesn’t even move. She’s as still as a statue.