Page 118 of Devious Knight

There’s no way of knowing. But it certainly looks like he wants to eliminate me. The way you would with a threat.

“Do you have any questions for me? You’ve gone quiet.” He looks me over.

“I’m just… thinking about what I need to do.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. I have faith in you.”

Fuck you, bastard. I’m sure you do.

“I’d like for us to meet every other week to keep on top of things.”

“Okay,” I answer with reluctance, feeling like a robot programmed to agree.

“Wonderful. Well, if you don’t have any questions, that’s it for me.”

“I have nothing.”

“Alright, well, we’ll meet two weeks from today.”

“Sure.” Gathering strength, I stand, but I feel like my body is filled with lead as I make my way out of the office.

I close the door behind me and stop in the corridor by the window to get some air and catch my breath.

Fuck. This is absolute shit.

It’s strange how I had that horrible feeling deep down in my gut telling me that I was going to have a problem with Parker. I was right.

But that’s the least of my worries, because I could be right about everything else.

That asshole has backed me into a corner where his fucking assessment is set up for me to fail.

Fail and lose everything.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Isabelle

It’s ten at night. I’ve been locked away in the art studio since seven.

I passed on dinner with my friends to work on my sculpture. I haven’t been able to think straight all day, and I feel like I’m in limbo.

The one moment of relief I had was speaking to my father. He called minutes after the meeting. Dad wasn’t happy with Parker’s decision and agreed it was strange. However, that’s as much as he said.

I know my father. No matter what he thinks about Parker, he won’t discuss too much with me.

Everyone I spoke to kept telling me to focus, be strong, and believe in myself. If anyone can do it, you can, Isabelle. That’s all I kept hearing.

But that was because no one else saw what I saw—the trap.

I looked at Parker’s request and laid it out with my current schedule. Unless I’m the Flash or Wonder Woman, I’m not going to be able to do everything.

I have fifteen hours of art classes and three hours of English literature per week, so that’s already eighteen hours. We’re expected to do twenty-four to thirty-six hours of work outside classes each week, and it’s going to take me a minimum of fifteen hours per week to do my sculpture.

Parker wants me to have two hundred hours of work experience by the end of the summer semester and a portfolio of a hundred drawings. Ten of which must be sculpted. I also have to do my compensation service for Kade.

It’s all too much. Completely and utterly not doable.

On top of that, I’m doubting myself—which I think is exactly what he wanted.

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