Page 9 of The Consequence of You (Heathley Academy #2)

CHAPTER NINE

CALLIE

T he tablecloth is creased, and no amount of smoothing it out seems to be making any difference, so instead of persevering, I display the leaflets in a way that hides as much of it as possible.

In the centre, I lay the sign-up sheet before settling back in one of the chairs and sipping my lukewarm coffee.

The table next to me is for an animal shelter, and there’s already a sizable queue forming.

When I’d offered to man a stall for the nursing home where I volunteer, at the university’s volunteer recruitment fair, I hadn’t realised who would be my neighbour.

I love my weekend job, but there aren’t many people who would choose to work with old people over soft fluffy bunnies and kittens.

As their queue continues to grow and the rest of the room becomes packed, my table remains empty.

I feel bad that the nursing home won’t be getting any new volunteers, but selfishly, I don’t dislike the idea of remaining the only one.

The elderly residents seem to like having me around, and I prefer their company to most people my age.

I shove my earbuds in and pull out my sketchbook and pencils. May as well make the most of the quiet.

A couple of hours pass and the room is starting to empty. I reach under the table to get my bag so I can begin to pack up my leaflets, when a shadow falls over the table.

“Just a second.” I straighten up to greet the potential volunteers.

Except it’s not a student here to sign up, but the man I’ve been seeing far too much of lately.

Asher Pennington is closely studying one of my leaflets, like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

I tug it from his hand and place it back on the table.

“You’re at the wrong table. If you’re looking for willing victims to wait on you hand and foot, then you need to set up your own table over there, but I’ll warn you, I don’t see many people choosing to volunteer for Duke Asshole of the Manor.”

“It’s Lord Asshole actually, and for your information there are plenty of people willing to serve my every whim.

I don’t need to set up a stall begging for it.

” He smirks, his arrogance off the charts.

Unfortunately, he’s not far wrong. Most of the girls we were at school with, and even some of the guys, would fight a bitch for a scrap of Asher’s attention.

I don’t bother answering him and instead get back to packing the leaflets away.

He continues to stand in front of my table, hands in his pocket, idly waiting, as if he’s posing for the cover of the special edition of Smug Men of the UK magazine.

I steadfastly ignore him, but as I go to shove the sign-up sheet in my bag, I notice the lazy scrawl across it .

My eyes shoot to his and a smile stretches across his infuriatingly handsome face. When I was bent down he must have signed his name, as there it is in black and white. I go to screw it up when he snatches it out of my hand.

“I don’t think Belvidere Nursing Home would be too impressed to find out you’re turning away volunteers, would they?” He lifts a brow, challenging me. I snatch the paper back.

“You realise what they do at a nursing home, right?” I cock my brow. Lord Asshole has probably never set foot in a public facility in his life. Wouldn’t surprise me if his elderly family members were euthanised before they get wrinkles, so as not to embarrass their good name.

“Now, now, Calliope, no need to be so rude. Of course I know what goes on at a nursing home, but if it reassures you, I’ll ask for my first shift to be with you, so you can show me the ropes.” His smile gets wider as I feel my heart sinking.

“Why would you want to volunteer there, Asher? Seriously, there are lots of other opportunities out there.” I gesture to the animal shelter table.

“Maybe I don’t want to come home smelling of cat piss.”

“It’s preferable to human piss,” I practically shout back at him. He flinches but quickly gains his composure.

“Calliope Messina, how undignified of you to comment on the older generation’s toilet habits.

I hope your manager doesn’t catch wind of you talking about people like that.

” Urgh, I want to slap the smile off his face.

I love volunteering there, and I can’t have him jeopardising it.

The health care assistants at the home manage all the personal care, and I literally only go along to keep the old folk company, but I was desperately trying to put him off.

It’s bad enough trying to avoid him in university every day, and the thought of him invading my weekend space, too, is unbearable.

“Asher. Seriously. Why are you volunteering there?” I decide to try a different tack. Unfortunately, he doesn’t deem me worthy of an answer and instead flips the tables on me.

“Why do you volunteer there?”

How does he do that? How does he keep narrowing down the questions I don’t want to answer? I won’t be giving him that piece of information.

Not now. Not ever.

“Fine. Put your number in my phone and I’ll forward it to my manager.

She’ll call you to arrange an interview.

” I just have to hope when my manager realises he’s an entitled, self-serving prick she’ll turn him down.

Passing him my phone, I watch as he types in his number. He’s grinning as he passes it back.

When I look, he’s taken a selfie of himself and saved his number under Lord Asshole.

Matron Susan didn’t turn Asher down. I don’t know what ever made me think she would. He’s so fucking charming when it suits him. I'm sure he just turned up and flashed her one of his panty-melting smiles, and she ended up begging him to stay.

“Checkmate.” Asher slides the marble playing piece across the board as if it were nothing.

Eight moves. Eight. I might have known he’d be good at chess too.

But seeing him beat Mr Charles with that level of ease still comes as a surprise.

Everyone knows Mr Charles is the best at chess in the nursing home.

He used to play competitively, and despite being in his late seventies, he hasn’t lost his edge.

And yet Asher beat him in just eight moves, and he made it look easy.

I haven’t played for years, but I know enough to appreciate how impressive it is.

Despite the reckless and impulsive facade Asher Pennington presents to the world, he’s one of the most strategic people I know. When it suits him. His IQ must be off the scale. The things he could use that level of intelligence for, and instead he wastes it on being a manipulative dickhead.

As he walks past me, I whisper under my breath, “You could have let him win.”

Asher shrugs.

“He wouldn’t want that. He likes the challenge. Keeps his mind sharp.” I look back at Mr Charles who is replaying the game and shaking his head. His mouth tips up with a hint of a smile as he studies the board. Asher’s right. Mr Charles wouldn’t want pity.

Somehow, he’s built up more of a rapport with Mr Charles in a couple of hours than I have in two years. And Robert Charles is the entire reason I started volunteering here in the first place.

At the thought of them becoming friends, my chest tightens. I’ve had plenty of time to talk to Mr Charles, to tell him how sorry I am for my part in how he ended up here, but I’m nothing but a coward.

Every week I turn up here, trying and failing to find the courage to tell him the truth.

Now Asher is volunteering here, it’s going to be even harder to talk to him.

I need to get out of here and clear my head. I turn on my heel and rush down the corridor to the staff room to get my things.

I grab my bag and coat and I’m halfway out of the door when Asher’s large form blocks my exit. He nods at my hand clutching my car keys to my chest.

“Going somewhere?”

I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I’m upset, so I just nod and try to squeeze past him. Except at the last minute, he drops his arm and blocks my way. I’d have to seriously shove past him to get out of the room, so I step back.

“Excuse me. Can I get past, please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Our shift doesn’t finish for a few hours, Calliope. Where are you rushing off to?”

“I’m going home.”

Asher makes a show of checking his watch.

“Bit early for that isn’t it? It’s only two o’clock. Why are you leaving?” Of course he won’t let me pass, he’s making it his life’s mission lately to annoy me. I don’t have the energy to argue with him today, so I ignore his question.

“Please let me go, I need to leave.” Despite my best efforts to not have him notice I’m upset; it’s getting harder to hide it. He tilts his head, studying me in a way that has me feeling exposed. After a few seconds he speaks, his tone soft, thoughtful even.

“I could let you pass, but I don’t like the way you’re being so cryptic, so I’m not going to.

You clearly don’t want to tell me why you’re running out of here, so I’ll drop it for now, but I know Grayson and Dahlia would string me up by my balls if I let you run off when something is clearly bothering you.

So don’t tell me. That’s fine. But I’m not letting you leave. ”

Is he for real? Since when does he look out for me on behalf of our friends, and why now? No doubt he’s just using it as an excuse to be his usual infuriating self.

Exasperated, I shove my things back in my locker and slam it shut.

“Fine. You win. I’ll finish my shift.”

The grin that splits his face is sudden and striking, and the surprise of it takes my breath away for a second.

I don’t think, no, I know , I’ve never been on the receiving end of a genuine Asher Pennington smile before.

It’s devastating, and it makes him even more physically attractive, if that’s possible.

My mouth dries and I look away before he sees my reaction. Jesus Christ, it’s a good job he doesn’t do it regularly, as I’m not sure there’s a woman alive who would be able to think straight in the presence of that look. No wonder he’s got away with so much shit over the years. He is beautiful.

Damn him.

When I look back at him, he’s almost preening. The prick knows the effect he’s just had on me.

We’re still locked in our silent exchange when Susan finds us.

“What are you two doing in there? If you’re at a loose end you can come and give me a hand with something. Follow me.” She’s brusque but likable, so we both follow her without complaint. I’d rather be folding bedding or taking rubbish out than spend another minute in the staff room with Asher.

My relief is short-lived when Susan leads us to an empty bedroom. The room is small, other than a couple of paint tins, some brushes and a small step ladder in the corner. Susan strides across the room and flings open the window.

“I’d like you to spend the next couple of shifts decorating this room for a new resident we have arriving next week.

Between you, it shouldn’t take too long.

” Asher quietly groans under his breath and I flick him a look telling him not to be rude.

When we signed up to this, we knew we’d be asked to do a range of things.

After what happened earlier, I’m glad to have something useful to do away from the residents, even if it is with Asher.

The door slams shut, leaving the two of us alone in the echoey room.

“I should have just let you go home.”

“Afraid of a little hard work, Pennington?” I shrug off my cardigan and hang it on the back of the door before removing my slip-on pumps. His cocky arrogance seems to have faded a little, and that’s definitely something I can get onboard with. It’s certainly a distraction from my earlier worries.

Asher pulls off his knitted sweater and I avert my eyes when his shirt lifts up with it, exposing his toned chest. His skin is smooth and taut, and he has a defined v shape leading to his… I avert my eyes again as I feel my cheeks heat.

Of course he’s as perfect under his clothes as everywhere else. I turn away, giving him a minute to straighten himself out, except when I turn back, he is standing in just his boxer shorts. His tight, black Calvin Kleins which leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“I… sorry… fuck… I…” I squeeze my eyes tight shut whilst my mouth catches up with my mind. “Asher! Why the hell do you have no clothes on?”