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

by Heather C. Myers

  She clung her books to her chest as she walked to the classroom. Though it was cold, there was no breeze, something she was grateful for. The skirt was pleated and heavy but that didn't mean even the gentlest of breezes could lift the skirt up into the wind and that was the last thing she needed right now.

  Peyton managed to make it a minute before class started. Logan didn't even look up when she walked in and she felt herself get huffy about it. She clenched her teeth together and refused to look too much into it. Who cared if Logan hadn't looked at her? Why should he look at her? Just because she was in a miniskirt and showed off those same legs he had recently complimented meant nothing because she wasn't dressing for him. She was dressing for herself.

  Keep telling yourself that, a voice chastised but Peyton ignored it. Instead, she decided to quickly go over her notes, expecting to be called on today.

  Except he didn't call on her. While lecturing, he didn't even look at her. Not once.

  She started getting frustrated and then she started getting frustrated because she was frustrated in the first place. This was too much. So she forced these odd feelings down and focused on his lesson. Maybe he would talk to her in her undergrad class.

  But he didn't. Logan barely spared her a glance at all today. By the end of her office hours, she was starting to get frustrated once more and at that point, she couldn't stop herself from going down the hall to his office. She had no idea what she was going to say to him but she had to say something.

  Without knocking, Peyton threw the door open, ready to stomp up to him and demand an answer to a question she didn't even know how to formulate. There was Logan, leaning in his leather chair, his feet kicked on his desk, reading a biography on the Depression-era gangsters. He had glasses on his face, softening his intimidating look of black leather and slicked back hair.

  He looked beautiful.

  It was the first thought that entered her head and suddenly all of her anger and frustration dissipated from her. She felt like a fool. She was acting like an immature child who wasn't getting enough attention and it embarrassed her that she was playing this stupid game to validate her value and beauty and she suddenly wanted to go home and forget this ever happened. Because looking at him now was like a slap to her face. She realized that she was in this stupid skirt because he liked her legs and she wanted to get his attention and she hated that she had resorted to such passive tactics.

  Logan put the book down in his lap before grabbing his thick-rimmed black glasses and slowly pulling them off if his face so he could look at Peyton with mild amusement mixed with slight curiosity.

  "You have something you want to say, sweetheart?" he asked, quirking a brow and, after setting his glasses on the desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "I." She pressed her lips together, ignoring the cocked smile on his face, putting his dimples on full display. He was a loaded gun and she was in his line of sight, a chicken with its head cut off, just waiting to be taken down. Finally, she locked eyes with him and shook her head. "No."

  "No." He gave her a sharp look of disbelief. "You came busting in here like you fucking did. What, you suddenly change your fucking mind?"

  "I have nothing to say," she told him. "Sorry to bother you."

  She turned to leave but Logan's voice made her pause.

  "Wait."

  He stood up slowly and Peyton's eyes were drawn to his denim-clad legs. She knew he was six foot two but she hadn't realized just how long his legs were.

  Slowly, so agonizingly slow, he walked toward her so he was in her personal space, so the material of his clothes caressed the material of hers but their bodies weren't touching, not yet. No, not yet. Peyton did not move. Something inside of her forced her to stay put even though she wanted nothing more than to turn and run. She kept her gaze steady and by the time he reached her, she had to crane her head back to keep his stare.

  Without warning, he held up a stack of blue books Peyton hadn't even noticed were in his hands.

  "These need to be graded," he told her, his lips curled into a smile.

  Peyton narrowed her eyes at the books but didn't touch them. "What the hell are those?" she asked, trying to keep her temper in check and failing miserably.

  "Well, uh, let's think about this for one fucking second," Logan began, his tawny gaze shifting from her to look at the stack of books in his hand. "They look like fucking books and they're blue. I didn't think it took a fucking scientist to figure this shit out."

  "It's literally the second week of class," Peyton said. "I've sat through your lectures to your 101 class and you haven't assigned them any kind of exam that requires grading yet. So, my original question stands. What the hell are those?"

  Logan cocked his head to the side and stared at her with that amused smile on his face, the one that gently crinkled the corner of his eyes and compelled her heart to take a break from beating. He took his tongue and ran it along his bottom lip and Peyton couldn't help but narrow her eyes at the gesture. She hated to admit it but it was captivating to watch, the smile made him look beautiful and the lip lick made him look desirable. A low, thrumming pulse pounded against her inner walls and she had to squeeze her insides until it stopped.

  "These aren't blue books from my 101 class," he told her. "These are blue books from my upper division Sociology and Crime class. They have a written pop quiz every week and their quizzes need to be graded. You're a fucking TA, aren't you?"

  "For your 101 class, yes." She furrowed her brow at the books before looking up at Logan. Something squirmed inside Peyton and she realized he was trying to use her to help him without simply asking for help. "You're a dick."

  "I'm a dick?" He furrowed his brow, genuinely surprised that she would call him that. She couldn't tell if the glint in his eye was approving or not but it didn't particularly matter. "I'm a dick? And what does that make you?"

  "What?" Her voice was sharp and flat. "What are you talking about?"

  "Don't play dumb, sweetheart," he told her. "It's not a good fucking look for you." He took the blue books in one hand before gesturing at her with his left hand. "You're flouncing around in a fucking miniskirt the whole goddamn day. I can't even call on any of my fucking 101 students because they're too focused on your fucking legs. It's not even hot enough for a fucking miniskirt. So what the fuck are you trying to do?"

  "I can wear whatever I want," Peyton said through gritted teeth. "So now it's my fault that your students can't concentrate because they've never seen a woman in a miniskirt before? And you say you're not a misogynist? Are you kidding me? I like wearing skirts. They're more comfortable for me sometimes than jeans. I only get so long before the weather does get too cold for skirts. You never had a problem with it when your other TAs were in skirts. And I know this because I've seen it. So why do you have a problem with me being in a skirt?"

  Logan clenched his teeth together but said nothing. Peyton felt a small victorious clap on her back. He had nothing left to say. She had rendered him speechless. Of course, she couldn't just leave it at that. She needed to push him just a bit, just to needle him to make sure he understood that the way he was acting was completely inappropriate.

  "And anyway, I thought you said you liked my legs," she said, her voice just barely above a whisper.

  "Don't fucking start something you can't fucking finish," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "I know your fucking type. You like to tease, you want fucking attention, but you're just a fucking tease. I don't play fucking games."

  Peyton pressed her lips together before responding. "Neither do I," she told him. "Just because I'm not fucking interested in you doesn't mean I'm trying to get your attention."

  Logan smiled. He smiled. How did that reaction make sense at all? He took another step towards her and once again, her back hit the door. He placed both hands on either side of her head and leaned forward so his lips were inches from her mouth.

  "I don't believe for one fucking second you aren't interested i
n me, sweetheart," he told her. Peyton's eyes wanted to roll back but she forced them to remain open. The problem was, she couldn't stop the shudder from riding down her spine if she tried. He noticed and his eyes sparkled even more. "What are going to do? Kiss me?"

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Peyton bit back. "How quickly you forget, you kissed me back."

  "So what if I did?" Logan asked, cocking his head to the side. "What are you going to fucking do about it, sweetheart?"

  Peyton clenched her jaw, her eyes narrowed into his. He had his head tilted downwards so his nose was a kiss away from her nose and their mouths were so close, all Peyton would need to do is push her chin out and they would be kissing once more.

  "That's what I fucking thought," he continued. His voice was low and rough and it sent shivers up and down her spine. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and for a moment, he was completely silent. Instead, he looked at her lips, as if he was transfixed. Perhaps he was. "You talk a big fucking game but you don't do shit about it."

  "You're right," she finally agreed. She leaned forward as though she was going to kiss him and she kept her eyes open in order to gage his reaction to the gesture. He didn't move, didn't lean away but he didn't lean toward her, either. The only thing he did in response was open his mouth slightly, expecting her lips to meet his. "I don't do shit. I'm not grading your blue books."

  He smiled then, slowly, baring his teeth like a wild animal. But there was an amused sparkle in his eyes, letting her know she hadn't offended him by her refusal. Her lips curled up into a soft smirk, and with ease, she turned around, taking care not to touch him even accidentally, before stepping out of his office.

  It was only when she was alone and in the slow, rickety elevator where she leaned her back against the cold metal, tilted her head up, and sighed.

  Two days later, Peyton woke up with the worst cold she had had in a while. Her nose was clogged, her head pounded, and her throat was scratchy. She didn't have a fever so she was fairly certain she didn't have the flu but she decided to send Logan a quick email letting him know she wouldn't be around today because she was sick. He never responded, which didn't surprise her at all, and she took the day to sleep as much as she could. Her appetite was almost nonexistent, but she forced herself to boil some eggs and make some top ramen so her stomach had something it could digest.

  By three o'clock, it was raining outside. Not a Southern California sprinkle, but hard rain that pounded against her building and echoed throughout her room. She loved this weather. She loved the rain. She loved the melody it made when it fell against tin. She hated being sick but she loved that she didn't go to class today and she probably wouldn't go to class tomorrow either.

  At that moment, a loud knock on her door caused her heart to leap into her throat and nearly caused her to roll off her bed.

  She could barely furrow her brow, her head too congested to make it easy to move. Instead, she slid out of bed and slowly made her way to her door. Rolling up on the balls of her feet, she looked out the peephole in order to see who was at her doorstep.

  Logan Jeffrey.

  What was he doing here?

  She contemplated for a moment about keeping the door closed and slinking back to bed, pretending she wasn't home. Surely he wouldn't stay on her doorstep the whole day, not the mighty Logan Jeffrey. But her curiosity seemed to get the better of her and without putting much thought into it, she undid the chain and unlocked the door before opening it a few inches. Just because she wanted to know why he was here didn't mean she was going to welcome him in.

  "Yes?" she asked. Her voice came out nasally and unattractive, and the thought that perhaps she shouldn't have even opened the door flittered across her mind for the briefest of seconds like a squirrel pausing during his escape from dogs eager to catch their unexpected backyard visitors.

  Logan stared at her for a long minute. "You look like shit," he told her, his booming voice even louder in the silence.

  Peyton rolled her eyes and was about to shut the door in his face when he caught it with his hand and gave her a somewhat apologetic look. He didn't ask and she didn't make him. She rolled her eyes and opened the door, standing out of his way as he slowly walked into her room.

  Even though he was just a man, there was something about his presence that caused the room to feel even smaller. She closed and locked the door behind him and found him looking around her room. There was nothing special about it. The walls were an off-white color she hung a couple of movie posters on including Beetlejuice and Tim Burton's Batman. They were prized possessions of hers and had been framed and hung up in her bedroom back home before she ever got to the University of Newport. His brows perked up, seeming somewhat surprised that these were the things she chose to adorn her wall with. Looking at them now, she supposed it was rather quirky.

  Besides her bed and her table, there was no other furniture that she owned in her dorm. There was no kitchen area and the bathrooms were shared and two doors down. Peyton was lucky that her room was one of the bigger ones and close to the bathroom area. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her room, if he felt sorry for the simplicity of it or if he was cataloging things about her, remembering them for a different day.

  "What are you doing here?" she finally forced herself to ask.

  His eyes dropped to hers, still taking in her room. Which was impossible because she didn't have much to take in.

  "You didn't come to class today," he said gruffly. "Either one of them."

  His hands were loosely on his hips and somehow, he had more confidence standing in her room than she did. She had no idea how such a thing was possible and she started to feel slightly annoyed by it.

  Peyton crossed her arms over her chest. "I sent you an email," she told him.

  "I don't check that," he said. He took a step towards her, eyeing her up and down. Not because he was checking her out but because he was skimming over her body with an inquisitive look on his face, as though he wanted to ensure she was okay.

  "Oh," Peyton said flatly. "Just another job you have your harem of TAs do for you?" She would have raised a skeptical brow but her head hurt too much to do so.

  He shot her a look. "How long are you going to be out for?" he asked, shifting his eyes away so they rested back on her Beetlejuice poster. She could make out his reflection in the glass.

  "Why do you care?" she asked, crossing her hands over her chest and cocking her head to the side.

  He shot her another look. "You're my only TA," he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I wanted to check to see how long you'll be out of fucking commission for."

  "Probably for the rest of the week," she told him, her voice croaking as she spoke. She tried to swallow in order to moisten her throat but it just strained it even further. "Guess you're going to correct those blue books by yourself."

  He nodded, the tip of his tongue coating the corner of his mouth with moisture. Her eyes narrowed at the gesture and she stared, transfixed.

  "Guess so."

  Peyton furrowed her brow. "So what are you here for?" she asked, less teasing and more gently.

  Logan shrugged his shoulders before slowly walking over to the bed. Peyton's breath got caught in her throat as she watched him take a seat on the edge of the bed. It was such an odd sight, seeing such a powerful, transfixing figure such as Logan Jeffrey sitting on her tiny twin bed. He looked completely out of place, it was almost comical.

  "Because I'm positive there's no way you would want to check up on little old me," she continued. She had no idea why she was pushing him, had no idea why she needed to continue to speak when there was nothing really for her to say. Except for the fact that she just wanted to talk to him. She liked that she was checking up on her even if she didn't believe he really was. He didn't look so entirely out of place in her bedroom and that thought, while nerve-racking, was also a little thrilling.

  He shot her an exasperated look. "Why do you make me out to be such an
asshole?" he asked. His tone was gruff but she could detect an underlying stream of truth to it.

  Peyton wasn't going to let him off the hook so easily. "Probably because you are one," she pointed out. "Tell me, how many TA's did you check up on when they were sick?"

  "I thought you said there was no way I could want to check up on you," he pointed out with an arrogant gleam in his eyes.

  Instead of fighting back, she rolled her eyes and took a seat on the bed, a close enough distance away from him.

  "I didn't realize you were into weird fucking movies," Logan said, his eyes back on the posters.

  "They're not weird, they're quirky," she corrected. "When I was nineteen, I had my wisdom pulled out and I was literally on my mother's couch for three days straight, drinking nothing but Jamba Juice and watching Beetlejuice and The Breakfast Club. It was one of my favorite times. I didn't have to worry about school or anything. I got to do nothing for seventy-two hours and it was glorious."

  Logan chuckled. "Spoiled brat," he said.

  "Quite the contrary," Peyton said. "That's what a mom should do for their kids, you know. Foster independence but every once in a while be okay with babying their kids."

  "Not all moms are like yours, sweetheart," Logan muttered, though he wasn't bitter about it at all.

  It was then that Peyton remembered what happened to him. She shook her head internally at her thoughtlessness and she tried to frantically search for something to fill the silence despite the fact that it wasn't awkward. She didn't know if she should pretend not to know or if she should mention hearing about it. She didn't want to write it off like it was nothing but she also didn't feel as if it were her place to say anything anyway.