Chapter 4

" C ould that meeting have gone any worse?" I mutter to myself, speed walking down the hall. It was a complete waste of time. I always thought that Dean James could be reasonable, but it seems even he won't stand against my father. Apparently, no one in this world has the balls to do so.

I hate being backed into a corner, and that's exactly what this is. There was no discussion with my father and now both the Dean and this Steel guy walked right over me. I'm furious. I haven't spent the last three and half years on this campus keeping my head down for nothing. Even when my roommate and best friend Morgan Capitan tried to get me to party on weekends, I refused, so no one would know I was here at school. My father's overprotectiveness has blown all of that. I wouldn't change my choices but it still makes me mad.

"Miss Granger, wait up!" I hear Steel's familiar voice call out from behind me.

Damnit! I hoped to slip out before he caught me. I knew he'd catch up to me, but I was hoping it wouldn't be until the classroom.

Spinning on my heel, I turn to glare at him with one hand on my popped-out hip. "It's Illeana," I snarl, "I don't use my father's last name on campus." Looking around the halls quickly, I make sure there isn’t anyone around who would have heard him. It would be my luck that he would blow my cover after all this time with his mistake.

"Apologies, Illeana," he states before smiling. "We got off on the wrong foot and I'm sorry for that. Friends?" he holds out his hand in a peace offering.

I look between him and his hand, debating what to do. Logically, I know keeping things friendly will make this easier, but right now I'm mad and don't want to be friends. It's not an easy choice to make.

"Or not," he pulls his hand back. "No worries, I understand. How about we get you to class? Mind giving me a rundown of what this test is on? I’m not exactly a literature person." He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, the move pulling his black long-sleeve shirt up just enough to reveal a small sliver of his toned stomach.

It takes everything in me to ignore the move and focus on what he says. Checking the clock behind him, I see we have thirty minutes until class starts. Perfect . Enough time to get there and study. "I'm taking a test on the similarities and differences between Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein', Bram Stoker's 'Dracula', and Oscar Wilde's 'The Picture of Dorian Gray.' Have you read any of those or did you skip those stories in school?" I snark, turning back around and opening the door to head downstairs. I don't have to ask if he's coming. The man is stuck following me around, for who knows how long.

"Uh...," he hesitates while following me. "I probably had to read them in high school at some point. Think I can get by with the movies? I've seen those plenty of times."

"Ugh," I sigh, hitting my forehead with my palm. "Why does everyone think the movies are better? They left so many things out, it just isn't the same at all."

"Are you saying books are superior?" he questions as he holds open the door outside for me when we reach the bottom of the stairs. "Cause I'd have to disagree. Getting to see the storyline play out in front of you is much better. You can see the emotions of the characters and understand what's going on when watching a movie."

Pulling my hat out of the pocket of my coat, I place it on my head and pull it down tightly to cover my ears. Grabbing my scarf around my neck, I wrap it tightly in an effort to stave off the cold that hits me the second the door opens. My peacoat is definitely not enough if this weather keeps going. I may need to break out the heated jacket I got myself last Christmas to make the walk around campus this winter. "You would say that," I snark, moving past him and ignoring any signs of politeness. Sure, movies are great. I enjoy watching them, but there is just something about getting lost in a great book that just makes it superior, in my opinion. It's part of why I chose to dual major in literature and business. I've always dreamed of working in the book world. Whether that's as an editor or owning my own bookstore, I haven't decided. Both sound like great ideas to me.

"What was that?" he asks, falling in step beside me. "It sounds like you have an argument. Care to share, Princess?"

When I turn to stare at him, he has the audacity to wink. Seriously? Wink! God, this man is aggravating. At some point, he must have slipped on his black beanie, which only adds to his appeal, and pisses me off more. There is no way I can be stuck with him like this. "Yeah, couldn't they have sent someone to watch me who was actually smart?" It was a low blow, I know that, but I can't help it. He's been pissing me off since the second he opened his mouth in the Dean's office. Never mind the fact he looks like sex on a stick, even bundled up for the cold Westhill winter.

"Just because I don't read fancy books doesn't mean I'm not smart, Illeana. Now, how about we get to class? It's cold as hell out here, and my balls are freezing," he states, pointing in the direction of the English hall. It's on the far side of the quad, in the same building as the cultural classes.

The school tried to group the different programs on campus to make it a tad bit easier to navigate. In the center is what we call the quad, or a large open grass area where students like to hang out and study or sun tan when the weather is nice enough.

To the north is the administrative building, and behind it are the halls for math and business.

To the east are the science and nursing halls, with a huge sports complex just past them. Westhill, although mostly known for our hockey team, doesn't do half bad with the football and baseball teams. Our basketball team, though, is a wash. We don't talk about them.

To the south is a large library, which is my favorite place to hole up and study in. I find peace amongst the books. Behind the library are all the dorms for the school.

To the west, where we are heading, is the Cultural and English hall. Behind them is where the music and dance programs are located. During freshman year, I took an Intro to Dance class and learned really quickly that dance would never be for me. Now, I just watch their performances when I can.

"Okay, Big Boy, let's get your balls warmed up," I retort, resuming our brisk walk to class.

In silence, Steel and I hurry across the quad, our verbal sparring on hold until we get out of the cold. He's not wrong, though. It's freezing out today. If I didn't have this test, I probably would have played hooky and hid under my warm covers for the day. My grades are high enough that missing one day wouldn't put me behind, even if I missed a pop quiz. I'm nowhere near valedictorian status, but I will graduate with honors of some kind. Stupid test!

With us hurrying, we make it to the English hall less than ten minutes. Considering how big the campus is, I consider that a success. Being the not so gentleman Steel is, he tries to open the door for me, but it doesn't budge. Guess he didn't get the memo to swipe his student badge. Almost every building requires you to swipe in for security. See safe. "You need to swipe your badge, Big Boy," I wink, pushing past him as I pull my ID out of my bag and press it to the small security lock above the door handle. If he wants to use nicknames, I can play this game.

"Ah, I think I read that somewhere. My bad. After you, Princess," he holds the door open and dramatically waves his arm to prompt me forward.

I'm shocked he had no remark to my nickname, but I'm sure it'll come eventually. Steel seems to be the type who will never back down from a fight. Walking past him, I head straight to the elevator to go up to the third floor. I'll take the stairs down, but I am not walking up them unless I have to. I'd rather get my workouts in when I'm doing an actual workout, not from going up the stairs in winter gear, carrying my backpack full of books. Steel follows behind me, even being kind enough to place his arm in front of the elevator door when it opens. Weird, but okay, it's not like the door was going to close immediately after opening.

"Before we get to the classroom, you should know that I'll be sitting in the back to give you space. No one needs to know that you and I are connected, at least not on day one. I told you I don't want to interrupt your routine completely. I'm here to watch and listen," he explains quickly before the elevator door opens.

The second he stops talking, the elevator chimes, signaling we've reached our floor right as the doors begin to open. Instead of answering him, I nod so he knows I understand. Together, we walk off the elevator, me moving to a small study alcove in front of one of the windows next to the classroom. He takes a seat opposite me on a bench along the wall. His position allows him to see me at all times while also keeping an eye on the hallway. It's not ideal, in my opinion, but he is doing what he said and keeping some semblance of distance. I'll accept it for now because I really need to study for a little bit longer. Setting my bag on the table, I pull out my notes from our class's study session last week. We did a review of all three books, looking at the similarities and differences between them. Dracula was always one of my favorite books, but I struggled to get through Frankenstein. I thought I would love it, and it was a good read, but it didn't hook me the way I had expected. I suppose we can't love every book that we read, but I was disappointed I didn't love that one. I knew it was the one story I needed to focus the most on while studying.

"Illeana, the class will be starting in ten minutes," Steel's strong voice rings out as he knocks his knuckles against the wooden table I'm sitting at. I was so consumed in my notes, I forgot about paying attention to the time. His voice startles me and causes me to jump as I lift my gaze to his, but he isn't looking at me. His back is to me as he looks down the hallway.

"Thanks," I mumble, shoving everything into my bag and getting up from the table. I wait for a couple of other students to pass and then I cross the hall and enter the classroom. Steel is behind me as we pass through the door, but once he steps inside, he breaks off to take a seat in the back of the classroom while I continue forward to my seat in the front.

Since the English and Cultural classes are in the same building, the classroom has a Scandinavian look to it. The walls are a light brown wood, and the desks are made out of the same material. The front of the classroom has a chalkboard built into it with a whiteboard hidden behind movable wooden panels for easy access. Both sides of the room have bookcases built into the walls with glass doors covering them to protect the books inside. All the doors are locked, of course, but it would be amazing to be able to open them. In fact, almost every classroom in this building represents a different culture. It's one of my favorite parts about attending this school and a reason that I fell in love the second I toured the campus during my senior year of high school.

"Good morning, class," Mr. Scott calls out, clearing his throat. He stands at the front of the classroom behind a wooden podium that is off to the right side, so it doesn't block the boards. Today, he's wearing a white shirt, black trousers, and a purple tie. His brown hair is slightly graying. His glasses, perched on the edge of his nose, as if he doesn’t even need them to begin with. In all the classes I've had with him, I've never seen him wear that tie. It's pretty cool, actually, with silver designs on it. "I hope you all studied over the weekend for the test today. Don't expect it to be easy. I want you to use your critical thinking skills to answer the essays. Even some of the multiple-choice questions are meant to trip you up. Take your time and don't rush. You have the full seventy-five minutes to complete it. Good luck." Moving around from the podium, he grabs the stack of tests and begins counting out the amount he needs for every row before passing them to the person at the end of every row. It doesn't take long before the stack reaches me, and I take my own before passing it to my neighbor.

Flipping the test over, I begin. Question by question, essay by essay, I work my way through the test, focusing on what I know best. A few questions I skip, marking them to come back to after I answer the ones I know better. It’s something I learned to do when I was younger, not wanting to get hung up on things I wasn't sure of and then losing time. This way, I can spend more time on the questions and essays that need it rather than feeling rushed at the end to complete everything. Before I know it, I've finished reviewing my work. Standing up, I grab my bag and make my way to the back of the classroom where Mr. Scott took his place to collect our tests. He told us on day one that he likes to sit back there to watch us and make it easier to collect our test on the way out. Makes sense.

I hope that Steel is finished with his as well because I will not be waiting for him. It's his job to follow me around, not mine to wait on him. Handing my completed test to Mr. Scott, I take a quick peek out of the corner of my eye to see Steel flipping his test closed as well and grabbing his backpack. I guess he is done. As I open the door, Steel's arm reaches over my head to push it open for me. Tilting my head back, I look up and glare at him before stepping outside. "I'm not incapable of opening a door," I hiss, not wanting to raise my voice too much and draw attention to ourselves.

"Never said you couldn't. Gentlemen open doors for ladies, it’s the polite thing to do, Princess," he grunts, falling into place behind me when I turn and head toward the nearest staircase. I have one more literature class for the day, but it isn't until this evening. It's only taught once a week, making it a long two-hour class. I'd prefer it wasn't, but I needed the class to graduate, and it was the only time it fit into my schedule. Which means I'm, or I guess we, are going back to the dorms for the afternoon.

I have every intention of taking a nap and then Facetiming Grace to make sure she gets her homework done. She doesn’t really need me on Facetime while she does the work but we both find comfort in the move and if she gets stuck I can usually help her pretty easily.

Thankfully, Steel doesn't say a word as we walk across campus. I guess he decided it was easy to watch me by following me instead of trying to hold a conversation with me. Fifteen minutes later, we finally make it to the dorms, and it looks like Steel can be taught a thing or two as he swipes his student badge to let both of us in the building. He holds the door open for me again, which I'm starting to think is a move ingrained in him. It's definitely something I'm going to need to get used to because I've never had a man hold a door open for me except for my own father when we are at public events, and that's only to put on a show.

Both of us swipe our badges on the next door, so security knows we belong here before we enter the rest of the way into the building and move to the elevator. Most dorms have five floors, including this one. The freshman dorm is the only one that has ten floors to accommodate all freshmen living there their first year. My room is on the third floor, room 305. It's actually a suite-style room that I share with my best friend. The room allows both of us to have our own space, but we still have a small living room and a shared bathroom between our rooms. We even designated a corner to be a little kitchen area, so we don't need to eat at the cafeteria for every meal if we don't want to. Since it's Tuesday, I know she should be in our room for the afternoon, having completed her dance classes this morning. Her focus is on contemporary and hip hop, but she can dance every style out there and is actually very good at it.

"What time are we leaving for your next class?" Steel inquires when we reach my floor, or I suppose it's our floor now.

"It starts at six, so probably around five thirty, unless I decide to eat in the cafeteria. I can knock on your door when it's time to leave." It's the best I can offer him, to try to keep the peace, well that's if I remember to knock on his door. Would it really be that bad if I didn't?

"Give me your phone," he holds out his hand, waiting for me to comply. I just stare at him dumbfounded, refusing his request. That is no way to ask for something from me, and there is no reason for him to have it, anyway. "Please, Illeana," he sighs, exasperated. "I'm just going to put my number in your phone and you can text me when you're ready to leave."

"Pretty sure you don't deserve to have my number just yet, Big Boy," I grin, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "Like I said. I'll just knock. Be ready at five thirty." Turning my back to him, I quickly unlock my door and step inside, shutting the door behind me.

"Illeana!" Steel growls, slamming his fist against the door. I can't help but laugh as I toss my backpack on the ground beside the couch and shrug out of my jacket, hanging it on the hook beside me.

"Who is that?" Morgan asks, placing her laptop on the coffee table as she turns to look at me. "And why are you so entertained by that exchange?"

"That is a long story," I sigh, kicking off my winter boots before I move to join her on the couch.

"Is he a problem I need to take care of?" she asks, concerned, her back straightening as she watches me. That is exactly why I love her. My best friend would go to war for me, no questions asked if I needed her to. She may only be five foot three, but she's feisty and never backs down from a fight. She must have just recently gotten back to the dorm because she's still in her dance clothes with her black hair pulled back into a neat bun, bobby pins holding it in place.

"He's one that I'm stuck with until my father changes his mind," I answer begrudgingly. "My father has it in his head that there is some sort of threat to the family, so he hired a private security company to keep an eye on me. That guy is my babysitter."

"Wait, what?" she asks, shocked, as she turns her whole body to face me. "Wait, is this a conversation that requires wine? I think we still have a bottle or two in here."

"It's lunchtime," I laugh, shaking my head. Only she would want to drink at this hour, despite the fact I know she also has a night class this evening. "No alcohol for me."

"Boo, you're so boring. Fine. Then tell me what is going on with that man. Does he have a name?" I can see the wheels spinning in the back of her mind, and I know I need to give her something before she comes up with her own theories. Ugh.

"His name is Steel, and he is a pain in my ass. He will be following me around constantly, no matter where I go or who I am with. So sorry in advance for that. I'll try to make sure he doesn't cramp our style too much. My father, however, well, him I need to find a way to speak to about this. My pleas fell on deaf ears this morning at the house. He wouldn't listen to a single argument I made and told me to be on my best behavior for my security guard or he’d pull me from school." My tone does little to hide my annoyance at the whole situation.

"I know it sucks and is a shitty situation. You came here to live a life outside of your father's shadow. I'm pretty sure outside of the faculty, I'm the only person on campus who knows who you really are, but maybe your dad has a good reason for this. He's doing it because he cares about you. I know losing your mom in a car accident was hard for you. Imagine what it was like for him. He just wants to protect you. Remember, not all of us have that life," her voice hints at a little bit of pain, but her expression only shows worry for me.

Shit. I'm such a shitty friend. Morgan and I met during our freshman year when we got placed together to share a room. It took almost a whole semester for her to warm up and let me in. That's when she told me that her mother died and she wasn't super close with her father. He was more of a dictator parent, even worse than my father, than a real dad. Her coming to this school was an escape for her. The loss of our mothers was the thing that helped bind us and our friendship together. We both knew what it was like to grow up without a parent.

"I'm such a shitty friend," I murmur, leaning forward to wrap my arms around her shoulders. "I'm sorry. Here I am bitching about my dad being overprotective when I know what your dad is like. I should have chosen my words more carefully."

"No, it's okay," she wipes at the corner of her eyes before any tears could fall. "Normally, it wouldn't bother me, you know that. It's just that I got some shitty news from home, so it sort of just hit the nail in the coffin today. It's alright."

"So, about that wine?" I ask, rising from my seat. Usually, I would never, but I think it's called for now. So that's how we ended up getting drunk on a Tuesday afternoon and I barely made it to my last class that evening.