Page 2 of Almost Rotten

Like the man behind the desk, her cheeks are bright red. The color extends down her chest, a waterfall of crimson from her neck to her sternum. How low does it go? All that pretty pink. I bet it’s warm to the touch.

When the dean clears his throat, I snap out of my reverie and meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Dav—Mrs. Tremblay,” he says, correcting himself.

Good man.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Surely he knows, but I appreciate his discretion. He can’t trace the sender, but acknowledging that Professor Mercer Eden was the intended recipient would only confirm what I’m afraid Sawyer already suspects.

I did it.

I’m responsible for all of this.

I’m making a big-ass mess, and I’m not fucking sorry.

“Delete it,” I tell him. “Right now. Off your computer. Remove it from the cloud. I want all traces of this permanently erased before we walk out of this office.”

“I can assure you, Mr. Tremblay…”

“Dammit,” I snarl. I’m getting pretty fucking tired of his assurances.

“If that was your wife, Dean Stalworth, would you be satisfied taking another man’s word?”

Sawyer reacts to my tone with a high-pitched hiccup and another squeeze of my hand.

Get used to it, baby.

I’m not going to compromise when it comes to her. From this moment forward, I won’t let anyone even glance at what is rightfully mine without taking immediate action.

I’ve stalled out before. I’ve waited. I’ve hedged my bets and obsessed over the right timing too many times. That ends today. That ends right fucking now.

With a step forward, I look the dean directly in his pathetic eyes.

“You can’t possibly intend to write up a report that would require you to keep this video as evidence, can you?” I arch a brow. “What would it even say? You called in two students andfalsely accused them of having inappropriate relations, only to find out they’re married?” A sardonic huff escapes me. “There would be questions. Like how long you had access to the video. How you identified the subjects. And how many times you watched it. Once. Twice. Three times?”

He blanches. “I didn’t. Iwouldn’t.”

I hold up one hand, cutting him off. “I want to believe you. But if you’re not willing to remove all evidence of the footage—”

“Fine.”

Sawyer startles and yanks her hand out of my grip. I let her go. For now.

“Fine,” he repeats, calmer, muttering as he takes a seat behind his desk and moves his cursor across the screen.

He navigates through his emails, checking to make sure I’m watching as he deletes two messages then moves to the cloud and deletes files there as well.

He freezes as the files hover over the garbage icon on the screen. Then, with watery eyes, he scans my face. “We couldn’t trace the source, so please understand that any impending distribution is out of my hands. By deleting this, there will be no evidence or option to follow up if—”

“Delete it,” I demand.

He swallows, the wrinkled skin of his throat quivering, and nods. Once he’s clicked on the trash can icon, he navigates to the option of clearing it permanently.

When that’s finished, I press both hands into the desk and lean forward until the wood creaks under my weight. “Do you need anything else from us, or are we free to go?”

Trepidation and a hint of fear war behind his beady eyes, but he lets out a sigh and says, “No. That will be all.”