Page 12 of The Prodigal

Inhaling, I blow smoke in her face, flicking ashes over her salad. Let’s see how fucking fresh it tastes now. “Are you finished?” I ask rhetorically. She’s finished if I have to drag her ass out of this line. There’s only one person who’s going to make Eden Da Luca cry.

And that person is me.

The girl, whose name I’m happy not to know, nods robotically, already shuffling toward the cashier and out of my sight, leaving just me and Eden alone in the line.

“Room 101.” Eden grins, curiosity quickly replacing the hurt in her eyes. “I didn’t realize you went to this school.”

“I didn’t realize you enjoyed being a doormat to plastic Barbies,” I offer lazily.

She clutches her chest dramatically. “Aww. If you’re not careful with those compliments, I might think you actually like me, 101.”

I snort dryly. She’s not nearly as funny as she thinks she is.

“Anyway…” She waves off my annoyed look through the serving window. “I was going to hand deliver these to Your Highness later, but seeing as you’re here…” She shrugs, and I don’t notice the smooth line of her cleavage as she leans forward, sliding a plate full of fries across the counter. “Consider my debt paid in full.”

Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Her debt to me is much more than disgusting cafeteria fries.

“Oh. And…” she adds, plucking a fry from my plate and popping it into her mouth. “You’re welcome for the new sheets I left tied to your door this morning.”

She’s not cute.

She’s not intriguing.

She’s the enemy’s daughter.

And the only way I can make things right.

I stare down at the fries and then at the stormy blue eyes that are too trusting for her own good. “Why were you digging change out of the fountain?”

It wasn’t what I meant to say. It doesn’t matter to me why my mark was playing in the fountain. Maybe she was saving a butterfly. Who the fuck knows with her.

But more importantly, who the fuck cares?

Certainly not me.

And I hope that’s evident when I walk away, leaving the fries and her shock behind.

I don’t bother going to class, not that I would have anyway. But I have an appointment, and as much as he might grate on my nerves, I desperately need his help. Rumor has it, he’s the only one with the connections and the discretion I need.

He’s just an asshole—but not as much as me.

“I assume you know how this works.” Maverick Lexington, the rumored dealmaker on campus cocks a brow, silently sizing me up.

It’s cute.

“I assume you know I’m not some campus groupie overcome with butterflies when you go over this spiel.” I motion to the card in his hand—the one he’s been flipping through his fingers, hoping I’ll be intimidated and leave his apartment.

Newsflash: I won’t.

I’ve seen scarier shit that I’m sure Maverick here has only seen in the movies. If he thinks his elaborate setup of a poker table and NDA agreements scare me, he’s sadly mistaken. The last thing I’ll fear is an IOU from the underground campus dealmaker.

Matching his amusement, I cock a brow. “Are you scared to make a deal with me, Lexington?” I slide the aquarium tickets Duke and Ramsey gifted me for my birthday across the felt table. “A private tour through”—I lean across the table and glance at the wording on the ticket—“the sea lion habitat.” I flash him a smirk. “I hear that’s your jam now.”

Maverick chuckles, leaning back in his chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips as if he’s forgotten to light it.

But he won’t.

Because, like me, he’s got an agenda, and his lies are part of it.

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