“You don’t remember Dylan? He’s the tall, stocky guy with the brown hair and wide shoulders—looks like he works out a lot.”
My eyes scanned the cluster of students and fell on the tallest of the group. “The one with the crooked nose? He does look familiar, but I’m having trouble placing him.”
She snickered. “You’re so mean. Yeah, he’s the one.”
I giggled. “I’m not trying to be mean—just calling it like it is.” I studied him a little longer. He had shaggy brown hair that fell over his forehead, a nose that looked like it had been broken and never healed quite right, and clothes that were . . . atrocious. “What’s with the dirty blue jeans and the wrinkled gray t-shirt? He looks like he just rolled out of bed.”
Calista edged her way in between us. “What are you ladies whispering about?”
“We were talking about Dylan West,” Lynette said, pointing to the students. “You remember him, don’t you?” She caught Calista’s eye and winked.
The intonation of her voice left me curious, but it didn’t pique my interest enough to ask.
“Dylan?” Calista asked. Her face contorted with disapproval. “He was that scholarship kid—used to stare at Alexa all the time.” Her shoulders twitched as if the thought of him staring at me irked her for some reason.
“He did not,” I said, affronted. “I barely remember him.”
“Yes, he did. I’m pretty sure I told him to get lost a few times. He used to watch you from afar like you were his dream girl or something.” She sneered like it was somehow a crime for someone like Dylan to be interested in someone like me. Like he’d broken the understood rules of social status.
I snorted. “Whatever. He’s not my type, anyway.”
“He’s so far below your standards it’s not even funny,” Lynette said.
Calista winced. “Oh, no. Here comes my brother.” She looked at me with sympathy. “He looks irritated.”
Speaking of standards, mine had sunk to an all-time low when I’d given Lucas Armstrong one too many chances. A week ago, I finally wised up and gave him the boot one last time.
His father was a billionaire and gave Lucas and Calista whatever they wanted. Lucas and I dated on and off for a few years, but after he’d treated me like dirt more than a few times, I’d broken it off with him for good. Unfortunately, he hadn’t gotten the memo that we were done.
His expensive Berluti shoes clipped on the marble floor, sounding louder and louder the closer he approached. The frown on his face didn’t mar his handsome features one bit. If anything, it made him more appealing. But that was as far as the charm went.
Regrettably, I liked the pretty boys. He had brown hair and stunning blue eyes like his sister, high cheekbones a runway model would have been jealous of, and a heart as black and as ruthless as his father’s.
Even Calista said he was a walking bulldozer. If you were in his way, he ran you over without a second thought.
Six months ago, I’d made a major decision in my life by accepting Christ as my Savior. Things had slowly been changing for me. In a way, Lucas represented my past, and I wanted something better for my future.
When Lucas reached us, he stopped at my side. “Why haven’t you returned my calls?” He spoke as if I was one of his recalcitrant employees who needed reprimanding.
“Because there’s nothing more to say. We’re done.”
His expression darkened, and it was almost scary. “Wrong thing to say, Alexa.” He smiled but there was no warmth in his eyes. “You’re making a huge mistake.” He got in my face and his jaw tightened, hard as steel. “It’s over when I say it’s over and not a minute sooner.”
Calista’s forehead wrinkled, and she glanced around the room, appearing uncomfortable. “Lucas, lower your voice. People are starting to stare—”
“You . . . shut your mouth.” He pointed his finger in her face. “I’ve had enough from you.” He turned his attention back to me and swallowed, taking a moment to relax his expression and shoulders. Whatever calm he put on was completely fake. “Why don’t you come with me, and we’ll have a drink . . . talk things through.”
I frowned. “No. I’ve already told you, I want nothing to do with you. Please, just leave me alone.”
He raked a hand through his hair, his eyebrows forming into angry slashes. “We both know you’ll come around, so you might as well give up this act. I have stuff I need to do today, but I can’t get anything done until we settle this.”
“There’s nothing to settle.” A shudder ran through me at the idea that he might not take no for an answer. “I don’t know how else to say it.” Tears sprung to my eyes out of frustration and something more . . . that feeling of powerlessness one had when they had to face down a bully. With his connections, he would always have the upper hand.
“Excuse me, is everything okay here?”
I turned towards the deep voice to find Dylan. His expression was wary as he glanced between me and Lucas. He seemed even taller now that he stood right in front of us, and Lynette had been correct about one thing—he did look like he worked out. But if I had to guess, I’d say those muscles were gained from hard labor. He had a rough edge to him, and I wouldn’t have pegged him for the type to visit a museum. He had a scar above his right eyebrow and the broken nose stood out. The guy looked like a bruiser, like someone who’d spent a few rounds in the boxing ring.
“We’re fine.” Lucas wiggled his fingers in a skedaddle motion. “Everything’s under control.”
“I asked the lady, not you,” Dylan said. The set of his jaw was just as hard and as resolute as Lucas’s had been a moment ago.
Physically, he could probably take Lucas, but he had no idea he was stirring up a hornet’s nest by standing up to a man who exploited everyone’s weaknesses for his own pleasure.
“I’m fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice under control. “We’re just having a heated discussion.”
“It looks more than heated,” Dylan said. He studied me for a moment. “You look nervous.”
Lucas slowly turned his head, eyes flashing. “She said everything’s fine. You can leave now.”
Dylan crossed his arms over his chest. “She doesn’t look fine to me.”
“Get out of here, scum.” Lucas dismissed him with another wave of his hand.
Dylan ignored him and studied me longer. Our eyes met for just a moment, and I was struck by how gray they were. Not blue. Not the color of the sky. Gray. But not the kind of gray from a cloudy day. They had a silvery shimmer, clear and calming and . . . striking. They were a stark contrast to his rough-looking face.
Dylan cleared his throat. “I’ll leave when the lady asks me to leave.”
Lucas turned so they were toe-to-toe. He was about three inches shorter than Dylan, but his arrogance knew no bounds. He puffed up his shoulders and chuckled. “You should have listened the first time.”
And then he pushed Dylan. Hard.
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The Unwanted Assistant Page 31
