Page 51 of Sugar

I’d had no intention of doing anything with it.

And that’d lasted all of four hours before I’d impulsively submitted my responses.

Then I’d spent the rest of the week on the edge.

On the edge of an anxiety attack.

Of an adrenaline overdose.

Of distraction.

Of spontaneous combustion.

According to the time I’d already checked a million times that hour alone, I had three hours to go home, get ready, and then get to Gilded.

IfI was going.

The logical, doubtful side of my brain said no way. That I should chicken out, order delivery, and hide in the comfort of my apartment.

But those dark desires dancing in the back of my head said otherwise.

Being at Gilded was the closest I’d ever come to understanding them. I wanted to explore. Not dip my toes in. Not sit at a high top and observe as an outsider.

I wanted to embrace whatever it was by diving in fully.

Probably.

Maybe.

But also, maybe not.

What am I even doing considering this?

“Hey, Mads, wait up.”

And the never-ending day keeps getting better.

As tempted as I was to continue walking like I hadn’t heard my editor-in-chief, I knew better. He was a spiteful jerk. Beyond that, there was a chance he had a new assignment for me. One that would take all my time and attention, thereby preventing me from making a stupid mistake by going to Gilded.

Or maybe he just had some notes on my submitted story.

Whatever the case, I slowed to a stop.

“I’m glad I caught you,” Joel said with a grin I didn’t trust. “I got an email earlier to let me know they’re going to feature your article on Wells in the alumni email and use a snippet of it in the mailer going out to prospective students. Covering both ends of the spectrum.”

Pride warmed my chest, and the terror over my future reduced—only by half a notch or so out of a million, but still—as I thought about how that would look in my portfolio. “Are you for real?”

“Dean Anderson himself ordered it. There’s a reason the hotshot lawyer has the reputation he does. I read an article where Tripp Carter said that Wells had the jury ready to send his stalker to Alcatraz after opening arguments alone. It’s no surprise he phrased his answers perfectly.”

I didn’t share that a lot of those spins came from me and not Easton. “I’m glad everyone is happy.”

Now give me better assignments.

“And I’m glad you were able to get him to finally agree to an interview,” he said.

I started to nod before his words sank in. “Wait, what?”

“It was Dean Anderson’s idea to do the alumni profile. He said they’ve been trying to get Wells to agree to an interview for years, but he always politely declined and sent a financial contribution instead.” He shrugged. “Guess it pays to be a family friend.”