Chapter 23

Dear Mom,

He's back, bringing with him his swirling tempest once more. Our connection is so much more visceral than last time. Except now, I know better. I know how fast those winds can turn. But I'm stronger. A fighter. I won't surrender to his dark moods without a battle. I'll tame the storm. Because I see him, the man behind the thousand-dollar suits and icy cold mask, and I know he needs me. He needs an outlet for his dark emotions and someone he can be completely honest with. I can be that person for him. This time, it's my turn to give him my warmth, to shelter him from the storm.

Love, Millie

I BLOW OUT MY brEATH in frustration as I stare at the text on my phone.

Adrian

I know you want to keep our relationship on the down low, but now that I'm back in the public eye, the press has been relentless about digging into my past. They know you're my sister. FYI, there are a few articles up online about you, but don't worry, I'll take care of them.

My pulse ratches up. I wonder if others will view me differently now. Shaking my head, I take deep, calming breaths. No, Millie. Everything will be fine. You were worried about the girls treating you differently before too and that didn't happen. Don't catastrophize.

"So, uh, Millie," Fred whispers, his face flushed and splotchy, his eyes darting around the classroom. We're huddled together in the same group, working on drafting our whistleblower policy.

"Corruption hides in plain sight,"Ryland said two weeks ago when we started the first phase of our case study. If the recent news headlines of whistleblower allegations frequently gone awry are any sign, these corporate policies—in companies or in schools—leave a lot to be desired.

"Hm?" I cock my brow at him. "Everything okay? You seem nervous."

Fred forces out a chuckle and rakes his fingers over his messy blond hair, rendering into something resembling a nest. "Well…yeah. I actually am."

He leans toward me. "You see, um, I…uh, think you're really cool, Millie. Pretty. Fun to hang out with. Smart."

Oh no. I bite my lip and sweep my gaze around the classroom for Chloe. Dammit. She was right. Where is she when I need her?

"Fred," I begin, trying my best to hold in the grimace threatening to unleash on my face, "I—"

He straightens up and takes my hand in his and squeezes. "Look, I know you're way out of my league, but don't turn me down yet, okay? Just consider it? I like you, Millie. I really, really do. Think about it?" Fred stares at me with those adorable puppy dog eyes of his and I inwardly sigh.

I don't need to consider anything when my mind is filled to the brim with a dark-haired man much older than me, all sharp edges and blistering intensity. Biting my lip, I look at Fred. How can I let him down without hurting his feelings?

"Fred, I like you too." Fred's face brightens. Shit. Wrong opener. Why am I so awkward with guys? "I mean I—"

"What's going on here? This is a fucking classroom, not speed dating." Ryland's voice jolts us in our seat. My heart rate skyrockets, and I slap a hand to my chest.

Fred stammers, "I-I'm sorry, Professor Anderson. It's not Millie's fault. I a-asked her a question a-and—"

"I don't fucking care, and I'm not talking to you!" Ryland growls, his lips curling up into a snarl.

Those thundercloud eyes dart to where Fred's hand still is clutching mine and I quickly wrench my hand away and tuck it on my lap. I frown. I did nothing wrong. Why am I hiding? Cocking my brow, I bring my hand back on top of the desk, trying my best not to fidget.

A vein pulses on his temple and his murderous eyes ensnare mine once more. "Have you completed your policy yet, Ms. Callahan? I thought you were serious about the honors program. That you had grand plans to become an educator for the disadvantaged youth all over the world. To honor your mother? Or was that fucking BS you served to me and the admissions committee so you could get into the program?"

Raging fire chars my insides and burns through my veins. My hands fist on the table. This is way out of line. Slowly I get up, not cowering, not bowing down to the storm. The papers on my desk flutter to the ground.

"You. Are. Out. Of. Line. Professor," I hiss under my breath.

Fred pulls my arm frantically before rising to his feet next to me. "Look, this is all my fault. A m-misunderstanding—"

"Shut the fuck up," Ryland commands, his eyes never leaving mine.

His chest heaves up and down and sweat beads on his forehead. There's a madness in his eyes, one I didn't see in ULA. It's like he's a pressure cooker that has been mis-calibrated and is about to burst at any second.

I hear whispering from the other students in the room. We've drawn attention. This isn't the time or the place.

I'm a fighter, and I'll tame the fucking storm.

Forcing out a wide smile, I sit back down in my chair and tug Fred down as well. My fingers poise on my keyboard.

I keep my voice calm even as my pulse gallops, and rage threatens to boil over.

"Apologies, Professor. We're almost done with our draft policy outline and will send it your way upon completion. Until then, Fred and I will need more time to discuss and make sure we deliver our best work to you. After all, we are serious students who fought very hard to get into the program."

My lips are frozen in a frigid, teeth-baring smile, and I even throw in a few fluttering of my lashes, just to royally piss him off.

"Anything else, Professor?" My voice is sickly sweet, like those artificial hot chocolates I hate with a passion.

Ryland glares at me, his nostrils flaring. His tall frame is vibrating with coiled energy. I see his hands slowly clench and unclench, like he's trying to stop himself from reaching for me, from unleashing himself on me.

My skin feels hot, and the swirling heat is spreading throughout my body. Goosebumps form on my arms, and suddenly, everything feels sensitive.

Taut. Achy.

My nipples bead against my tank top and I see his eyes darken as his gaze slips to what, no doubt, is an indecent display of want on my chest. But I don't cower. I don't flinch. In fact, I thrust out my chest a little bit more just to taunt him. A sharp current of lust flows between my legs and my lips part in an exhale.

His gaze returns to my face, the slate-colored irises darkening to charcoal. His nostrils flare, his breathing sounding labored.

"Anything else, Professor?" I repeat, but this time, my voice is a breathy whisper.

"Whoa, whoa, what's going on here?" Chloe plops in her seat next to me before flashing a light-hearted grin. But I don't let that face fool me. Her eyes are full of questions. She turns to Ryland. "Hey, Professor. We're almost done. We got this." She tosses out a wink.

Ryland tears his gaze away before he pinches the bridge of his nose. His mask of indifference slips back on, and he turns to me again. "I don't want to have this conversation again. Take this class seriously, Ms. Callahan."

Slowly, he crouches down, picks up the scattered sheets of paper from the floor, and gently sets them on my desk.

I'm suddenly reminded of the way he fixed my daffodils that day in ULA.

With a heated glance at me, he walks away, no doubt to terrorize someone else.

"What an ass," Fred mutters.

Chloe nudges me and cocks her brow as if to say, you need to tell me what the hell that was.

I shrug, noting Ryland is back at his desk, his attention still searing on my skin. If he thinks he can treat me this way, well, he's in for a big surprise.