Page 46 of Forbidden You

“So,” I start, putting my ice water back on the table, “you wanna tell me why you dropped out of Stanford?”

Her body goes completely still for only a brief moment before her brows knit together, slipping back into whatever act she’s pulling off.

“You mean kicked out,” she rectifies.

“Bullshit.”

She smirks. “What? I know you think I’m this extraordinary girl capable of basically anything she puts her mind to, but even for me, passing tests intoxicated was a bad idea.”

“Don’t fish for compliments, Kayla,” I rumble from my chest, entertained.

She keeps her eyes trained on mine, probably hoping I’m buying her lies. I bet she was able to sway any bloke her way at Stanford, but I’m not any bloke.

I’m also not stupid.

“Why are you lying, babe?”

With a pinched mouth, she leans into her chair like a rebellious teenager.

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me ‘babe’?”

We did. But I like to slip one in every now and then.

It feels natural.

“Kayla,” I growl. “Answer the question. Tell me the truth.”

“There is nothing to tell.”

“Look, you’re smart. You organized my charity ball better in a week than I did in the last six months. You are not your typical teenager, because there is a drive in your eyes that most kids your age lack. It’s the reason I even considered giving you a job in the first place.Youdon’t get kicked out of school. Especially not a school like Stanford.”

Appreciation flashes in her gaze for a nanosecond, before they turn stern again.

“Not smart enough.”

I push out a frustrated groan, resting my elbows on the table. “I know you dropped out. I talked to Dean Fowler.”

“You didn’t,” she calls my bluff.

You bet your ass, I did. She’s hiding something, and I’m going to find out what.

“I did.”

“You what?” she gasps, her expression darkening in anger. “You have no right, Bodi! Isn’t there some kind of student privacy law or something?”

I hoist up my shoulder. “I was his favorite student.”

Besides, being a big name in the corporate world makes people less tight lipped than normal, but in this case it wasn’t even needed because the dean was as curious as I was to her reason to leave.

“You went to Stanford?” She looks surprised.

“Berkeley. He transferred to Stanford a few years ago.”

Clearly irked, she holds my gaze, then turns her head to look out of the window with a defiant stance. “I wish he didn’t.”

“I like to know who’s working for me.”

“Yeah? Do you do a background check on all your editors as well?” she snaps.

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