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“I shouldn’t be.” Sobering, I run my fingers down her cheek. “Seriously. Tell me next time. When you brat like this, it won’t always get the response you want. I’ll do my best not to get caught up in work like I have, and you will tell me when you’re getting to this point.”

Glancing over her head and out the window, my brows draw down into a murderous frown. “What the fuck is Caldwell doing here? As I understand it, he’s not been accepted.”

“Fuck,” she curses under her breath as she fixes her skirt. “The stupid gala.”

“What stupid gala.”

This time, her gaze turns a bit sheepish. “Well, the one I was hoping to go with you to. You know. As the press.”

A weary sigh slips from my lips as I shake my head. “Give the details to Shelaine, and I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, you deal with him, or I will.”

As I watch her straighten herself, my heart swells for a moment with a mix of fear and longing. I can’t lose her. Not to a little dipshit like Caldwell. But if she feels anything for him other than annoyance, I can’t see it in her expression.

“He’s probably just acting on the behalf of his mother.”

“I mean it, Ashleigh. I don’t share, and I don’t play nicely with others. I will deal with him if I have to.”

ChapterThirty-Two

Ashleigh

Deal with it. As if it’s that easy. Honestly, all this shows me is that Dean Anderson knows nothing about parental expectations despite the fact that he probably deals with whiny parents on the daily.

Glancing out the window, I follow his fierce frown until I see him. Fucking Caldwell. I guess my earlier texts just weren’t enough. “Give me five minutes.”

“Take your time,” he grumbles as he picks up stray documents and other things littered about the floor. “I still have a lot to do today. Also, your article. I won’t ask you again.”

I roll my eyes and pull out my phone. “Honestly. It’s like you think I’m going to just spill all your secrets to the campus.”

At his raised eyebrow, my stomach flips and arousal slickens my inner thighs. “You’ve pulled some crap before. I’m not giving you enough rope to hang both of us.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” A heavy sigh slips through my lips as I forward the article to his email. “At some point, you’re going to have to let me report on something worth reporting. I can’t just keep covering shit like potholes and mild food poisoning from the cafeteria.”

“Why don’t you report the protests,” he murmurs, skimming over what I sent him.

“Didn’t think you’d allow me. I saw how incensed you got when I covered the tragic murder.”

This time, when he levels his glare at me, there’s no humor behind it. “Try that again.”

“We can keep going in circles about this. Overdose or not, he got the drugs somewhere. That amount would constitute murder, in my opinion.”

“Good thing you’re not reporting opinions then. Isn’t it?”

“Fine. You want me to report on the protests, then I will.”

“No sensationalism?”

“I can’t guarantee that. A protest on campus, no matter the reason, is sensational indeed.”

“Ashleigh.” The note of warning in his tone doesn’t elicit the normal bout of butterflies.

This time, he sounds deadly serious. In fact, his tone almost matches his edict to deal with Caldwell. Now apparently is not the time to push things. Unfortunately, just then, my phone buzzes loudly enough that it catches his attention.

Without any preamble, he holds out his hand, demanding he see who it is. Normally, I’d be pissed as hell with how he controls me, but I know it’s less about trusting me and more about trusting others. Shaking my head, I hand it over and watch as the colors change on his face.

Bright red tinges the tips of his ears and nose as he thrusts it back into my hands. “Deal with him.”

“Why, Dean Anderson. I do believe you’re jealous,” I tease, doing my best to lighten the mood.