by Andy Gallo
Putting one foot in front of the other, he moved through the rarified air of Harrison’s inner sanctum of the president’s office.
Jenkins sat behind a massive desk. The sleek, nearly bare surface reflected bits of warm light from a lamp on the right-hand corner. Far from inviting, the effect reminded Isaiah of a police interrogation in a cheap crime thriller.
By contrast, in the corner of the room were leather couches and a coffee table filled with cheeses and grapes.
Isaiah smiled stiffly. He got it. That corner was reserved for guests the likes of Darren Gage.
Isaiah ignored the slight and held out his hand. “Good evening, sir.”
Jenkins pointed to a seat.
“Sit, Mr. Nettles.”
Isaiah retracted his hand and took the chair indicated. He sat straight, refusing to be cowed.
Silence lingered for several seconds as Jenkins stared at him. Finally, he sat back and slid a sheet of paper across the desk until it was right in front of him. “Mr. Nettles, the consequences of your complaint are going to be severe and lasting.”
“I raised a valid complaint based on the requirements of the program.”
“What do you know about the program?” He waved a finger to cut off a response. “Darren J. Gage helped found the university with two friends. He endowed the school with funds to help students such as yourself. The Gage Scholar Program was not part of that endowment. It was . . . is meant as a training ground for his heirs first. Everyone else comes second.”
“That isn’t in the description,” Isaiah said. “If I’d read that, I never would have filed my grievance.”
“You wanted a chance to compete. Well, you got your wish. You’ll be competing against Darren.”
“Darren, and . . .?”
“Just Darren.”
Oh. He was the only one to have complained?
“Here.” Jenkins slid the paper toward Isaiah. “There is your first meeting. Tuesday at 6:00p.m., here in this building. We will go over the schedule of events and projects you will undertake as part of the application process. You will also meet the supervisors and mentors assigned to help you with your tasks. Don’t be late.”
“Tuesday? I have class Tuesday nights. We’re going over the assignments for our fall concert.”
Jenkins smiled tightly. “There is no way to rearrange everyone else’s schedule. Let this be your first lesson. You’ll need to balance the program’s demands with your school requirements. For your business and music degrees. Failure to maintain the necessary GPA will affect not only your ability to be the Gage Scholar, but also whether or not you keep your scholarship.”
Jenkins rose.
Wait, that was it?
He’d skipped work for barely five minutes? For a meeting that may as well have been done over the phone?
“Have a good night, Mr. Nettles.” Jenkins gestured to the door with a look that suggested he knew he’d put Isaiah out. “Until next Tuesday.”
Chapter Four
Darren
Late! Darren was going to be late.
He hurried through the front door of the frat house, not bothering to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Coach had given him permission to leave soccer practice early, but he’d lost track of time on the field and early wasn’t early enough.
Coach hadn’t been happy that he needed to skip out, and Darren knew next time he’d be sprinting suicides to go with the extra laps.
But he had to get to the first Gage Scholar meeting. Make a good first impression. Play nice with the mentors assigned to him.
First, though, he absolutely needed to pound down a glass of water and take a thirty-second shower.
He halted outside the common kitchen.
His old “mate” Greg was jerking around in there with one of the newbies. Greg was being mildly idiotic, but even that was enough to make Darren wince. Painful that he ever thought the guy made a friend.
They hadn’t hung out since the showdown at the Phi Kappa formal before summer. Greg had made it clear he sided with Harper, and Darren found a new roommate for this year. Now, being in the same room with him was awkward.
His throat might be dry and his mouth chapped from exertion, but bottled water wasn’t worth twenty seconds reliving all the crap Darren and Greg had done. He had enough disappointment to contend with.
He’d cup water from the bathroom tap.
He slunk backward, not wanting Greg to jerk his gaze over to him.
A foot out of sight from the kitchen, half pressed against the hallway wall, someone cleared their throat. He spun around to find Pi Kappa Phi’s archon, Jackson “Jack” Murphy, paused in the hallway, watching him with a raised brow.
Greg chose that moment to bowl out of the kitchen, and Darren wasn’t smooth enough to hide a wince as he passed.
Understanding flickered in Jack’s gaze.
For a moment, they stared at each other, the events of the last school year replaying between them. He wished the wall would swallow him.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Darren blurted. “For everything, okay?”
The air-conditioned house was cooling him down, and his embarrassment brought on a shiver.
He wasn’t sure what Jack was going to say, and he didn’t think he could handle it. Besides that, he needed to be across campus five minutes ago. “I gotta . . .”
Darren pushed off the wall and passed Jack, head bowed.
“Hey, wait up.” Jack snagged his arm. Darren stilled and looked back. “You and me, we’re good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jack smiled and rubbed his nape. “You had my back when I needed it. You came through for Seth. Actions talk. That’s what brothers do for each other.”
Darren swallowed the tight ball in his throat, and it gave way to relief. He hitched a thumb toward the staircase at the end of the hall. “I really have to get to the Gage Scholar meeting. So . . .”
Jack nodded and Darren hoofed down the hall.
“One sec,” Jack called after him.
Darren turned at the ornate newel post.
“A friend of mine’s trying for that program. Isaiah.”
Darren had been informed he’d be running against an Isaiah Nettles—the only other student in the competition. The student who’d had the balls to file a complaint against the university.
As much as it frustrated Darren to compete for the position, he couldn’t help having a decent dose of respect for the guy. He was curious to meet him in person tonight.
And . . . well . . . he wondered if this Isaiah had been the guy he’d bumped into outside Jenkins’s office. The guy who had adorkably knocked his great-great-grandfather askew.
He kinda wished it was.
Except, maybe not.
That guy would be his competition, and how fucking uncomfortable would it be to find his competition hot as all fuck? Especially considering how much they’d have to work together this year.
Yeah, awkward.
Darren stepped backward up the first stair. “Your friend, eh?” he said to Jack. “Guess you’ll be rooting for him then.”
“Nah, man. I’m not on anyone’s side.”
“Right.”
“I mean it. He’s my friend. You’re my fraternity . . . friend, too. Consider me Switzerland.”
“Okay,” Darren said, a slow grin eating his face. “I’m banking on that.”
Darren was the last to arrive.
Everyone else was in the paneled conference room when the assistant led him inside and shut the door.
Soft conversations ended abruptly, adding to the nausea building in his guts. Sucked living up to the expectations of being the namesake and heir to an American dynasty. Sucked that he’d fucked up already by arriving five minutes late.
He schlepped over thick carpet toward the “U” of couches and a long, low table. Dusk poured through the six-foot gridded windows on one side of the plush room, stretching over Jenkins, the Gage Scholar mentors, and—
&n
bsp; His step hitched.
Isaiah.
Isaiah regarded him from his position at the edge of the couch. He wore a suit, pale blue shirt, and dark blue tie. The shirt clung against a lean chest, the color soft against his tan skin. His hair was tied back into a ponytail. Not especially long, just long enough to gather with an elastic, judging by the strands that escaped it.
Darren forced himself to keep moving through the sudden crazy hopping in his gut. The guy was as striking as he remembered. Even if, this time, there was nothing soft about his expression. Even if, this time, he looked at Darren with his lips curving into an unimpressed smile.
Darren glanced down at his shorts, light green oxford, and loafers—without socks. Everyone else wore a suit and tie, or at least a collared shirt and sports coat.
He grimaced. Only the scion of MAS Oil thought it appropriate to show up in something they’d wear to class.
At least he’d remembered a belt?
Ah, shit.
“Darren,” President Jenkins said with a smile. His tone was light and cheerful, mildly easing Darren’s embarrassment. “Just on time.”
A lie, and they both knew it, yet Jenkins was letting it slide.
He let out a relieved breath as he took his seat, where his name had been printed on a placard.
He sat across from Isaiah, who dropped his tight stare to the table between them.
Darren shrugged off the slight curl of disappointment.
He got it. They were competitors now. There was no room for attraction. Darren needed to win the Gage Scholarship to repair his relationship with his dad, and Isaiah had clearly gone to lengths for a shot at it, too.
They were each other’s opposition.
Darren forced himself to follow Jenkins’s movement as he made introductions.
“First, I’d like to introduce your faculty advisors. Dr. George Billings, head of the business school, will be available to Darren Gage, and Professor Peter Linton will be supervising Isaiah Nettles. Second, your mentors. I’d like to thank our guests from MAS Oil. Frederick Sheele is vice president of consumer affairs. Fred will be Darren’s mentor for the school year. I understand you know each other.”
“That’s correct, President Jenkins,” Fred said in his semi-thick New England accent. “My son, Aiden, is a few years older than Darren, but since company family events tend to devolve into work talk, he and Darren usually paired off to avoid the boredom.”
Darren held back a snort. That boredom followed them when they left. He’d never clicked with Aiden, despite Fred’s suggestion otherwise. Being Darren the Fifth subjected him to endless rounds of sucking up in the hopes he’d say something to his father or grandfather. Aiden was nice enough, but two years older. He also seemed hell-bent on dazzling Darren with his female conquests.
“. . . but this is the first time I’ve been asked to act as a mentor to Josh’s son.”
Darren’s brow shot up. He highly doubted his father allowed Fred to call him Josh.
“Excellent.” Jenkins turned to a twentysomething stuffed suit sitting next to Isaiah. “Joining Fred is Geoffrey Decatur. Geoffrey was our Gage Scholar five years ago.”
“Six, President Jenkins,” Geoffrey said.
Darren instantly pitied Isaiah. He’d seen Geoffrey’s type too many times at corporate. New employees, coming from top schools, terribly impressed with themselves and trying to seem important. Geoffrey fit the role perfectly. He couldn’t imagine having a conversation with him that went more than three sentences.
“Six?” Jenkins smiled stiffly through the correction. He glanced at the paper with their bios and tapped his finger to a spot. “Right. We’re starting a new year. Time does fly. Geoffrey works in the logistics division and helps manage pipeline construction and maintenance.”
Isaiah’s frown deepened. His mentor embarrassing Jenkins in front of staff, students, and guests wouldn’t earn him any points.
“That’s correct, sir. It’s one of the more important divisions after exploration and development.”
Darren caught Isaiah’s gaze and delivered a sympathetic smile. What could be worse than being saddled with such a bore?
Isaiah frowned, clearly misinterpreting Darren’s smile for something sinister.
Maybe he should avoid eye contact altogether.
Except that didn’t stop him from focusing on the guy. Isaiah was there in the corner of Darren’s eye and in the prickling of goosebumps down his arms and nape.
He dared another glance. Isaiah’s gaze was already on him, darkened with a scowl.
The fuck?
Had the guy just realized the upward battle he’d have going against a Gage for the Gage scholarship?
Well yeah, it would be hard.
Darren wasn’t going to sit back and let Isaiah take it. This meant something to him.
He met Isaiah’s stare with determination of his own.
Bring your A game. You’re going to need it.
Isaiah
Isaiah could have laughed. Of course.
Like a king, Darren came to the meeting like he’d rolled out of bed from a good fuck. Cheeks bright, hair damp and teased at the ends, gait relaxed like he was well and truly spent.
It was infuriating on many levels. Like the way President Jenkins didn’t bat an eye and said, “on time.”
Christ.
On time was Isaiah missing his modern jazz performance class, putting on a suit, and walking through the ninety-plus degree heat to get here before the mentors.
On time was turning down a paid yoga session because they had scheduled two hours for this meeting.
On time was ignoring the call from his mom ten minutes before the meeting because Jenkins had delivered him a look.
He glanced at Darren again.
Yeah, Darren coming in like that was infuriating, all right. Especially how Isaiah’s traitorous body responded every time their gazes clashed.
So, Darren might be hot. Okay, insanely hot. But beneath all that, Isaiah was looking at an aristocratic charmer. The type of man who knew all the right names to drop to get his way.
There was a certain amount of jealousy in that assessment, sure, but his frustration stemmed from something deeper than that. It stemmed from the gnawing worry in his gut.
Winning for him meant being that much closer to giving his mom a break from two jobs just to keep a roof over her and his siblings’ heads.
For that to happen, he needed a chance. A level playing field. Not Darren waltzing in with a smile to make the judges swoon.
Jenkins’s voice developed a terse edge that had Isaiah stilling.
“We had to make a couple of changes to account for there being only two competitors this year.” Isaiah ignored the dig and focused on the folder in front of him. “If you turn to page four of the program, we can begin.”
An hour. Isaiah couldn’t believe Jenkins had spoken for almost an entire hour. The man loved the sound of his voice. “The first task is for the two competitors to work together to come up with a fundraiser for our two annual charities.”
“Darren, why don’t you and Isaiah go into the other room and pick a day and time while I say good night to our guests.” Jenkins pointed toward a side door across the room.
“Yes, sir.”
Darren stood, and those deep brown eyes hit Isaiah with another unwelcome flutter. Isaiah lurched from his seat and beat him through the door.
He found himself in the hallway near the front door to the Harrison Wing. Across from him was a smaller room. The lights were off, but Isaiah spotted more chairs, a couch, and a massive stone fireplace with a bust of President Benjamin Harrison, namesake of the university and close friend of Darren Josiah Gage Sr.
Darren’s presence prickled heat down his back. Isaiah hurried into the room and flicked the switch. Fluorescent lights stuttered to life overhead, and he slid between the fireplace and the back of a polished leather chair. A good buffer between them.
Darren closed the doo
r and strode toward him. He stopped before the chair, sparing it a look. He frowned, and was it Isaiah’s imagination or did Darren’s shoulders drop?
Darren looked at him with a small nod. “Got it. We can make this quick. Want to meet next week, at this time?”
Maybe hiding behind the chair was a bit of a bitch move. Still, he couldn’t pull away from it, clutching the wooden knobs at either side like a security blanket. “Actually, Tuesday nights don’t work. I have a class.”
“You had class tonight? Why’d you agree to meet this evening?”
That frown was frustratingly cute, but God, could he be that clueless? “You think they treat everyone the way they treat you?”
“What does that mean?”
“You want the sugarcoated version?”
“Give it to me straight.”
“Just because they kiss your ass around here doesn’t mean they give two shits about mine.”
“No one’s kissing my ass!”
“They are, and if they’re not, trust me, they want to.”
Darren took a moment to process the stupid innuendo Isaiah had to slip in there.
What could he say? Flirting with hot guys came as second nature to him. More reflex than anything intentional in this case. And wow, the blush crawling up Darren’s throat was . . . interesting.
Isaiah cleared his throat. “Look, this meeting was set at this time to mess with me. Jenkins knew I had a class tonight, but he didn’t want to inconvenience the golden child.” He said the last bit with a wink in an attempt to keep things civil, but Darren tensed.
“Wait. No one asked me when I wanted to meet. I had to cut practice early to make it here on time.”
“On time?” Isaiah couldn’t hold back a laugh. The guy didn’t know the definition. “However do you stand the pressure?”
Darren’s expression hardened, like Isaiah had seen it outside Jenkins’s office, and Isaiah hated how it flexed his jaw and made his eyes spark. “I didn’t do any of this to you.” Under his breath, he muttered, “The fact this is a competition at all is your fault.”
