I threw my shoulders back, ready to go off when he went on first. “Look. I’ve known Weston since he was in diapers. I know him better than his mother does, I know him better than that girl who’s in there currently sucking his dick, and I certainly know him better than you do.”
He did know Weston well, I realized. I knew this guy, too. He was the T.A. for my ethics class. I hadn’t recognized him at first, but now I did. He was Donovan Kincaid, son of Weston’s father’s business partner. I hadn’t known he lived here. I’d never seen him at any of The Keep’s parties before.
My hands started sweating and my pulse picked up a notch.
Donovan was several years older than us and was currently getting his MBA. He was a legend around campus because he was brilliant and ruthless. His business ideas were not only smart but also cutting edge. He was the sort of man who was going to rule the world. Tall, attractive, tough, powerful, strong. Perceptive. He intimidated me in general.
Right now? He scared the shit out of me.
“As for your virginity,” he went on, “you wear it like a badge.”
“I do not.” I really kind of did. Right now, I was at a college party wearing a shapeless sweater and jeans. My hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. My shoes were Doc Martens that my roommate said had gone out of style a decade ago. It wasn’t that I tried to be dumpy looking. I just liked to be comfortable. And as the older sister without a mother around, I’d never really had anyone teach me how to be a girl.
“There really is no reason to be offended,” Donovan said, taking a sip from a glass. Whiskey, I was guessing. Something told me it wasn’t his first glass of the night. “I’m not criticizing. In fact, I’m offering to help.”
It took me a second to understand just what he meant. “Oh, please.”
“I’m not kidding. Shall we discuss the pros and cons?”
I cocked my head and studied him, as if I could study him in the dark. Was he seriously offering to sleep with me? He obviously had no idea who I was.
“I, uh, don’t think so.” I tugged on the end of my ponytail, a nervous habit of mine. “I’m sure it’s because there’s no light in here or because there’s so many of us in there, but I’m in your Intro to Business Ethics class. I’m your student.”
He stretched to his side and yanked a chain, turning on a lamp next to him. I blinked several times in the newly lit bedroom. He wore a simple black sweater and jeans. His feet were bare. His unruly hair had more red in it in the dim light, his green eyes had more flecks of brown. It made him look more rugged than usual. More intense. His jawline added to the effect. It was lined with scruff, as if he hadn’t shaved since class yesterday morning, and, though I’d never had such an impulse before, I found myself wanting to run my hand across the fuzz. Wanted to know exactly what it felt like under my skin. Was it soft? Did it scratch? Who was the last woman to run her hand across his jaw? Did he love her?
“I know who you are, Sabrina Lind.” Donovan’s declaration shocked me back to the here and now. “Ninety-seven point three average. You’re here on a scholarship, so that matters. Never missed a day of class. Always sit in the front on the right side. Chad Lee cheats off your quizzes, but you don’t know that. Your essays are on the detailed side but are creative, and I respect that. I appreciated your response to the unfair firing of Peter Oiler at Winn-Dixie Stores, but your perspective on Ford’s decision not to modify the early versions of the Pinto was short-sighted.”
My jaw dropped. There was too much to react to. I chose the easiest to respond to first. “Ford’s decision killed people.”
“It made the company money. It’s called utilitarianism.” Even as he was heartless, his voice was smooth, like the fine scotch that I imagined lingered on his tongue.
I wondered briefly what it would taste like against my own tongue.
Just as quickly, I forced the thought out of my mind. “And I thought the class was called business ethics.” The case he referred to had bothered me a lot. In 1970, Ford had discovered a major error with the Pinto that would likely cause several hundred deaths and injuries. Instead of fixing it however, their cost-benefit analysis determined it would be cheaper to settle the presumed lawsuits. So they didn’t make the modifications.
“I think I’ve taught that ethics have to be personally defined.” Donovan sat back and crossed one ankle over his knee. He searched my face before taking another puff of his cigar. “The offer still stands.”
“What offer?” I blinked once before realizing which offer he meant. “Did you miss the part where you’re my teacher?” And why was I still standing here talking to the guy? I should have left by now. But I was glued in place, as fascinated with this discussion as I’d ever been with Weston King.
“I’m not actually your teacher. I’m the teacher’s assistant.” This was technically true. Mr. Velasquez officially taught the Monday, Wednesday, Friday class. But he only taught half of the time, and even when he did teach, Donovan still sat at his corner desk and graded papers or read or did whatever it was that he did while the rest of us listened to the lecture.
Apparently one of the things he did was watch us.
Or did he just watch me?
A string of goose bumps popped up along my skin at the thought. I hugged myself and rubbed my hands up and down my arms.
Donovan’s lip quirked up, as if he knew exactly the reaction he was having on me. “It’s not officially against school policy if I fraternize with students.”
I shook off a shiver. “By my own personal definition, it would be unethical.”
“And why is that?” His voice wasn’t just smooth, it was warm. Coaxing, even with its bitter edge.
“You grade my papers.”
“So?” His stare was direct. Intense.
And this conversation was ridiculous. I wasn’t considering it. Was I?
I glanced up, just to get my eyes away from him for one minute, and my gaze landed on a framed portrait on top of his fireplace. It was a picture of Donovan with a woman, both laughing as though they were caught candidly. It couldn’t have been taken too long ago—Donovan looked nearly the same age as he was now, but his hair was short and clean-cut. And I’d never seen the woman. Maybe she was someone waiting for him back home. Or someone he’d broken up with. Or someone he was cheating on by flirting with me.
I looked back at him and realized he’d caught me looking at the picture. “If I fooled around with you, my scores might be affected,” I said, answering his last question.
“If you don’t fool around with me, your scores might be affected.” His tone seemed hard now. Cold.
I smiled tightly and shifted my balance from the ball of one foot to the ball of the other, trying to decide if he was kidding.
His expression said he wasn’t.
I swallowed. “You’re an asshole.”
“Am I? You’re the one who came up here trying to get something from me.”
“What do you mean?” The conversation had totally gotten away from me, and wherever it had gone, I was sure I didn’t want to be there.
“You’re alone with me in my bedroom. What else am I supposed to think you’re after?”