7. Brielle

Westfield College is far smaller than the other college I've been attending, yet somehow more intimidating.

Probably because I slept with two of my professors before I even started.

Yep, it would probably be best if I forget that ever happened. One more night, and it'll be like it never did anyway.

"Hey, you must be Brielle!" I whirl around to find a girl standing a few feet behind me with long, pin-straight blonde hair and a perfect smile with perfect teeth. She extends her hand, showing off her perfectly manicured nails. "I'm Sierra. The dean asked me to show you around. Niece?"

"Daughter," I correct her.

"I should have known," she laughs. "There's a resemblance there. Girls talk about your dad being hot all the time."

"Oh, that's…comforting."

"It's okay, they won't say it to your face." She grins. "He thinks I'll be a good influence on you."

"Will you be?" I cock an eyebrow at her. She doesn't strike me as being nearly as cookie-cutter as I am.

Or, as cookie-cutter as I used to be.

"Eh, maybe. Come on, I'll show you around."

As we weave our way through the campus, Sierra launches into an animated rundown of the social landscape that stretches out before us. "So, here's the lay of the land," she says, sweeping an arm across the view of the quad where clusters of students lounge. "You've got your cliques, your loners, your activists…and then there's the elite."

"Elite?"

"Yup." Sierra nods knowingly. "The crème de la crème, the untouchables. They're the ones with charm and power wrapped around their fingers." She tilts her chin toward a group. "That's the inner circle. You have the jocks, the geniuses, and then…the heartthrobs." Her tone drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "You're pretty cute, so I could totally see you being one of them."

"Trust me, I'm not interested," I tell her. "I'm beyond over guys."

"Going monk, huh?" Her lips quirk up at the corners, but her eyes are soft, understanding. "Can't blame you. Sometimes it's good to detox from the drama."

"Exactly," I say, glad she seems to get it.

Detox. The word lingers in the air. A cleansing, a purge of past entanglements and distractions. It's what I need—crave, even.

As we stride along the flagstone path, I notice him—Conrad York leans against a column with the easy confidence of a man who knows his own allure. His smirk is a silent siren song, reminding me of everything we've done together.

"Isn't he yummy?" Sierra asks, nodding toward him.

"You know him?" I ask.

"Who doesn't? Professor York has a reputation for sleeping with some of his best-looking students."

My jaw drops. She has to be kidding.

"Rumors or truth?" I ask, trying to stop myself from shaking.

"Both, probably. Guy's like catnip for anyone with a pulse." She chuckles. "You'd think being a silver fox would make him feel old, but god, him and rest of the sexy society are the best-looking men I've ever seen."

"Sexy society?" I repeat.

"Oh, right. You're new. Conrad York, Grayson Bass, and Levi Griffin. They're the three sexier-than-sin professors we have here. They look like they should be in some kind of movie, rather than teaching here of all places."

"That sounds cheesy." What would she do if she knew I'd slept with two members of the society?

"Oh, trust me. When you see them, you'll be dropping your panties."

I blush. I already have.

I change the subject. "I should probably head to my first class. I want to make sure I'm not late and leave a good impression."

"Let me look at your schedule." She peeks down at the piece of paper before a smile overtakes her face. "Oh, you get to meet my favorite sexy society professor. Trust me, you'll love him!"

* * *

Levi Griffin standsat the front, his presence commanding the space with an effortless authority that has nothing to do with his title. His eyes scan the room, pausing—a flicker too long—on me. Heat blossoms in my chest.

"Take your seats," he announces, his voice resonant, and my legs move of their own accord.

I slide into a chair near the back, opening my notebook as if the neat lines could keep the chaos of my thoughts in order. I focus on the whiteboard, on the stark black of the letters and numbers, letting them anchor me.

"Today we'll be discussing market strategies," Professor Griffin begins, and I nod along, jotting down notes with a diligence born of desperation. His gaze sweeps over the class, analytical, dispassionate—until his eyes meet mine again.

My hand trembles slightly, betraying me, as I force myself to write, to concentrate on anything but the way my name seems to hang unspoken in the space between us.

Brielle Rose. Just another student.

But his stare suggests otherwise, whispers of recognition that stir the air, laden with something forbidden. I press my pen harder against the paper, the nib scratching audibly.

Briefly, I think about the way his eyes looked over my body…

"Miss Rose, care to share your thoughts on the subject?" His question is a spotlight, sudden and blinding, and all eyes turn to me.

"Um, diversification can mitigate risks," I manage, my voice steady despite the quicksilver dance of my pulse.

"Be that as it may." His eyes narrow on me. "That's not what we were talking about."

Busted.

"Oh, I…"

"I don't care for excuses in my class, so if you're not going to take it seriously, I suggest you get out."

Everyone is staring at me, and my lips fall open. This has nothing to do with me paying attention. He just doesn't want me here. I don't say anything else, letting my eyes fall back to my notebook.

Thankfully, he doesn't pinpoint me for the remainder of class.

"Any questions?" His voice is a low rumble, a challenge wrapped in velvet. Nobody says anything. "Good," he says, but there's an edge to that one word, sharp enough to cut. "Then, you're all dismissed."

I stand up quick, gathering my things and making a beeline for the door, wanting to put as much distance between the two of us as possible.

"Miss Rose." He's behind his desk now, leaning back in his chair with a stillness that seems almost predatory. "Wait for me."

My mouth goes dry. "I…why?"

He doesn't answer, just tilts his head in a silent command. I nod, though every instinct screams at me to run. My fingers twist together, tangling in the hem of my skirt, seeking something to hold on to.

The door clicks shut with the last departing student, and suddenly it's too quiet, too intimate. I stand, my legs surprisingly steady as I make my way to the front of the class.

"Is there something I can help you with?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Drop the class, Brielle." Levi's words are a cold splash in my face.

"Drop it?" My voice trembles with incredulity, and I clutch my notebook to my chest as if it could shield me from his piercing gaze. "Why would I?—"

"Listen." His laugh is short, humorless. "I'm not going to be part of the train wreck when your father finds out you've been in bed with Conrad and Grayson…not to mention when the board fires them for sleeping with a student."

"I'm not going to tell anyone…"

"I don't believe you."

"It's over."

"Not what you said the other night."

"You don't understand."

"I understand exactly what's going on." Levi's gaze pins me, an anchor dragging my conscience to the depths. "You like this, don't you?" His voice is a low rumble, dark and dangerous, not the measured tone of the professor who lectured on market strategies for the past hour.

"Like what?" My breath is a traitor, catching in my throat as his proximity sends my pulse skittering.

"The attention. Being the good girl," he sneers, voice laced with disdain. "But I know the truth. You're not good, you love doing things in the shadows."

I'm startled, the accusation stinging like a slap. The air between us crackles with tension, thick enough to swallow my protests whole.

"Levi, I?—"

"Save it." He slices through my words, leaning in so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "I see through your little act. You're not fooling anyone."

"Act?" I reply, voice barely above a whisper.

"Playing the innocent. But we both know the kind of girl you really are—one who plays with fire, who craves the burn." His lips hover over mine, and for a split second, I think he may actually kiss me.

My heart hammers against my rib cage, loud in the silence that stretches between us. I can taste the possibility that hangs heavy in the air, intoxicating and sweet.

And then he pulls away abruptly, leaving a cold void where his warmth was seconds before. "Get the hell away from me, Brielle."

The command slices through the haze of desire, sobering. Distance. That's what he needs, what he's asking for—no, demanding. And despite the chaos rioting within me, I recognize the line being drawn. A boundary set by a man tormented by his own longing.

"Levi, I didn't mean to—" But my words falter, clattering to the floor, useless.

"Go." It's a growl, feral and laced with an agony that mirrors my own.

And so, with nothing left to say, I turn on my heel, each step away from him feeling like a mile. The door swings open with an echo of finality.

"Oh, and Brielle—" He stops me, making me turn to look at him.

"You will address me as Professor Griffin. Although, you know what, I guess it won't matter what you call me because this will be the last time I see your face in my class." His voice is final, and then he's looking at his computer, making it clear that I can leave.

The cool draft from the corridor wraps around me like a shroud as I stagger away from Levi's classroom, my heels clicking sharply against the tile?—

"Damn it," I mutter under my breath, pressing a hand to my forehead. The images flash in rapid succession—Levi's intense gaze, the proximity of his body, the hardness in his voice when he expelled me from his world.

I slip into the sanctuary of an empty study room, the door snapping shut with a decisive click. The quiet is jarring, but inside the silence, my thoughts race louder than ever. Levi's advice—or rather, his warning—replays on a cruel loop.

Drop the class. Stay away.

He's right. There's too much at stake, too much to lose. And yet…