Page 6 of With This Mask

"Excuse me, Professor?" My hand shoots up before I even register the impulse.

"Ah, Miss Winters," he says, eyebrows raising as he gives me the floor.

"Isn't it more practical if we choose our own partners based on complementary skill sets?" I ask, confidence and nervous desperation lacing into each word.

"Interesting point, Salem," the professor says, though his tone implies it’s anything but. "However, this assignment is as much about adapting to different work styles as it is about the content."

"Adapting is one thing, sir," I counter, "but efficiency is another. We could maximize productivity?—"

"Miss Winters, always so eager to streamline," Alec interrupts, his voice smooth like whiskey but just as potent. "Afraid you can't handle a little unpredictability?"

My gaze snaps to him, my blood heating up. "I handle just fine," I bite back. "Some of us are here to excel, not coast on family names."

"Ouch," he says, feigning hurt, that smirk never leaving his face. "Here I was thinking you enjoyed a challenge."

"Challenges, yes. Time wasters? Not so much."

"That’s enough," the professor cuts in. But I'm not looking at him; I'm locked in on Alec, who leans back in his chair, all casual arrogance. The air between us crackles, and I swear, if looks could kill, one of us would be leaving in a body bag.

"Partners will be assigned," the professor concludes. Decision final. No room for argument. “Whoever you’re sitting with, congratulations. You’re now partnered for the project.”

"Fantastic," I mutter under my breath, realizing it’ll take all my restraint to keep from starting World War III in Westcroft University with Alec Vanderholt. Fate has a twisted sense of humor.

"Can't wait to see you play nice," Alec whispers, so only I can hear.

"Playing nice is overrated," I whisper back, meeting his ice-blue eyes with fire in mine. "Challenges are just opportunities in disguise," I shoot back, my voice slicing through the growing tension. The rest of the class is a white noise backdrop to the battle unfolding between us.

"Spoken like someone who's never faced a real one," Alec retorts, his eyes glinting with a provocation that sets my nerves alight.

"Trust me, Vanderholt, my whole life's been an obstacle course. This project? It’s just another hurdle."

"Is that so?" He leans forward, arms folded on the desk, muscles flexing beneath his crisp shirt. Fuck. I hate that I even notice them. "Let's see if you can keep up then."

"Keep up?" My laugh is sharp, bitter. I lean in too, which is a mistake, because suddenly I’m close enough to catch a whiff of his cologne—a subtle, expensive scent that makes my brain reel. Fuck. Why does he smell so damn good? The fact that it’s affecting me like this somehow infuriates me even more. "Try to not slow me down."

"Grow up and deal with each other, Mr. Vanderholt and Ms. Winters!" Professor Harlow's voice booms over ours, and the room falls silent. All eyes on us, but it's Alec's gaze that burns into mine. "This isn't a boxing ring."

"Could've fooled me," I mutter. I thought I’d said it quietly, but a ripple of laughter to spreads through the classroom.

"Whether you like it or not, you two are partners for this assignment," Professor Harlow says, his tone brokering no argument. "I suggest you figure out how to cooperate or receive a failing grade."

"Yes, professor,” I immediately state, sitting straighter in my seat. I’ll do just about anything to keep my perfect grades. Even fake nice with Alec fucking Vanderholt.

"That’s what I thought,” the professor says flatly, his eyes flicking between us, a warning clear in his gaze. “Consider this part of the learning experience."

“Don’t fuck this up for me,” Alec mutters quietly.

A retort is right at the tip of my tongue, but the professors gaze returns to mine.

“Your assignment is to sell the class on something undesirable,” he explains, turning his attention elsewhere. His aide stands and hands the students in the first row a paper bag. “You’ll draw out your assignment. You and your partners will draw up an outline for your presentation. It is to be twenty minutes long. And if you can convince fifty-five percent of this class to buy it, you pass.”

Interesting. I watch with eagerness as the front row withdraws pieces of paper. The partnerships lean in to each other and whisper, already getting down to business.

Finally, the bag is passed our way and I accept it. Looking at Alec with an arched brow, I hold it presented, forcing him to be the one to pick what we’re going to have to sell.

He holds my gaze the entire time as he reaches a hand inside. He swishes his hand through the papers as if he can sus out the perfect one. Finally, he withdraws his hand.

A ten-acre piece of swampland in Florida infested with pythons and the occasional alligator.

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