Page 566 of Lessons in Cruelty

“Professor!”

I pretend I don’t hear her.

Even when she appears at my side, I keep staring ahead. It takes a tug on my sleeve before I turn to her. But when our gazes lock, I give her all my attention, like the world ceased to exist. And when I see her flinch, reeling from the intensity of it, I know she’s mine.

“I can squeeze you in for an hour. Two at the most,” she says, trying to sound glib, but her voice is too unsteady to pull it off.

“Two hours won’t be enough for what I have planned. Then again, most students don’t have the stamina.”

Her eyes go wide.

“For longer study groups,” I add, smiling ruefully. “Mind out of the gutter, Parker.”

Chapter 74

Bastian

Rain hammers on the Tesla’s roof. It would have been soothing if the odd gust of wind didn’t buffet it against the windows in uneven bursts.

Maybe it’s just my frayed nerves.

Alfredo’s parking lot is half-empty, the restaurant’s Sunday brunch crowd thinning as three o’clock approaches. I check my watch again, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel.

Parker was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago. Along with four nonexistent students who’d expressed interest in the ‘study group’ that doesn’t actually exist.

I fabricated the entire thing just for Parker’s sake, and even then, she only confirmed late yesterday that she’d be joining the study group.

Looks like she changed her mind.

I’m about to start the car when a gleaming white Aston Martin pulls into the lot, the engine’s purr cutting off as it parks three spaces away. Melissa Parker steps out, designer sunglasses perched on her nose despite the rain. She’s wearing a tailored blazer in pale pink over a cream-colored dress, her sleek red hair falling in a perfect curtain down to her collarbones. The umbrella she whips out is gold, and probably from some designer too.

So different from Haven’s wavy hair and thrift store rags. Polished, where Haven is raw. Controlled, where Haven is such a delicious hot mess.

So not my fucking type.

I exit my car, standing near the hood in the pouring rain as Parker turns to lock her car and make sure she has all her things with her. As she turns to the restaurant, I walk to the passenger side and toss my satchel onto the seat, slamming the door with unnecessary force. The loud bang makes Parker turn, her hand flying to her chest in surprise.

“Professor Rooke!”

I walk around the front of the car, opening the driver’s side door as if I’m about to climb in, pretending not to notice her while watching from the corner of my eye.

“Professor Rooke!” She totters over to me in her heels, umbrella balanced above her head to keep off the rain.

I look up, shaking my head as I make a show of spotting her coming toward me.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she says as she stops a few feet away. “Traffic was⁠—”

“Save it,” I cut her off with obvious irritation, wiping rain off my face. “No one else even bothered to show up.”

Her heels click rapidly as she ventures even closer. That’s when she seems to realize I’m rapidly approaching drenched and steps even closer, trying to keep us both under her umbrella. “The others aren’t coming?”

“I’ve already wasted twenty minutes,” I mutter, staring down my nose at her. She’s taller than Haven, especially with her heels. “I refuse to waste more on students who apparently don’t give two shits about their education.”

“I texted that I’d be late,” she protests, pulling out her phone as if to prove it.

“How kind of you.” I glance toward the restaurant, then back at her, letting my disgust show. “This is exactly what’s wrong with your generation. No commitment. No follow-through.”

Parker shifts uncomfortably, her perfectly manicured fingers fidgeting with the umbrella’s handle. “We could still go in? Just the two of us?”