Page 28 of Tempest

Gag me. The girl can barely get a question out without a will you have sex with me? undertone.

“Can I ask who you are?” She smiles, dimples flashing. “I’d like to put a name to a face.”

As if she doesn’t know who Tempest is—everyone on campus does. Girls, boys, non-binaries. Every single person wants to get into his pants. I’m horrified to realize I can’t blame them.

He’s viciously beautiful, all dark edges and marble hues, as perfectly at home among priceless books and old-fashioned furniture as he was in the cold, modern building on Third and Bowery. Tempest is a chameleon, a salt-water changeling. He adapts to any environment, a feat I’ve wished for my whole life that I could master.

“Sorry I’m late.” A roughened baritone cuts in with a sweep of cold air as the classroom door opens and shuts a second time. “Ah. I see you’ve all met my TA for the semester. He’s one of my top fourth-year students and is an excellent source of information if you’re ever having an issue in my class. However, I don’t recommend you utilize him until you are utterly, irrevocably desperate.” A dark chuckle follows his words.

Coldness seeps into the back of my neck, ice trailing down my spine.

“For if you need Mr. Callahan’s advice,” the professor continues. He rounds my chair and comes to a stop beside Tempest. “It means you’ve exhausted all chances of excelling in my one basic tenement of business—become an expert at the subject before any of your peers.”

Tempest’s gaze skates back to mine. I keep my face devoid of all emotion, as embedded in stone as his. My fingers are loose as I grab my pen and flip open my simple black notebook. My breaths are even as I start jotting down notes.

My cursive is illegible.

I tip my chin up under Tempest’s scope, blinking innocently before turning my attention back to the instructor, famed for his Build Your Business Empire lectures and whose biography is easily accessible online.

“Welcome, new students. You’re in for quite the experience.”

Professor Miguel Rossi smiles.

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