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“One hundred percent.”
“Agreed,” Phillip adds.
We walk into the president’s office with a false calm that I desperately hope reads as real.
Apparently, it works because he seems taken aback by our lack of anxiety—well, visible anxiety, anyway. Internally, my stomach would put a butter churn to shame.
“Have a seat, Gentlemen.”
His tone is frosty enough to drop the temperature in the office by ten degrees.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of this summons?” asks Phillip.
If the situation weren’t so serious, I would have hoisted him on my shoulders and paraded him through the halls. Since it is, I just silently thank every god I can think of that this man had been forced into debutante training as a teenager.
I can’t imagine the Southern ladies having a confrontation with your boss in mind when designing that curriculum, but I’m grateful, nonetheless. Wesley and I wouldn’t have been able to reach anywhere near that level of polish if we’d responded.
“Do you care to explain this?” he asks, laying a series of photos face up on his desk.
Every single photo shows one or all of us with Avery. The locations are all different—none of them at the Academy, thank goodness—but the uniting factor is that each photo depicts something far more intimate than friendship.
Damn that rat bastard. Kyle just had to fire a parting shot so he could feel superior.
What on earth had Avery ever seen in him?
Wesley has a white-knuckle grip on the arms of his chair and I’m biting my tongue to keep the vitriol from spewing out of my mouth.
Phillip clears his throat. “It looks to me like these photos are depicting four consenting adults engaging in a private relationship well outside the confines of the Academy.
“It appears that these photos were taken by a third party—likely a private investigator, given that these appear to have been taken with a long lens. If it were just an amateur or a secretary or intern sent out by some other organization, they would have been caught spying on these adults. So would you care to explain how you got these photos? Were you given these photos by someone who has been relentlessly stalking one of your students? Did you have an investigator following your instructors for another reason? Or were academy personnel misused in what I can only assume is an attempt at character assassination?”
I can see him biting back a smirk as the president turns a sickening shade of mauve. If I’m not mistaken, his eye might also be twitching.
“That is not the nature of this meeting,” he snaps.
“It should be. I, for one, would like to know if one of my employers has been following me around,” I say.
“Don’t forget, Jamie, they could also be benefitting from the stalker on campus whom they did absolutely nothing to stop. Now, I’m not saying it’s collusion or punishing the stalking victim for coming forward and reporting it, but I could see how it could look that way to some people. Either way, it would be one hell of a story for my friend in the press.” Phillip smiles coldly. “You remember Jeanette Myers, don’t you?”
“I might. Is that the same Jeanette who’s the news anchor?”
“No, that's Juanita. Jeanette is the gossip columnist in the Society Bugle. Both are pretty big in the elite circles around here, and their names both start with a J. I can absolutely see how you’d get them confused.”
The president slams his hand on the table. “Enough!”
Apparently, our attempts at trying to put him off his game were highly effective.
Good. I can’t stand the whole “I’m not going to tell you what’s going on until you get here” tactic. It’s nothing more than an artless power trip.
“It seems we’ve ruffled your feathers, President Newbury. Do you need a moment alone?”
This time, Phillip doesn’t even bother to keep the smile off his face.
“No, I need you to tell me if you’re dating this girl,” he demands.
“Is there a reason you’re asking for this private information, Mr. President?”
“It’s against the rules.”
