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“I don’t know. I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of people.”

“I must be mistaken again, because from where I’m sitting...” He leans back and grabs a copy of the Loftry Lantern. That stupid paper I made a stupid decision with. “You have no trouble exploiting the grief of your fellow students to publish a paper. Care to talk about that?”

“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Then what would you rather discuss? You are here for the hour. I suggest we make some use out of it.”

“Why do you keep a cage in your office?” As the words fly out, I watch his face, looking for any twitch, any sign that I’ve made him uncomfortable.

He sits there, as stone cold as ever. His stupid expression never changes as he watches me. It’s as if he can sift through my thoughts, including ones I’m not even currently thinking.

Eventually, he goes back to his notebook and writes stuff down. “I see you’re apt at deflecting. I’m assuming, of course, that this is all based on your relationship with your father?”

“What the hell! You know nothing about me or my father. Relationship or otherwise.”

My outburst snaps through the air like a bolt of lightning, thundering in the silence of the room. Ever so slightly, his lips turn down into a slight frown. For once, his face makes some expression other than mimicking a blank wall.

“Was that not him I saw talking to you during the benefit dinner? I have to say, he doesn’t seem all that fond of you or your choice to rebuff the plans he and your mother so painstakingly made for your future. I would watch out for that Caldwell fellow, though. They might not care who you marry as long as he’s the right pedigree, but there’s something off about him. Take care if you’re ever alone in his presence.”

My blood runs cold as I look about the room, searching for a hidden camera or something. “This is a joke. It has to be.”

“What do you find so humorous about this? I, for one, find nothing funny right now.”

“You know nothing about me, about Caldwell, or my family. I’m only here because Dean Anderson made the appointment.”

“Yes, but you chose to keep it. Why?”

“Why?” I sputter. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t aware that I did. Thus why I’m here.”

“And do you enjoy obeying Dean Anderson? I mean, you must derive some pleasure from it, seeing as you seemingly followed his orders without so much as fighting back or clarifying if it’s an actual order or a request. At least, that’s how it was conveyed to me.”

ChapterThirteen

Ashleigh

Iblink at the man, doing my best to gauge what exactly he’s asking. Is he in cahoots with the dean? “That’s a very invasive question, don’t you think?”

“That would be my job, wouldn’t it?” He glances down the bridge of his nose as if he’s looking over a pair of glasses at me.

The whole thing would be rather comical if I didn’t feel as if I were on trial for my inappropriately lustful thoughts about the dean. As it is, I can’t help that nagging suspicion in the back of my brain. The warning bells scream at me, begging me to listen.

“I don’t actually know what your job is,” I deflect, pulling out a notebook of my own. Time to turn the tables, I guess. “I was hoping to find out when I did faculty interviews for the Lantern, but I guess now is as good a time as any.”

The smile he gives me slices to my core. There’s no humor in it. There’s no warmth or kindness in his cold, calculated gaze. Nothing. It’s as if for one brief moment, his mask of humanity slides off to show me the demon lurking beneath. Unfortunately, the moment I blink, it’s gone.

“I see your notebook and penchant for discovering truth is your crutch. Interesting.” Again, he jots something down on that damn paper. “Is it because you feel as if no one will ever give you a straight, honest answer because you are a woman? Is that what drives this need to ferret out every little detail and use these deductions to keep ahead of the game?”

My fingers slip a bit as my pen rocks forward, leaving a jagged line on the paper. “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bad at deception,” he murmurs, writing again.

“I’m not bad at it,” I bark out with some misguided, desperate attempt to clear my name. “I just... Look, why are you attacking me like this?”

“I find it fascinating that you find this an attack when all I’m trying to do is get to the core of who you are. None of the questions I’ve asked thus far is all that terribly aggressive. That is, despite your notions.”