A Reputation Dark & Deadly (A Dark & Deadly Series Book 2)

by Heather C. Myers

  Her orgasm came without warning, and she let out a long moan as she rode the waves, twitching and combusting against her fingers. She couldn't remember the last time she got herself off, but after that, Peyton knew she needed to schedule more time to herself. And with Logan so wrapped up in her graduate schooling, at least she would never be confused as to what to fantasize about.

  Chapter 4

  Peyton wasn't used to having her own office. As a TA, she expected to share this with at least two other people. Since everyone eligible refused to TA for Logan, she was left with the office all to herself. It was down the hall from Logan's on the third floor in the Criminology A building. Despite being new and shiny on the outside, there were still things that needed to be fixed up in the Criminology A building, such as the slowness of the elevator and the white tile that resembled a hospital. Due to her lack of patience, Peyton preferred to take the stairs, but the staircase was narrow and she was out of shape so, by the time she reached her new office - bundled in the corner of the hallway - she all but collapsed in an uncomfortable black computer chair. She hoped she wouldn't get any students coming to her; she had to figure out a thesis she wanted to explore and she needed the quiet to help her think.

  She pulled out her four-year-old laptop and booted it up before grabbing a pen and a notebook. The laptop wasn't for notes but for research; she liked to take notes by hand. It helped her think better and created something she liked to call a flow. Once she got into a flow, words pooled out of her like a melting ice cube. She was inspired and couldn't stop writing. It was just a matter of consistently getting in that flow that tended to make life difficult.

  Her eyes glanced up at the ticking wall clock. 5:06pm. Still no students. Good. She hoped it would last.

  Twenty-three minutes later, she heard the telltale squeak of shoes on the tile coming towards her office. She pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing through her nostrils. She had narrowed down her topic to three - there was the prevalent race and the law or race and the prison system which had tons of research but also had been thoroughly discussed; there was law enforcement relations with the public which was a hot topic thanks to everything that was currently happening but didn't have a lot of research to really get a good amount of information for her research paper unless she put it through a lense of gender and police perception or race and police perception; or, and this was what she wanted to research but didn't know if it was the smartest topic she wanted to spend the next two years of her life with: the psychology of criminals and romance - why do good girls fall for bad boys?

  She had a title for it and everything.

  There was no preemptive knock. Instead, the door swung open and there stood Logan, smirking down at her from his six foot two frame.

  "Yes?" Peyton asked, pushing up her brows when he closed the door behind him.

  "I just wanted to fucking stop by and give you a fucking piece of advice, sweetheart," he said, coming to stand just to the side of Peyton. She craned her neck to look up at him and clenched her teeth. She hated the imbalance of power she currently felt, being underneath him. She would have stood up if he wouldn't immediately know why. Instead, she tried to shrug it off and attempt to pretend he didn't affect her the way he did.

  "And that would be?" she asked, perking her brow. She leaned against the chair, trying to be nonchalant and casual, trying to ignore the butterflies flapping against her stomach.

  "As a TA, you shouldn't fucking seduce your students," he told her. "I saw whatshisname with you at the CC. Looking pretty fucking chummy."

  Peyton scrunched her nose. She had hoped to keep the cool, calm demeanor, but she was so shocked by the words that fell from his mouth that she couldn't help but react.

  "What are you talking about?" she asked.

  "You and whatshisname," he repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do I need to fucking tell you that he was making goo-goo eyes at you across the fucking table at you or are you too blind to see that he has a fucking thing for you?"

  She closed her eyes, trying to think how to even respond. "Are you talking about Brad?" she asked. "He saw me at the CC and asked me a couple of questions relating to the assignments you gave out. I was helping him."

  "Is that what you kids are fucking calling it these days?" He ran his hands down the lower half of his face, across the salt and pepper whiskers until they landed on his chin.

  Peyton simmered. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, trying to keep a tight rein on her voice. The walls were thin and just because Logan Jeffrey didn't care didn't mean she didn't. "That’s rich, coming from you."

  "And what's that fucking supposed to mean?" he asked with narrowed hazel eyes and a growl to his voice.

  "Do I have to fucking spell it out for you?" she asked in a low voice. "You sleep with all of your of your TA's. You are the last person who should be telling me who not to seduce, who to seduce, whatever jerk thing you're telling me and wrapping it up in an advice bow."

  "You're not making any fucking sense," Logan said.

  "Or maybe you're just clueless," she replied. "Stop telling me what to do. Stop making assumptions. Stop thinking that I'm going to sleep with the students. The fact that you would even assume such a thing is infuriating and I don't appreciate it at all. Just because you see a man and a woman talking at a cafe does not mean there's anything sexual about it and it's sexist you would even think so."

  "So in the last minute thirty, you've called me a sexist, a control freak, and someone who judges and makes assumptions rather than simply ask questions and finds out for myself," he said. "You've also accused me of sleeping with all of my TA's, seducing them. I'm a goddamn monster, aren't I?" He perked his brow and stepped closer to Peyton. She stood slowly, not as gracefully as Karla but enough to hold her own against his stare. "Mind if I give you some fucking advice, sweetheart?"

  "Does it matter how I respond?" she quipped back, her tone dry.

  "Actually, it fucking does," Logan said. "Because unlike your assumption of my character, I actually don't sleep with all of my TA's. I value consent; hell, I'm a goddamn Crim professor. I don't sleep with anyone who isn't willing. In fact, rape, to me, is worse than murder. I don't believe in the fucking death penalty but those fuckers can live a long fucking life in the hell that is our prison system. Fuck them. So, to have someone insinuate that I use my power to compel people to sleep with me is akin to saying I rape under duress and that fucking pisses me off because last time I checked, my sexual relationships are none of your fucking business. To put it in your words, stop convicting me of shit you don't know shit about.

  "Secondly, whether it's right or not, you project a message to everyone when you sit with a student at the CC," he continued. "Now, I may sleep with my TA's but I've never fucking slept with a student and I sure as hell never socialized with them in fucking public. Didn't you fucking graduate with honors? Isn't that fucking common sense? I don't give a shit if you were talking about school or fucking football but the fact that you were fucking chatting in public over fucking coffee is a big fucking no-no. And I shouldn't have to fucking tell you that.

  "Not only that, but whether you like it or not, you also fucking represent me as my TA. I don't give rat's ass that no one wanted to TA my class except for your ass, I still will hold you to my expectations and you will fucking respect them. I don't give a shit if you like me; to be honest, I could fucking care less, but when I tell you to meet with my students in your fucking office, don't fucking argue. Don't fucking defend yourself. Just take the criticism, wait until I'm finished, and then you can fucking talk. Get it?" He wrinkled his forehead.

  Peyton let out a slow breath, giving herself a moment to let his words sink in. She felt her blood boil in response to his dismissive attitude and she hated that he was technically her boss, her advisor, and her professor, so no matter how she felt, she had to listen to him.

  But more than all of that, she hated that he was right about everything. Just be
cause Brad was older and they happened to see each other at the CC didn't mean it was okay for her to entertain his questions, especially since they were talking about class. It would have been easy for Peyton to write his anger at her behavior as jealousy but Logan didn't seem like the type to get jealous. Also, Peyton did not think Logan would ever be into her, even if it was just for sex. He was a certain type of man and she was a certain type of woman and their personality types did not do well together. At least, that was what she told herself. That was what she wanted. She didn't want to think about him in bed. She didn't want to think about him touching her with his big, rough hands, kissing her in her most sensitive places...

  She shuddered just thinking about.

  He quirked a brow at her reaction, not realizing why she did so in the first place.

  "What?" he asked, a subtle hint of surprise in her tone. "Don't got anything to fucking say?"

  Peyton took another breath. She hated herself for what she had to do, she hated him for being right about it.

  "You're right," she murmured. Her voice wasn't as strong as she wanted it to be but she made up for it by locking eyes with him.

  "I'm what?" He genuinely sounded shocked now. He took a step toward her and she did not back down, did not take a step back.

  She clenched her teeth together and narrowed her eyes at him. "You're right," she growled, "but you could've been nicer about it."

  "Nice?" Logan asked with a furrowed brow and an amused smile. "Do I look like a nice fucking guy?"

  "Do you think I care what you look like or your stupid reputation?" Peyton asked. "Do you think I care that Karla, of all people, comes to me at the CC and tells me to sleep with you because you're a great lay and you'll take care of me. Like that's any justification for you being a dick."

  "Karla did what?" Logan snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

  It was only then that Peyton realized there was a good chance that Karla's actions weren't exactly sanctioned by Logan. It wasn't as though he needed someone to recruit possible fuck biudies for him, considering he was older, more experienced, and dangerously attractive. In fact, Karla thought she might have been doing Logan a favor when, in reality, he might take it as the gravest insult on his person that she would even make contact with Peyton in the first place. And Peyton had just ratted her out.

  "It doesn't matter," Peyton said, shaking her head, her voice losing a bit of steam. "What matters is you don't have a great attitude. I'm not asking for much when I request - not demand but request - that you be a little bit nicer when you talk to me or you tell me what to do. I don't know how you worked with other TA's, but I think it would be mutually beneficial for both of us if we work out some kind of compromise we both agree to." She pressed up her brows, searching his eyes imploringly. She had no idea if this was going to work but she could hope, couldn't she?

  "I'm sure you already know how I work with other TA's," he said slowly, "considering Karla fucking came to talk to you about everything. The girl talked a hell of a lot more than she was worth in the sack, let me tell you. Just because you have fucking legs up to your neck does not mean you're God's gift."

  "Stop trying to change the subject," Peyton said. "And stop playing the victim."

  "Me?" he asked, now completely surprised. "You think I'm playing the fucking victim. Do you know who you're fucking talking to?"

  "Stop complaining about Karla," Peyton told him. "Who cares what she says? The fact of the matter is we can come up with something that works for both of us, can't we?"

  Logan clenched his jaw. He looked like he wanted to argue. He looked like he was going to say no. But then he rubbed his hand over the lower half of his face before dropping it.

  "What did you have in mind?" he finally asked and Peyton could tell it took a lot for him to even say that much.

  "Let's sit," she said, gesturing at her desk.

  "This isn't fucking mediation," Logan said but he took the seat she offered and she sat right across from him. They were so close, their knees were touching.

  "What more do you want me to say?" Logan asked, furrowing his brow. "We already fucking met over this, okay? What do you want?"

  Peyton felt her entire face turn red at the mere mention of their meeting two days ago, of what he had pushed her to do and what she had actually done. She knew he saw it, too, but instead of actually saying something, he seemed more focused on their conversation at hand. Although, if Peyton was being honest, she did notice a little twinkle in his hazel eyes.

  "I don't want you to be such an asshole," Peyton said. "You wear it around like a badge of honor. Like, did you have to call the kid Bow Tie?"

  "What?" Logan asked, raising one deadpan brow.

  "The kid in class," Peyton explained. "Did you really need to call him out for what he wore? Okay, call him Bow Tie because he wears a bow tie. Who cares? But you pushed it further than that. You started to criticize who he was for his choice in clothes. Now you're just being a jerk."

  "What, you want me to be some kind of fucking bleeding heart?" Logan asked, furrowing his brows. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

  "No." she shook her head. "No, that's not what I want."

  "Then what do you want?" Logan asked, "because you're sure as shit making this more complicated than it needs to be."

  "Just, forget it, okay?" Peyton pinched the bridge of her nose. There was no use in trying to argue or fight or anything else. From now on, she would just keep her mouth shut and do her job. She didn't need to communicate with Logan unless she absolutely had to. She was smart and since Logan predominantly did scantron tests, she would only be responsible for recording the grades.

  "No." He shook his head, leaning back in his seat as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You want me to be fucking nice. What the fuck does that even mean?"

  "I want you to respect me," Peyton said. "I want you to have one conversation with me without antagonizing me. You're not an idiot. I'm sure you've wooed girls before."

  "Now you fucking want me to woo you?" Logan asked.

  Peyton's face turned an even darker shade of red. "No, that's not what I meant," she said.

  "Yeah, but that's what you said," Logan continued to tease her.

  "Okay, forget it. For real." She stood up, curling her fingers into fists to keep them from shaking obviously. She needed to get out, take a walk, calm down. Tightening her arms, she moved past Logan but before she could, he stopped her by grabbing his wrist.

  "I'm not a fucking moron," he said. "I know how to be nice. Even without the expectation of getting laid. Even without using it as a means to throw in your face."

  "So why can't you just be fucking nice?" Peyton asked. She hadn't meant to swear but she was beyond frustrated at this point and needed him to understand.

  "Is that what you want?" Perked brow, intense gaze. Peyton could have been imagining it but she could swear his fingers squeezed just a little tighter than usual.

  "I just want us to work well together," Peyton said, gesturing at the space between them. "I genuinely want to help you in the best way I can and I want you to teach me things. I want us to have a mutually beneficial relationship without expectations of reciprocation. Is that so hard to ask?"

  Logan was silent for a long moment. His eyes traveled up and down her face, to the strands of soft blonde tendrils that fell into her face after escaping her ponytail. When his eyes finally found hers again, he tilted his head to the side. "I guess we'll fucking see," he said. "Is there anything else you need?"

  Peyton kept her victory grin to herself. She shook her head. "Nope," she said and stuck out her hand. "I really look forward to working with you."

  He eyed her hand for a moment before placing his in hers. There was a jolt, something unfamiliar that caused the smile to falter from Peyton's face. Did he feel it, too? She couldn't tell. He hadn't reacted the way she had. Then again, Peyton had never been good at controlling her emotions. She nodded and he dropped her hand but not before lingering
for just a second too long.

  Unlike when they had kissed, his hand was gentle holding hers, maybe a little rough around the edges but warm and solid. She knew he wouldn't drop her. She knew he wouldn't let go.

  As he retreated, Peyton felt herself swallow. That feeling of trust she already had for this man, this alleged monster, was enough to scare her just a little bit.

  The next day in class, Peyton felt surprisingly comfortable. She didn't know if it was because she had dealt with Logan head-to-head, but she found she wasn't as intimidated by him as she should have been, as everyone else in class still was. When she got to her seat, she pulled out a chocolate croissant she got from the CC and placed the cup of caramel frappacino on the corner of her desk. Before, she would never have eaten in his class, afraid to get called out, afraid to spazz out and spill her coffee - something she had done before. But her hunger was too prominent and she had nearly gotten to class late so by the time she did step in - with thirty seconds to spare - everyone in class was already seated and Logan was already there.

  "Well, well, well, sweetheart," he said in his rough, bellowing voice, his eyes dropping to the food and drink. "Decided to stop at the CC before class? I see you have your fucking priorities straight. Since you got here late" -

  "I wasn't late," she interrupted.

  Logan was able to finish his lecture on tardiness but he looked surprised by her attire. Despite the late September month, it was abnormally hot, thanks to the Santa Ana winds, drying everything up and kicking allergies up a notch. Peyton wore a loose green plaid shirt over a simple white tank top and navy blue shorts. On her feet were plain black flip flops and her hair was in two braids, hanging in front of her like pigtails. It wasn't until he stared at her thighs that she remembered his comment about legs and low cut shirts. He was thrown off, she realized, which meant she had the upper hand.

  Put in place, my ass, she thought.

  His grin turned wolfish. "Excuse me," he amended. "Last. Since you got here last, you can help me act out a scene between Carter and her alleged attackers, based on her testimony. Don't worry about your shit. No one’s going to eat it when you're up here. I suppose I should give out the obligatory if-my-touching-makes-you-feel-uncomfortable speech but I figure you have enough common sense to know to tell me to stop if you think I'm going too far." He nodded his head, silently gesturing at her to come over to him.