A vivid, crimson haze is settling over everything in front of me, a shade of red that matches the color of both Oliver and Elijah’s face as they stare hard at the phone speaker as it relays this horrible fucking story.
“You don’t say.” Elijah lets the words out in a way that could be described as calm, but could also be described as the scariest fucking thing you’ve ever heard in your life. If it’s supposed to be scary but it’s perfectly calm instead, it means you should get ready to shit your pants because it’s about to go down. Hard.
And Elijah’s tone is perfect for this moment, because I’m ready to be the scariest fucking thing some college dean motherfucker’s ever met in his fucking life myself.
“How…how dare he!” Oliver’s voice is also becoming fearsome, but in a more upfront way.
“Yeah, that’s what I said,” responds Chloe.
I’ve got questions, and as anxious as I am to test out my angry voice, I know it’ll come out as snarls and growls that hardly resemble human language. I let them do the talking.
I clench my fists at my sides and dig my fingers firmly into my palms while Elijah takes over the conversation with a tone that’s only slightly less unnerving than before.
“I’m glad you called us, Chloe,” he says.
“I think I’m glad I did too, it’s just, you know, the BFF code.”
“I understand it wasn’t an easy decision, but we’re grateful you made it.” Oh, shit, that’s me, and I’m sounding much more rational than I feel. “Did Sofie have any idea as to why this all went down? I mean, the auction was a while back.”
Okay, I got out my question, and the red is fading somewhat. Taking action on this bullshit is still as fucking pressing as anything.
“The last I talked to her,” Chloe half-mumbles, getting much quieter suddenly, “she mentioned something about her ex-boyfriend, Greg, hanging around when it happened. I don’t know what to think of that, though.”
I look at Oliver, and I look at Elijah, and they glance at each other, and we’re all on the same page: there’s almost certainly more to that than Chloe’s thinking.
The whole conversation with Chloe has been motivating enough, but that last tidbit sealed the deal:
Fuck anything we had planned at work, fuck our day at the races, we now have a mission to go see Sofie and take care of this shit.
BioKin is just going to have to fucking wait, we’ve got much bigger priorities now.
Elijah
For the first time, I’m worried about arriving in our flash limo.
“Should we have used something other than the limo?”
Lucas and Oliver look at me blankly.
“What’d you suggest, the helicopter?” Oliver laughs. “Don’t fret. We’ll get there in no time. You can play knight in shining armor. We all can.”
I sigh. Sometimes we’re all on a different wavelength. “Chloe said Sofie doesn’t know we’re coming; she had to break the sacred code. I mean, maybe we should have used something less obvious.”
Lucas drops his mobile back into his pocket.
“It’s not like she’ll be waiting at the window, staring out to see who’s coming.”
I sigh again. Probably true, but I feel awfully conspicuous.
I understand what it means, the holy BFF code. Breaking it is not an option; that’s why you’re a BFF.
But I’m fucking pleased Chloe did.
Every time I think back to what Chloe told us, rage builds in me, like lava about to erupt out of a grumbling volcano.
I swear if that fucking dickhead Greg was to show his face near me right now, he’d be fucking sorry.
For not having a face when I’m done with him.
When we stop outside Sofie’s house, I jump out first.
I can’t wait to see her and reassure her. And I’m not just talking about a reassuring fuck. No. I really want to reassure her on a deeper level. She needs to know that any problem, no matter what it, is can be discussed with me, with all of us.
Lucas and Oliver are hot on my trail as I bounce up to the front door.
Before my fingers find the bell, the door opens.
I’m half expecting Sofie to greet me, but of course it’s Chloe.
Eyes widen at my sight, and her jaw opens a little as she looks me up and down before taking in Lucas and Oliver.
I don’t want to fucking brag, but this girl’s clearly got to come to grips first with seeing us.
It’s probably not every fucking day she’s confronted with three fucking handsome billionaires.
“Thank goodness you’re here.” She sounds a little breathless. It could be because she run to the door, but I doubt it. We are fucking hot; let’s not beat around the bush. I’m not blowing my own trumpet; I’m just speaking from experience.
“Where’s Sofie? Is she all right? She’s lucky to have a friend like you.” I greet the BFF and take her hands between mine to shake them. Mixed emotions seem to cross Chloe’s face.
She’s biting her bottom lip, her eyes going from me to Lucas and Oliver. “Yeah, well I hope she’ll see it your way when she finds out. She was adamant that she didn’t want you to know. She wanted to sort it on her own.” Chloe invites us to come in. “She’s fiercely independent that way.”
“Independence can be highly overrated,” Oliver is following me inside.
“Hey, Chloe,” Lucas greets her, too, and now all three of us stand in the small hallway of their house.
“Where is she?”
My eyes search the small living room I can see from just inside the door, but Sofie doesn’t seem to be there.
I’m impatient to see her and put her out of her fucking misery. I just can’t believe what’s happened. None of us can.
Ever since Chloe’s phone call, we’ve been unable to really digest what her fucking ex-boyfriend has done to our Sofie.
Our Sofie. I like the sound of those words.
More and more, I’m thinking of her in terms of ‘ours’.
How fucking awesome will it be when we move in together? Why exactly I’m thinking of fucking moving in together right now is beyond me. Of course we’ve got to fix the current problem first before we talk future.
Our future.
“She’s through there,” whispers Chloe before disappearing.
And sure enough we find Sofie in the kitchen.
I see her bent over the bench studying and eating ice cream out of the container. Her expression is lacking the usual spark, replaced by misery and sorrow.
Her eyes look dull and sad.
Yes. Sad. Very fucking sad is how they look.
My insides feel as if a giant is trampling all over them before being ripped out to be thrown in front of a speeding overweight truck.
Good analogy, isn’t it? I know. I’m fucking brilliant with words. I can give any of those experts a fucking run for their money.
I clear my throat, and Sofie looks up. She doesn’t smile or greet us with enthusiasm, the way we’ve come to expect her to greet us.
“Sofie,” I decide it’s best not to beat around the bush but come straight to the fucking point. “Why didn’t you tell us that fucking prick of an ex-boyfriend of yours is giving you a fucking hard time?”
Her eyes widen and, instinctively, they look toward the door, as if she’s trying to make eye contact with Chloe through the walls.
“I…” she starts, but already, a lone tear rolls down her cheek. “You shouldn’t… know…I…my feet,” random words tumble out of her. They don’t make any sense.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My thoughts turn murderous toward that fuck Greg.
“Sofie,” Oliver takes a step toward her.
But Sofie retreats, putting distance between her and us.
“Come on, Sofie,” Lucas tries, but the result is more tears.
I can’t fucking stand it any longer, and with three strides, I shorten the distance between us.
Without saying anything, I wrap my arms around
her.
Her resistance wanes. I motion Lucas and Oliver to come, and they need no further signal. And there we are, all three of us, arms wrapped around Sofie who’s now sobbing uncontrollably.
For a while, we stay like that. Time stops, and we comfort Sofie the best way we can right now.
Eventually, she pulls away and wipes her face with a tea towel.
“Why didn’t you call us?” I ask again.
Sofie’s still wiping her face. “I don’t want you to think I’m weak and helpless. I’m not one of those women who needs a bloke to rescue her the minute there’s any kind of trouble.” She starts to explain, but tears spill again. “I can sort it out, I don’t know how but…I’m independent…”
Lucas chuckles and wraps his arm around her shoulder. I watch her rest her head against him.
“Sofie. Sofie. Sofie.” is all he says and gives her a little kiss on the forehead.
“Have you ever heard of the term ‘teamwork’?” It’s Oliver’s turn to address Sofie.
I watch her eyes become those huge puppy eyes that has me wrapped around her little finger. When she makes those eyes, my heart melts faster than chocolate over a hot stove.
“What?” She’s clearly puzzled by Oliver’s approach.
“You know,” I add, “teamwork. It’s several people working on the same project for the common good.”
“I know what teamwork means,” Sofie’s sounding a little exasperated. “I don’t understand what it has to do with me.”
Lucas points to Oliver and then to myself. “We’ve achieved heaps in our lives because of teamwork. We have each other’s backs, we discuss problems, how to solve them, and what approach is best for different situations that arise.”
Sofie is frowning.
I just want to kiss those eyebrows and delicious lips and rid her of her worry.
“I still—” she starts but I interrupt her.
“What Lucas is saying is that you should have told us what the problem is. All of us then could have helped you sort it out. Including you.”
“And we can still sort it out together,” adds Oliver.
“But it makes me look weak and silly and…,” she leaves the words hanging.
“What a load of rubbish,” Lucas protests.
“Didn’t you just listen to a word we said?” Oliver’s on her other side, and I’m standing in front of her. “Together, as a team, we can help you work out a solution to this problem.”
“I suggest we hire a fucking hit man and get rid of this fucking parasite,” I grumble, and Lucas and Oliver shoot me the ‘You better be kidding’ look.
I shrug.
“What? It’d be the best fucking solution for all of us. He wouldn’t be a problem for Sofie anymore either.” I don’t add that I know a Polish bloke who would do it for about two grand.
Sofie’s actually chuckling, and that warms my heart.
“I think we can solve the problem with less violent means,” says Lucas, and Oliver nods.
“Spoilsport,” I growl and pout in pretend disappointment. Of course I wouldn’t really want to see the fuck get shot, but the suggestion cheered Sofie up, and therefore it was fucking worth it.
“You don’t think I’m weak and helpless?” Sofie’s looking at the floor and not making eye contact with any of us.
I think we’re so used to working as a team we can’t imagine what it feels like for Sofie.
“You are anything but helpless.” Oliver says, and Lucas and I nod.
“You are one of the most independent woman I know. And us helping you has nothing to do with being helpless,” agrees Lucas.
“Or weak.” I add, to make sure I get the last word.
Sofie glances up and smiles a tiny smile.
Oliver
“Just drop us off here,” Elijah tells the driver as we near the main entrance to the university on 116th Street. “We’ll make a better entrance on foot.”
The whole thing has a kind of badass, kind of action movie feel—but this is an educator, well, an administrator to be exact and not some guy you attack with blazing guns. We’re feeling action movie fury for sure, but since this isn’t a real movie, we settled for a scheduled meeting and a brief conversation instead of CGI fireworks.
It’s a little overcast when we step onto the pavement with our Italian leather dress shoes.
“It feels enough like a fucking movie to me,” I say looking up at the sky.
“You and your non-sequiturs.” Lucas punctuates his comment by putting on his aviator shades.
It’s just bright enough to get away with those, but he’s lucky they work so well for him.
Elijah is holding a leather satchel full of printed-out documents tightly against his side. He flashes the briefest, most subtle smile I’ve noticed on anyone while we walk through the front campus gate.
“You enjoy carrying some proof, don’t you?” Lucas asks him.
“It’s just in case his recall is a bit hazy.” Elijah allows himself the second briefest smile I’ve seen after that.
We’re not the ordinary trio of guys you see walking through a university campus every day, not matter how Ivy League it is.
I know Lucas has been here recently, but he’s good at being unassuming—plus he went solo that time.
Unlike now, with all of us, walking in a well-tailored row and taking up the entire path. With our long overcoats swaying in the breeze, our oxford shoes swinging in the air with purpose as we step, our path is clear for us without question.
This stays true until we get close to the building where the Dean’s office is located.
It starts to get crowded. There are odd thickets of college students, rumpled working faculty, and what looks to be Upper West Side residents all gathered in denser and denser crowds the closer we get to the building.
People are still clearing a path, and I’m hitting my stride, as Lucas would say.
However, if I spot that Greg fucker skulking around, I will have to put my stride on hold so he and I can have a little academic discussion.
It is best that, for the sake of expediency, I don’t see Greg or any other familiar faces during our last few steps into the building.
“Gentlemen!”
A young woman is standing just inside the doorway of the old, venerable administrative building. She looks like she’s maybe in her mid-20s and she’s dressed in a brand-new, somewhat generic looking business suit.
I can deduce that she’s hot in pursuit of a position at the university.
I wonder how long she’s been standing here waiting for us—I also wonder if the Dean arranged for her to be right there when we entered.
“That’s quite alright, Rhonda,” a well-worn voice booms from the stairwell, “I will see the three gentlemen from BioKin upstairs myself, thank you.”
Huh, what a fucking prick. He arranged that whole show without a doubt.
“Dean Hughes, it’s interesting to see you in your office.” It’s a rare moment when I’m the first one to speak up.
I feel the quick glances from Elijah and Lucas. They realize we’re starting now.
“Yes, I needed to come greet you all myself. It’s not every day we entertain such prestigious figures—even if you’re not the type of prestigious figures most people here would recognize.”
We’re starting alright, and the Dean’s just pushed down hard on the accelerator.
“Oh, please. It’s an honor for us to visit an institution like this, regardless of who’s here to see us.”
Elijah’s playing along, being nice and subtle with his attacks—for now. I know he will never back down to insults like that.
“Why don’t you follow me upstairs? I would love nothing more than to have the cream of BioKin grace my office.”
Lucas pretends to cough to cover a laugh.
“Lead the way, Dean,” he offers.
We follow Dean Hughes up the marble stairwell.
He talks to us while facing forward, and we hear li
ttle more than echoes as he babbles on.
Leading us down the musty hallway to his office, the Dean’s words become easier to understand.
“So, that’s my story of being self-made,” he concludes while we shuffle through the weird area just outside his office.
The Dean proudly takes his spot behind his surprisingly cheap little desk while I’m just walking through the door.
I proudly take my own spot, standing in the middle of the office, staying as still as a gargoyle as Lucas and Elijah stride in and stand on either side of me.
“Oh, come on, gentlemen, we don’t need to go on tradition, here. Sit where you’d like and make yourselves comfortable,” the Dean says with a flourish of his hand.
“I’m plenty comfortable where I am,” Elijah responds in his terrifically ominous way. “How about you guys?”
“Quite comfortable,” Lucas adds, matching Elijah’s tone impressively well.
I don’t say shit, I just watch the Dean as the jovial expression slowly drops from his face.
“Suit yourselves.” The Dean slaps the top of his desk, trying to shake the pinch of nervousness he’s getting. “I cleared one of the busiest afternoons this week for your visit, but I’m assuming this’ll be worth it.”
Elijah and I turn to each other, stone-faced.
Enough bullshit, it’s time.
“Do you really think we’re here to give you money?” Elijah’s injecting the perfect degree of menace with every word he says.
The last trace of any false cheer instantly evaporates from the Dean’s face.
“Why are you here, then?”
It makes sense: that’s what our relationship’s been so far.
Yet, he couldn’t be more oblivious.
Actually, I stand corrected: I can see the realization dawning on his face.
“Just now he’s starting to understand. Un-fucking-believable.” Lucas is thinking the same thing, apparently.
“You can’t mean, oh, this can’t be serious. Gentlemen, these are different worlds we’re talking about.”
“You really failed to make the connection.” I can’t keep it to myself any longer. “Tell me, have you forgotten all about one of your best students, or did you not think it was even worth bringing up?”
“I’m not a hypocrite!” The Dean bolts up from his chair and bangs his palm on the desk for good measure.
The King's Virgin Bride Page 53
