Chapter 30

I follow him. Like a deranged stalker.

Stop being so dramatic, Millie. You're just trailing after your professor to his office so you can ask him a question.

Yeah, right.

Class ended five minutes ago. Our teams formulated detailed whistleblower policies and outlined protocols for dealing with complaints. It was surprisingly complex once we delved into laws of various jurisdictions, workplace psychology, and victim mentality.

I can see why Ryland assigned this project to the class. It sheds light on the various factors going into policymaking, and the experience has made me even more excited about the future when I can hopefully make a difference in the world.

Ryland is walking swiftly toward the faculty building, his long legs eating up the distance in no time, and I huff after him, trying to catch up. He's talking on the phone with what no doubt is a scowl on his face, judging by the forceful gestures he's making with his free hand. He has this raw magnetism of a man who knows what he's doing and where he's going, and everyone around him gives him a wide berth.

I'm going to talk to him again. About us. I've come up with at least five reasons he should give us a chance, to give himself a chance, because he's obviously suffering as much as I am. And now, with the Professor Archer and Tammy case, it's almost kismet. It's like the universe is telling me what not to do when going after my professor.

One: We can keep it on the down low.

Two: Life is too short not to pursue this chemistry between us.

Three: I'm a big girl and can handle if this doesn't work out.

Then, there are the logistics. We don't want any email trail. Last names only in public. No more sexy times on school property. Or maybe we can wait a few months until I graduate. I'm open to suggestions.

There are a few more reasons and considerations in my arsenal, and I plan to use every one of them to argue my case, since he seems to enjoy healthy debates in class.

After talking to the girls last week, I realize I can't let this go without a fight. I've never felt this way about anyone before, this all-consuming need to know him, to peel back his many hardened layers to get to the softness deep inside, to know the stories behind every scar on his soul, to find out why his striking eyes seem to hold sadness and regret when from the outside, he seems to have everything at his fingertips.

I want his heated gazes, his quiet but meaningful words, his hands and fingers on my body.

I want to live in his storm.

And if this makes me silly, a na?ve young woman chasing after her worldly, older professor, then so be it. I'll use my youth and naivety as a weapon, shattering the thick walls of his jaded heart.

My phone pings. A message from Taylor.

Taylor

You're coming to Grace's celebration at The Orchid this Saturday, right? I know you haven't been inside there yet, and it'll be my first time as well. They're making me dress up. Can you believe it? Me…in some frilly dress?

Snorting, I use the dictation function and reply, all the while keeping an eye on my target, "Of course I'll be there. It's not every day one of your best friends opens her own finance consulting firm. It's such a big deal, and frankly, I'm low-key excited about seeing what The Orchid is all about. I know we won't get to explore the various floors, but I hear the rooftop bar is spectacular. I'll see you there."

Ryland makes a sharp turn into the glass corridor leading to his office. His head is now dipped toward his phone, his fingers pressing a few buttons before he lifts the phone back to his ears. He unlocks his door and strides inside, dropping off his briefcase on a chair before walking to the large windows and staring out into the courtyard.

My steps slow, and I take a calming breath. And another. But nothing seems to slow my heart, which is thumping like a certain cartoon roadrunner running away from a coyote all the while screeching "beep beep."

I can do this. Life is too short for regrets. I should know that out of everyone.

Heaving out one big exhale, I walk to his opened door.

"Anytime is fine, but nighttime is preferred." His voice is deep, smooth like chocolate. Of course, he's commanding someone on the phone, my big brute.

I hear faint sounds of the other person responding, but since his phone isn't on speaker, it's impossible to make out the words.

"Monday night at seven works. Yes, Noire at The Orchid."

My brows furrow. Noire. That sounds familiar.

"The entire club. No other patrons. I want brunette, long hair, blue eyes, five-foot-four give or take, and…" he pauses for a brief second, as if wavering and pinches the bridge of his nose, "younger, early twenties, can pass as a college student."

What? Is he describing me to someone on the phone? And why does Noire ring a bell?

I take out my phone and text Grace, who knows a lot more about The Orchid than I do, since she worked as a dancer for a brief stint at their burlesque club, Trésor, before she got together with Steven.

Millie

Do you know a place called Noire?

Three dots appear immediately, then disappear and reappear once more.

Grace

Yeah. It's a club within The Orchid. Why do you ask?

Millie

I was going to talk to Ryland like we discussed, but he's on the phone right now and I heard him mention Noire and then described me to whoever he's calling. What's this place?

A few seconds pass by, the three dots taunting me. I tap my foot on the marble floors as her response comes through.

Grace

Um. I'm just going to tell you straight up. Noire is one of the specialty sex clubs on one of the Rose floors in The Orchid. It's a large indoor space decorated to resemble the outdoors. There's a fake forest, abandoned buildings, and other structures in there.

My stomach plummets and I grip my phone tightly while re-reading her words.

"There are rumors he's a beast in bed and gets off from chasing willing women in their sex clubs. I totally wouldn't mind him hunting me down." My classmate's words on the first day I met Ryland at ULA ring in my mind.

Sex clubs. Chasing. Hunting.

He's arranging for sex with some random woman who resembles me?

My heart stops, the coyote on the verge of finally nabbing the roadrunner, and a scorching heat floods my body. My hands shake, my eyes burn, and the telltale moisture gathering there tells me I'm seconds away from losing it. My mind is filled with images of him pinning another woman down, giving her his lips, his caresses, his bites, and a sharp agony slices through me as I try and fail to control the pain forming in my chest.

How dare he? How could he not give us a chance and instead decide to be with someone else?

How could he?

Swiftly, I turn away and stalk back in the direction I came from. The agony radiating from behind my rib cage squeezes my lungs and wetness blurs my vision. My phone pings.

Grace

Millie, you okay? Ok, that was stupid. We're going out tonight and will talk about this. I'll text the other girls. We have your back.

Hot tears slip down my face and I'm even angrier now—at him, at myself for crying over him—and I swipe my eyes with my sleeve and hastily type out a reply.

Millie

Okay.

My emotions are a tornado inside me, with sadness and anger being the front-runners. I want to find a dark hole and crawl into it and bawl my eyes out. Or gorge myself on a pint of chocolate ice cream and chase it with an abundance of alcohol. Fresh tears well in my eyes and I rapidly blink, trying to keep my composure since I'm in public.

Grace

We'll figure this out, Millie. Don't jump to conclusions. I know some people and will make calls to find out more.

My eyes are so focused on the text, I don't see where I'm going and trip over something. My body pits forward and just as I'm about to make my humiliation complete by sprawling across the floor in the bustling building, strong arms shoot out from nowhere to steady me.

"Whoa. Millie. You okay?"

I look up, finding Fred's concerned gaze on me, his brows furrowing.

Swallowing the ball in my throat, I stare at him, noticing his kind eyes, soft blond hair which seems to gleam gold under the florescent lights, and a kind smile. Tall, fit body. Not as muscular and imposing at Ryland, but still pleasing. He's gentle. A nice guy. Why can't I like someone like him? He won't hurt me like Ryland has. He wouldn't harm a fly.

Why can't I like him instead?

"Millie?" he asks, placing his hand gently on my shoulder. "I'm on my way to visit my TA, but are you okay? You seem sad. Is there anything I can help with?"

His voice is so kind, so comforting, but my heart still yearns for the deep cutting tone of a certain dark-haired someone.

The bastard.

I push my sadness to the back of my mind. Compartmentalize, that's what I'm good at. I excel at hiding my emotions and faking it. After all, I've had years of experience doing the same in front of Dad and Adrian.

Straightening up, I focus on the anger, the fury, the scorched earth in my insides. I curl my hands into tight fists and force out a smile. An idea pops into my mind.

Fred's eyes widen at whatever he sees on my face and I ask, "Fred, are you free on Saturday?"

"Uh…of course. What do you have in mind?" Hope sparks in his eyes. He looks bewildered, but he's smart enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I'm thinking we can work on our training materials for class," I reply.

He physically deflates. "Oh, of course. Yeah. Classwork, got to find time to do it."

"And then I have an event to go to afterward at The Orchid and maybe you can come with me?" The bastard will be there for his sister and damn if I'll go there by myself and ache over him.

Fred perks up, a bright smile flashing over his boyishly handsome face. "Yes! Of course. I'll go with you, no problem. Just send me the details."

Ryland-fucking-Anderson, I'll make you regret this.