2. Campus Visit

Chapter 2

Campus Visit

MEGAN

I t took me three days to emotionally recover from the incident, but now I'm without a job. My manager was displeased that he almost shitted himself and fired me. My rent is due in two weeks, and I have just enough cash for a few groceries. In other words, I'm fucked.

I shuffle to the bathroom and wash my face, not even bothering to look at myself in the mirror any longer than I have to. My tangled curls are in a high bun, and my poorly done blonde highlights are growing out and are as clear as day. I really shouldn't have let Naomi mess with my hair to practice for her cosmetology class, but when your roommate gets you extra packs of Ramen as a bribe, you kind of have no choice.

My wide-set, almond-shaped eyes look exhausted and bruised as I mutter at my reflection, "This is why nobody wants to date you. Ghosts have a better chance of getting a hit on Tinder than you do."

I still have a few lectures to attend today before I can go home and start my job search again. On my way back, I plan to drop off my résumé at a diner near my house and at a local bar.

I have headaches, so I take two ibuprofen from my bag and pop them into my mouth. My hand hesitates on the half-eaten banana, but I save it instead for lunch.

I sleep my way through Art History and fumble through ceramics. Fortunately, since I frequently participate in classes, the teachers don't bother me today. But then again, I look like death warmed over, so they're probably taking pity on me. It's when I'm hurrying out of class that I bump into a hard male chest.

"Oh shit, sorry!" I immediately crouch down to pick up the notepad that I had been in the process of stuffing in my bag.

"Megan?"

The familiar voice makes me go still, and I look up. Ricky Tomlinson, with his hipster good looks, was a guy I had a massive crush on a few months ago. The outcome of that crush was less than amusing.

"Ricky, what's the holdup?" Comes another familiar voice, and I wonder if today is the day when all of my bad karma is going to come to bite me in the ass.

I don't have time to move away because a fake-tanned hand slides across Ricky's chest from behind just then, and a curvy brunette (a Kim Kardashian wanna-be) snuggles into his side. Her eyes widen in mocking laughter. Yeah, karma is after my ass. It's Ashley.

"Oops, sorry, Megan, I didn't mean to interrupt. Were you about to suck Ricky's dick again to prove how much you adore him? I'm sure you don't need a private room for that. After all, it's not like everyone here hasn't seen you do it."

Her words make me flush in humiliation, but I force down my feelings, refusing to give in to the taunt. "Maybe you can give me some tips. I heard some guys bragging about it in the parking lot behind campus."

Ashley's face turns a bright red. "Excuse me?"

I put the notepad into my bag and zip it up, keeping my tone deliberately casual. "I'm sure nothing is wrong with your hearing. By the way," I fling the bag over my shoulder. "You need to ease up on your suction, according to one of those guys I overheard. You get a little needy. Nobody likes that."

When Ricky snickers, Ashley flushes. "What the fuck are you laughing at? She's obviously lying!"

I shrug. "Just wanted to be helpful. I believe in returning favors."

Since we're in a crowded hallway, she can't do anything to me, but knowing Ashley, I'll have to watch my back for the next few weeks. I quickly slip away, feeling only a glimmer of satisfaction at getting back at her because I know for a fact that the video she leaked out is still circulating amongst people.

My hands tighten over the strap of my bag, and I force myself to regulate my breathing. Having a panic attack in the middle of the University would just give room for more rumors. I don't need that.

I'm nearly at the gate when I see a shiny black car parked across the road from the main gate. It's not the car that bothers me, but rather the two men leaning against it, studying the students. A bad feeling crawls over me, and I immediately turn my back toward them.

I'm usually not that paranoid, but ever since the incident at The Blue Whiskey, I cannot help but feel that I won't be forgiven that easily. I decide to climb over the fence behind the college. I've nearly reached the corner when I hear a voice. "Miss Taylor?"

I freeze and then peek over my shoulder, my hand tightening on my bag. Both men are standing behind me. One is a stocky man with olive skin who's not much older than me if I had to guess, and the other is an older man with thin, pale skin and grey hair at the temples. They're both wearing casual suits, which is an odd look for campus, and they study me. "You are Miss Taylor, right?"

"I uh, no? No." I try to infuse some confidence in my voice.

"Then why did you stop when we called you Miss Taylor?"

I blink and slowly say, trying to think of a reasonable response, "Because I thought you said Miss Tayla."

The two men exchange a look between them before they look back at me and assert, "You're Megan Taylor."

I take a step back, saying cautiously, "I can see why you think that, but I'm not Megan. Megan Taylor is taller than me and really pretty. I'm Tayla. It's a family name."

It's the most ridiculous lie in the world, and I'm unsure if they're buying it. I just need to find a moment to run. If that asshole wanted me dead, he should've done it in the club three days ago. I've changed my mind now. I don't want to die anymore.

I see the younger one take out his phone to check something, and I'm about to make a run for it when the older guy grabs me without warning.

"This is her," the first one says, holding his phone next to my face. "It looks just like her."

"It does not!" I protest, trying to pull away.

"It's definitely her," the other man says dryly.

"If you try to kill me, I'll scream," I promise. "I've been told that I have a very shrill voice, and I'm also a biter. I'll bite your fingers off." I infuse a bit of fake confidence in my voice, which sounds more like a squeak. "Try me, bitches."

The two men wince. "God, you're mean."

The stocky one gives me a long look, basically rolling his eyes. "We're not here to kill you, so calm down."

I immediately go still. "How do I know you're not lying?"

He blinks, a little confused, and glances at his companion. "How do we prove that?"

"By letting me go?" I suggest, hopefully.

"Nice try, kid," the older man holding me snorts. "This isn't my first day on the job."

"We're here to find out why you haven't been showing up for work," the first one says, smiling at me. Okay, he looks less like one of The Sopranos when he smiles. Then, his statement registers with me, and I give him a stunned look.

"Say that again?"

"The boss sent us to make sure you were okay," he replies. "Let her go, Lars. I don't think she's going to run now."

I rub my arms from where Lars grabbed me, and I glare at him. "Why'd you have to be so rough, Lars?"

Lars just grunts.

Turning away from the rough old guy, I look towards his companion. "Steve sent you?"

"Steve?" The man looks baffled. "No, I just told you the boss sent us."

I lift my brows. "Does the boss have a name? Who is he? You are from the club, right?" I'm growing a little confused now and just a bit wary.

The two men exchange another look and then the first one says, "Yeah, Mr. Middleton sent us. He owns the club. He's the boss, and apparently, you haven't shown up to work for the last three days."

I look at the two of them. "The owner sent you to check up on a missing bartender?"

I'm pretty sure that I've never met this Mr. Middleton. Of course, I know of him. Who doesn't? He's the most eligible bachelor in town. At thirty-five, he's the CEO of Middleton Financial Group and owns a multitude of businesses in the city, including additional locations of the club Blue Whiskey, which are spread out all over the country.

But once again, I've just heard his name. I've never seen a picture of him. From what I know, he dislikes public appearances, social media, and the press. I heard that he once destroyed an entire tabloid because they tried to get a hold of his pictures and sell them. He has people who speak for him at conferences, but he rarely does.

I never really thought I would ever meet him, despite working in one of his establishments. I didn't even know he knew I existed. So it's a little odd that he sent two of his... I mean, I can only call them henchmen, even though the young one is a little cute now that I'm over my initial paranoia.

"I don't understand." I stare at the nicer one. "I thought I was out of a job."

He gives me a quick grin. "Is that why you've not been coming in? You should've at least come back for your salary, but you're not fired, Miss Taylor. In fact, you're supposed to show up for your shift tonight."

Lars just grunts.

I wonder if he has a maximum amount of words he can use daily and just exhausted them, talking to me.

"So, I still have a job?" I repeat, making sure I'm not imagining this whole thing.

"Yes."

"And he knows what happened there?"

"He does."

"And I'm not in trouble?"

The sort of cute one bursts into laughter. "Absolutely not."

Despite the events that have taken place in the club, it has been the only source of my livelihood. I know what it's like to have nothing and dig out of the trash to eat, so when my eyes fill up, it's Lars who now looks uncomfortable.

"Wait -"

"I'm not crying," I sniffle. "It's just these damn allergies."

I wipe my eyes, sniffle, and start walking away. "I'll come for my shift. I'll be on time. You tell Mr. Middleton he's the best!"

Who said rich men were assholes?

I know he's got a reputation in the club, but maybe that's just exaggerated.

As I exit the campus, leaving behind the two baffled henchmen, I think to myself that Mr. Middleton might not be as horrible of a boss as I had imagined him to be.

So maybe he's not a completely deranged psychopath.

I suppose only time will tell.