Page 102 of Manhattan Secret
The prince on campus for sorting out problems that are ordinarily unfixable.
People need a speeding ticket to disappear, so daddy doesn’t find out.
They need test papers or to have prior knowledge of their scores.
Maybe they need to verify health test results from a girl/guy they’re seeing.
The Bishop is extremely busy making money hand over fist.
I determine at MIT, the same with Richmond kids, people are fucking lazy—don’t wanna put in the actual work when they can throw money at a fixer.
I’ve never cheated on test scores a day in my life and that’s the truth.
I don’t have to.
Where’s the reward in that?
But who am I to judge when they’re feeding my adrenalin kick.
Fifteen weeks and my first college semester is done.
And no one guesses just how internally miserable I still am.
“Fierro! You coming?” Someone yells from the dorm hallway. I crank my head to the side to see a group of guys in the doorway. And in that group are several chicks who I know are into me—lapping me up with their greedy eyes.
Smirking, I toss a book aside and roll off the bed to grab a shirt, yanking it over my head, studying is officially done for now.
So many beers in my future.
I’ve worked hard, I deserve this.
My misery ends tonight.
As a group we head out to go to one of many frat house parties happening all over campus. My arms sling around two girls. Pasting on a smile, I look at one then the other. “Ready to make some bad decisions tonight, ladies?”
They beam up at me with agreement.
Yeah, me too.
* * *
Delaney
15 WEEKS AGO
Of course, my luck means the first day back at school, the very first face I see climbing out of her brushed silverDaimler is Riley, parked five spaces away from me.
We clock eyes and I internally sigh.
I’m already exhausted.
Turns out, crying myself to sleep from losing the love of my life is not conducive to a good night’s sleep. Like at all. I’m rocking zombie suitcases under my eyes.
I’d rather be anywhere but at work today … or any other day, not when my heart is hurting and the only one I have to blame is the chick looking back at me from the mirror every day.
She’s so fucking stupid,excuse my French, but if I had a brain, I’d probably be dangerous. My degree means nothing, finishing college with a first is just ink on paper. Where it counts—emotional maturity, expressive intelligence is sadly lacking within me and I’ve proven it the moment I didn’t fight to keep Lachlan.
My own fault.
