Page 29 of Never Broken

I sped up further, heading single-mindedly toward the social sciences building. I only had a small window to meet with Erica Muller before the professor’s office hours were done for the day. But her office was all the way across the campus mall, and I hadn’t factored in having to spill my guts to Corey on the way there—which I dreaded, not only because I didn’t have time, but because I didn’t relish explaining the reason why I had stopped studying with him, or that I was now hauling ass across campus to meet with the professor he referred to as a pinko commie snowflake todiscussthat reason.

Or that that reason was a person. Even if Corey didn’t consider him one.

I would have to come up with an excuse. “You’re busy working with Langer, not to mention your other classes,” I bullshitted. “I know you don’t have time to tutor me every day. Anyway, I found … a new study technique,” I said quickly. “Online. It’s really helping.”

He frowned, the muscles in his tanned face tightening unpleasantly. I knew he wasn’t buying it. And if he got suspicious that I’d replaced him—with a slave, no less, one he’d already openly expressed his contempt, if not outright jealousy of, he wouldn’t let it drop. He’d make sure both I and the slave boy paid the price for it. He was that vindictive. I was already starting to feel ashamed that I’d ever considered dating him. Unfortunately, he didn’t feel the same.

“Let’s do something tonight.”

I couldn’t help but think he was testing me, somehow. “Can’t. Girls’ night with Juliette in Old Town. Nails and shopping. I haven’t done anything social in months.” The shopping would be minimal, of course. My dad had revoked access to his credit card, after all. But Corey didn’t need to know that, even though he probably suspected it.

“What about?—“

“Look, I’ll see you on Friday. You’re coming to our house for dinner with Langer, aren’t you?”

Not that I was actually looking forward to that, knowing all the minefields I might step in, but at least it might get him off my case.

“Of course.” He grabbed my arm. Why did he always feel entitled to do that? “But don’t forget that next weekend’s my birthday, and I’m planning a party. Are you coming?”

I groaned inwardly. Come to think of it, Juliette had mentioned something about that in a text, but it had slipped my mind after the past week had started giving way to something far more interesting than Corey.

I tried to shrug him off, but his grip tightened. “I’ll try,” I said, not trusting myself to say more.

He finally let me go with one of those supercilious smirks his face seemed to have been born with. “Good. I’ll see you soon.”

All I knew was that before “soon” rolled around, I’d have to figure out a way to get out of it. For the slave boy’s sake, and my own.

Even if I never spoke to him again.

Academic offices weren’t renowned for their size, but even by those standards, Erica Muller’s was puny—a stuffy, cramped little room hidden down at the end of a dim hallway in the back of the social sciences building. The one window, covered by a pair of dusty, crooked Venetian blinds, looked directly at a breezeway with a massive air conditioning unit.I couldn’t help but think that given the professor’s reputation, the administration had given her this piece of real estate on purpose. And Erica Muller herself appeared to share my lack of enthusiasm for the space, given that she was shoving coffee-stained papers into her worn leather backpack when I appeared breathlessly at her door.

“Professor Muller, I’m so sorry I’m late. Do you have just a couple more minutes, please?”

She didn’t even look up. “I’m sorry, but I’ve really got to get to this meeting. You’ll have to wait until my next office hours on Thursday.”

My heart sank into my knees. No. This absolutely couldn’t wait. Ihatedbeing pushy with authority figures—or anyone—but there were always exceptions. And this was one. “Please, it’s—it’s really important. It’s about a slave.”

The professor looked up sharply.

I had a feeling that might do the trick.

Erica Muller looked different up close than she did in the lecture hall. She appeared younger, for one, despite the frizzy hair and dowdy glasses, and wore a sleeveless blouse that showed off a small tattoo on her shoulder, one that wouldn’t have been visible from halfway back in the classroom. I couldn’t quite make it out, but it looked like two broken links of chain with something written on it. I forced my eyes not to stare.

“Why would a slave attack an owner?” Before she could mount a response, I pressed on. “It’s just that particular slave, he’s—he’s not like that. He’s not—“He’s smart and kind and funny and completely amazing,I wanted to say because it was true and because I couldn’t say it to anyone else, not even him.And hot,but I doubted Muller would be much interested in that aspect of the problem. Even though it basicallywasthe problem.

“Louisa.”

“Yes?”

“Breathe.”

“Oh, God.” I practically fainted as she pulled out a wooden chair for me to collapse in. “I’m sorry, Professor Muller. There’s a lot going on right now.”

“Call me Erica. I’m not exactly big into hierarchy, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She retook her desk chair and spun it toward me. “You have my attention. I’m not going anywhere. Tell me.”

I tried to get my breathing under control. I reached inside my bag.

“Here, I brought this,” I said shyly. “Maybe you can make more out of it than I could.”

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