Page 22 of Little Did You Know

"Oh." I reached for my water glass, buying time. Something in his expression made me doubt everything I'd assumed about my fresh start. "When will my dorm be ready?"

Nick's shoulders tensed beneath his pressed shirt. "There's some confusion."

"What kind of confusion?"

"When did you register for USF?"

"I didn't." The orange juice suddenly tasted too sweet. "I didn't want to go to USF. Emmett handled everything."

His jaw tightened. "Emmett applied to the college for you?"

"Yes." I leaned forward, stomach knotting. "What's going on, Nick?"

"The school has no record of you applying there."

"That has to be a mistake." My voice came out small against the vast marble patio.

"Possibly," he said slowly, but the skepticism in his tone rang loud and clear." But school started over two weeks ago, and if you had registered, you would have been dropped from your classes by now."

"Emmett must have been confused."

He stared at me as if he didn’t believe that. "Perhaps.”

"I guess I can go back to New York until the following semester, or I can get an apartment here by then. I need to get a hold of Emmett to find out what I should do."

"I have a better idea." Nick's voice shifted to the same tone he'd used during a business call the night before—confident, no room for argument.

I straightened in my chair, bracing myself.

"I'm working on getting your transcripts sent over and enrolling you for next semester." He ticked points off on his fingers. "The university president is a good friend of mine."

Of course he was. In Nick's world, everyone important was a friend.

"He'll put you at the top of the waiting list for a dorm room, even though you're not registered yet."

A bird darted past the railing, hovering momentarily before zipping away—free in a way I suddenly envied.

"While you wait for a dorm room," Nick continued, his eyes tracking my reaction, "you can stay here."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand.

"And—" His lips quirked in what might have been anticipation. "If you'd like, I have a job for you."

I blinked, coffee cup suspended halfway to my lips. "A job?"

"A job," he confirmed, satisfaction evident in the subtle relaxation of his shoulders.

This was a lot of information to process at once. Housing, school, and now employment—all neatly arranged like pieces on a chessboard, but that was pretty much how my life had worked since my parents had died. "What kind of job?"

Nick leaned back, fingers steepled. "While I was working on getting your transcripts, I learned you have a Bachelor's in finance."

I nodded. I’d always been good with numbers.

"My business mostly handles investments." he lifted his coffee cup. "However, we also do a lot of financial consulting for other businesses and some... wealthy people."

The pause before "wealthy" spoke volumes about the caliber of clients he served.

He paused to take a sip of coffee, the morning light catching the expensive watch on his wrist. "There's an open position working for Derrick Owens, my financial director. You would mostly be going through financial records, looking for errors or inconsistencies so that the consultants can properly advise the client."

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