Page 16 of Dean's Delinquent

“Very astute, Ashleigh,” he grins, putting on his charm once more.

“You may call me Miss Hartwell,” she retorts. “We are not nearly familiar enough to have you address me so informally. My parents would be rather disappointed if I allowed you to call me by my first name when we just met.”

“My apologies, Miss Hartwell,” he grinds out as the muscles around his jaw jump.

Part of me wants to pump my fist in the air and egg my girl on as she goes toe-to-toe with one of the more dangerous members of my deviant club. Unfortunately, to do so would be to show my interest. Knowing Thatcher, he’ll take that as a challenge and not give two shits whether she’s actually our submissive or not.

“John. Thatcher. Seems as If I’m not too late. What a surprise.” The thick Russian accent booms from the aisle as Grigori makes his way toward us.

Honestly, I’d never been so happy to see the Bratva enforcer as I am now. Off to the side, Sergei keeps his eyes peeled as he shuffles back and forth. It does my heart good to know my friend has such a loyal man by his side.

“Grigori,” I smile, sliding my hand in his before slapping his shoulder. “Just you tonight? No Chelsea? She usually enjoys such occasions. I’m surprised you were able to keep her away.”

His lips thin as a pained expression crosses his face. “Trust me. She would have been very uncomfortable if I made her attend after our little...” He pauses for a moment and taps his lips. “Discussion. Also, Please be assured, her grades are sure to make a dramatic upswing after tonight.”

“Is Chelsea your daughter?” Ashleigh asks, her eyes wide with curiosity.

He glances down at her wrist then over to me. At my nearly imperceptible shake of my head, he nods and smiles. “No. She’s not my daughter. But she has enough brat in her to count as a child. She’s myLyubimaya. Or, how do you say, my dear one. Though some days she’s more like my exasperating one.”

“Miss Hartwell here is writing an article for the university paper,” Thatcher butts in.

“Ahh. I see. Then I’m sure Chelsea will be sorry she missed you.”

“Oh? Does she have an affinity for the press? I could use another writer.”

Grigori throws his head back and laughs. “Not unless you’re starting a gossip column and will allow her to be as scathing as she wants to be.”

For a moment, she looks so very alone, so very small, as she gives a helpless shrug. “Food review?”

This time, it’s Sergei’s turn to snort? “Bitch picky eater. More like food not reviewed.”

When the three of us laugh, she glances up at us with a look of bewilderment on her face. Thatcher, asshole that he is, shrugs in false solidarity. “I guess I’m just out of the joke.”

Grigori shakes his head, a smile on his face. “If you’re ever unfortunate enough to meet her, you’ll understand all too well.”

“Sounds like you really don’t like her,” Ashleigh pipes up, her interest re-engaged.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’d die for her, but she’s definitely an acquired taste. And not everyone is fond of her flavor. But, as they say, what doesn’t kill you makes you drink. Luckily, I have enough top-shelf vodka to last for several lifetimes.”

Thankfully, one of the board members goes up to the podium, causing a hush around the room. The longer we all talk, the more I’m sure something will slip, something she’ll latch onto and ruminate about. This was all a mistake.

It was insane to bring her here. What was I thinking? She’s already far too curious for her own good, but now that she’s surrounded by Society members, every word is suspect.

Grabbing my glass, I sip the expensive wine, using the alcohol to calm my brain. Thankfully, Ashleigh doesn’t seem too concerned by the double conversations happening around her. As long as she doesn’t ask too many questions, it should be okay.

As predicted by the reporter herself, everything drones on and on with clapping here, and oohing and aahing there. If not for the rampant curiosity at watching Ashleigh scribbling away in her notebook, I’m sure I would have fallen asleep by now.

Thankfully, dinner is a fine rescue, keeping her mouth and hands busy while we all discuss business around the table. And as with all of these benefit dinners, school business and society business come together until they blur as one. It’s maddening speaking in code, but while Ashleigh is with us, we don’t have a choice.

Damn me for thinking it was a good idea to bring her. Normally, my brain is what runs the show. However, it seems like the moment little Miss Hartwell stepped into my life, I can only think with my dick.

I’m so consumed with my thoughts that I barely register someone else coming toward the table. It’s not until Sergei steps forward that I see the younger man with tux leaning over Ashleigh. He’s not a student that I remember, but then, so many come through these doors that I might have missed him.

“Care to join me for a dance?”

Even though she slips her hand into his, I note the pained expression on her face. There’s nothing to be done. To rebuff him would be to bring undue attention over my way.

As they slip off into the crowd, Grigori leans over to me. “What’s the story here?”

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