Page 69

I hurry down the stairs, past Noor and Toshio, still playing backgammon, who watch me curiously as I run outside with no pants on. Drunken singing emanates from the dock below but I head for the north dorm, hoping to find Kincaid in his office. If he’s in his boat despite the party on the docks, well, I might have to wait. The last thing I want is to make a scene in front of everyone.

The north dorm is unlocked, and I step inside, closing the door behind me. I hurry down the hall and frantically knock on Kincaid’s office door.

I’m breathing hard, still drunk, still livid, and I know I need to control myself, I need to calm down and handle this rationally, but I can’t. I feel like everything I’ve been going through these past weeks has come to a boiling point.

Before I have time to take a deep breath and count to ten backward, a last ditch attempt to thwart my rage, the door swings open with Kincaid on the other side.

I hate how fucking good he looks, even working late at night. Black dress shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, his dark hair spiked up as if he’s been running his hands through it. His expression is slightly unhinged, a wild sort of concern that belies any professionalism between us.

“Sydney?”

“I need to talk to you,” I manage to say, anger bubbling over as I storm past him into the room.

He closes the door behind me, and I slam my hand down on his desk, displaying the two cameras and microphone.

“What is this?!” I shriek, whirling around to face him. “Tell me what this is! And don’t you dare fucking lie to me.”

He strides over to me but as soon as he spots them, his pace slows. He stops in front of me, a sharp inhale.

I watch his face closely. I’ll know a lie when I see it.

He meets my gaze and swallows. In the dim light of his office, lit only by a couple of candles that emit the scent of santal, and a lamp in the corner, his eyes are the color of a thunderstorm, mirroring how I feel inside.

“I can explain,” he finally says, licking his lips.

“Then explain it,” I snipe, leaning back against his desk and crossing my arms. “Explain why there are fucking cameras in my room. Was it you? Was it Everly? Michael?”

“It was me,” he says. He says it so simply without an ounce of remorse.

I grind my teeth together, huffing through my nose. “Do they know?”

He stares at me for a moment then shakes his head. “They don’t know. If you want to report me to them, I completely understand. My studying of you is…unauthorized.”

“Studying?” I repeat. “You call that studying?”

“Observing, then.”

I blink at him, my mouth open. “You violated my privacy! What have you been doing, just sitting in your office, watching me get undressed? Watching me sleep?” The horror hits me. “Oh god, you knew I was having sex dreams! You saw it! You heard it!”

He doesn’t say anything. His face remains so impassive that I can’t help what I do next. My anger rolls through me like an earthquake, my palm shooting up and across to SLAP him in the face.

The sound reverberates across the room, and my palm stings, sharp spikes of pain.

His nostrils flare but he takes it.

He doesn’t repent nor does his expression change.

He just stands there and takes it.

“Say something!” I scream at him.

“What do you want me to say?” he says, gruff but still calm.

“Tell me why!”

“You don’t want to know why,” he says quietly.

“Fuck you!” I shout, and I attempt to slap him again.