Page 98 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

“Crew, probably,” I say.

“And the school newspaper,” Riley inserts. “To cover the lacrosse season.”

I bite my lip, but the professor just smiles.

“Riley Appleton,” she introduces herself. “Currently a junior, but eager to join you, sir.”

They shake hands.

Professor Marks’ smile widens. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, young lady.”

Riley’s parents join us. We finally break away from the professor, who wishes Riley and me good luck with our applications, and find a spot to sit and eat.

“There’s another seminar about housing,” Riley’s dad says. “We were hoping to attend that. The school has some housing, but we’d like to be prepared.”

Riley turns to me. “Imagine, we could live together!”

Oh my god.

I offer her a weak smile. “Sounds great.”

She doesn’t notice any hesitancy, and the conversation sweeps away.

“You guys should go,” I say to Robert. “Riley and I will keep busy for an hour.”

Len and Robert exchange a glance, then Robert grins. “Yeah, I’d like to learn more about housing. The location is important if you decide to come here.”

“I rented an apartment for grad school,” Len says. “But you’re a lot younger, and we’d worry if you were completely on your own.”

We kill time until their session, then Riley and I stand.

“We’ll meet you here when you’re done!” she calls. She grabs my hand and leads me away, out of sight. “I pulled up his office on my phone. It’s only ten minutes from here.”

My stomach erupts with butterflies. “What if he isn’t there?”

“He will be. Lawyers are workaholics. And if he isn’t, maybe we can get his home address or something.”

That’s stalking. I shake my head, but we head off down the street. This part of the city is different from Times Square. A smidge less busy. No glaring screens over our heads. Just regular storefronts and tall office buildings once we get out of the residential section.

Finally, we stop in front of a large building. It’s noisier here. Cabs and cars rush by on the street. Businessmen and women flood the streets. There’s a smell of burning coming from the grates beneath our feet.

“Tenth floor,” Riley says.

We go in. Unlike the office building Caleb and I went to, this one doesn’t have much in the way of a lobby. Just a few rows of metal benches facing glass walls. No receptionist desk. We go to the elevators, then up.

Tobias Hutchins. I don’t know if he’s going to be the same man Caleb and I ran into, or if he’ll recognize me. Maybe I can lie about who I am, get him to open up before I ask him about a seven-year-old case.

“Good afternoon,” the receptionist greets us once we push through the frosted-glass doors to the law office. “Are you here for an appointment?”

“We need to speak to Mr. Hutchins,” Riley says smoothly. “He said we didn’t need an appointment.”

The receptionist’s lips thin. “I’m afraid he’s booked all day. If you call his secretary, she’ll be able to set you up—”

“Margo?”

I spin toward the voice.

The lawyer.

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