Page 10 of Under the Lights (The Big Boys of BRU #2)

Nine

Sierra

“Why is it that every single dude at this school sucks?” Ella plopped down in an empty chair across from me and blew the baby hairs off her forehead. “I’m serious, please explain. Use simple words. Maybe I’ll understand.”

With a raised eyebrow, I peered over the edge of my laptop screen at her. “And I care about that because…?”

“Because deep down you love me, you just don’t know it yet,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

You have got to be shitting me.

“You’ve got me figured out,” I drawled. “Can we get on with the project now?”

Ella fished her laptop out of her bag, her long ponytail swinging over her shoulder as she continued to mumble to herself. I feared this topic wasn’t over yet.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like her, but rather an old habit of mine to not let people get close to me.

Loose pieces of paper, a lip gloss, several hair ties, and many other odds and ends spilled out of her bag. I looked at her in horror and slight disgust. “How can you live like this?”

“What are you talking about?” Surprise showed on her face as she stuffed everything messily back into her bag.

Exasperated, I pointed at the clutter in her bag. “This right here! Ever heard of organization ? How do you even find anything in that thing?”

Ella chuckled. “Life’s too short for organization.”

I repeat, you have got to be shitting me. “Heathen,” I mumbled, causing her to giggle.

For a while, we concentrated on our assignment, only exchanging comments here and there. When someone noisily dragged a chair out from under the table two seats away, we both looked up.

One of David’s fraternity brothers caught my gaze, only to pull an awkward grimace and look around for a different seat in the library. Wuss.

Ella threw her arms in the air. “See? This is how it always goes. They see me and run off,” she said, bewildered. “I didn’t even know that dude! That’s a new low. It usually happens later on.”

The corner of my mouth twitched. “It wasn’t because of you. That guy ran away because of me. He’s in the same fraternity as my ex, and apparently I’m persona non grata there.”

Figures . Why would it be the man who had cheated who was shunned? That would make too much sense.

“Embarrassing,” Ella said, her tone bored.

My head snapped in her direction, and I fixed her with a piercing stare. “Excuse me?”

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head hastily. “For him! Embarrassing for him . We’re not in kindergarten anymore.”

Relief washed over me, but it tangled with the familiar knot of doubt I carried around like a shadow. Technically, I’d given Dom a piece of my trust — a small one — but it felt safe because it was temporary. A controlled risk I thought I could pull back whenever I wanted.

Lately, my radar had been off more than I cared to admit, and every misstep chipped away at the fragile trust I still held on to. This one though, would’ve really made me question myself.

Beneath that relief, stubborn suspicion lingered, ready to snap back if I wasn’t careful.

“Take it from someone who deals with frat boys a lot — it is just like kindergarten. With the addition of dick-driven decisions.” I sighed and rubbed my thumb over the spot between my eyebrows.

“Not gonna lie, didn’t think frat boys were your type.” She played with a long strand of hair, twirling it between her fingers.

“That can cause hair breakage, you know.” I turned my eyes back to the screen, unable to concentrate on the words in front of me.

“Ah, deflection to change the subject.” Ella nodded briefly. “Does that usually work for you?” She eyed me with mild interest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said pointedly.

She raised her eyebrows and smirked. The silence between us lingered as I continued to pretend that I comprehended anything on my screen, her eyes unwaveringly trained on me.

“Yeah,” I finally admitted reluctantly.

“Thought so.” Ella shrugged and leaned back in her chair. I appreciated that she didn’t gloat. “People don’t often question you, do they?”

All she got was a look. She nodded. “You kind of have that aloof, no-nonsense vibe.”

Silence. I typed a few words, pretty sure they were completely incoherent. Her direct nature was somehow throwing me off my game, and I had no idea why. I usually had no problem with things like that.

“Sooo…how did you come by your intimate knowledge of frat boys?”

I sighed. Knew she wasn’t going to let it go.

“I’m in a sorority and the social chair for my chapter. My job is to organize mixers, formals, and other events. Unfortunately, in that role, you occasionally come into contact with this type of man.” And ended up dating them , but she didn’t need to know that.

She tapped her chin. “Huh. Sounds fancy. I could never be in a sorority, but I can imagine it might be fun.”

My curiosity was piqued. “Why is that?”

She looked up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. “Let’s just say I had enough drama in high school to last a lifetime, and I like my privacy. I couldn’t imagine living with so many people under one roof. Growing up with my brother was enough for me.”

“So, how are you dealing with the living situation in the dorms?” I lowered the screen a little, giving up any pretense of concentrating on my work.

”Pretty good. My roommate is fucking awesome. She’s not around much anymore, though, so I’m more or less living on my own.”

“How come?” I cocked my head curiously.

“She stays with her boyfriend most of the time, he lives off campus. I can’t wait to get my own place. Although I’ll probably still need at least one roommate to be able to afford it.”

She started to play with a strand of her hair again. The striking color was like a reminder of that night, which always caused something deep inside me to involuntarily contract.

I hadn’t thought about him in days. Not on purpose. It was just … life had picked up again. Practice, class, pretending I wasn’t still haunted by a pair of gold and green eyes and calloused hands that didn’t belong here.

But every now and then, something would catch me off guard — a certain kind of laugh, the slope of someone’s nose, the glimpse of a tattoo disappearing beneath a shirt sleeve — and for a split second, my breath would hitch.

Stupid . He wasn’t from here. He was probably back at whatever campus he came from, already forgetting I ever existed. Still, my gaze snagged on a flash of rust-colored hair across the quad the other day, and I’d turned before I could stop myself.

Of course, it wasn’t him. It never was.

That night wasn’t meant to lead anywhere. But weeks later, it still lingered.

“I think if I had the choice, I’d live alone too. But our entire executive board lives in the house. Makes things easier. Let me know if you need help finding a roommate. We don’t want you to end up with some weirdo.”

She offered me a sincere smile. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

***

Later that week, I finally found time to take care of some routine sorority business I’d been putting off. The end-of-semester charity event, scheduled for late May, was coming up fast, and as social chair, I was responsible for making sure the funds were allocated correctly.

I opened the spreadsheet with the event budget on it, along with the account statements.

God, I loved spreadsheets. It scratched an itch in my brain to see everything properly organized and neatly documented.

Plus, you could make them look pretty, something I excelled at, if I do say so myself.

My eyes darted across the numbers, comparing totals and cross-checking transactions. I was already three lines ahead when something didn’t sit right. I scrolled back.

Sure, some expenses came in before the event itself, but the math wasn’t mathing.

I flagged one item labeled “Event Prep” and continued. Two lines down, I paused again. “Sponsorship Outreach.” Another vague label. I checked the linked receipts. They were there, but they might as well not have been.

Generic. Unreadable logos. No names. There was no itemization. One even had a timestamp that didn’t match the transaction date.

I narrowed my eyes and clicked through a few more.

A receipt for a “Catering Deposit” that looked suspiciously like a Word doc exported as a PDF.

Another was for “Travel Accommodations” at a five-star resort, hours away from campus.

The kicker? A “Supply Run” totaling over a grand at a luxury boutique.

What did any of this have to do with our charity event? None of these vendors had ever been discussed at any of our meetings — at least none that I’d attended. I searched the folders on our cloud drive for quotes, invoices, or even contact information. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero.

Even worse, the amounts didn’t align with the balances shown in the bank account. The dates were close, but not exact. A few charges on the statements didn’t appear on the spreadsheet.

It was as if someone had tried to backfill the paperwork after the fact but hadn’t anticipated anyone checking it.

I went through the spreadsheet again, this time focusing on the names. Some of these providers didn’t even sound real. I opened a new browser tab and started googling the names.

Each one had a bare-bones website with just a logo, a generic tagline, and a contact form. No phone number. Just a P.O. box. They could’ve been legit, sure… but something about them felt off.

I jotted down a few contact names from the websites. On a hunch, I plugged one into Instagram. To my surprise, the first profile looked familiar — it was one of David’s fraternity brothers. Probably just a coincidence. I tried another. Same thing. Weird .

Frustrated, I leaned back in my chair, stretching my arms above my head, and tried to think.

My planner lay open beside me with precise, looping script marking deadlines and reminders. Every other paper on my desk was perfectly stacked, every file was labeled and color-coded.

Immaculate, as always.

The desk lamp cast a steady glow over spreadsheets and receipts I’d combed through again and again.

Rubbing my temples, I huffed. The neatness around me felt almost mocking. After running into so many inconsistencies, none of it made sense.

Still, I wasn’t ready to accuse anyone of anything. Maybe everything was aboveboard, and there was just sloppy documentation or poor vendor naming. Maybe someone had booked through friends who owned side businesses.

But the numbers didn’t add up. Not for what was supposedly spent.

Okay. Keep your head on straight, Sierra. Don’t jump to conclusions.

Maybe it was just sloppy accounting?

I went over the numbers and allocations again, adding them up in my head. Holy shit, this was a lot of money. The amounts were far too large to be an oversight. And the misleading labels set off my alarm bells.

Frozen, I stared at the screen, my fingers still on the keyboard, unmoving. What had I just stumbled upon?

Once again, I accessed various folders, checking once, twice, three times, until I was absolutely sure. None of this had anything to do with charity. Nothing justified these expenses in any way.

I leaned forward, hands against my forehead, fingers buried in my hair, and stared down at my keyboard. A ball of dread formed in the pit of my stomach. This was no mistake, no simple mishap.

This was intentional .