Reckless Hearts: A Billionaire Romance (16 page)

"Say that again."

I shifted the receiver to my other ear and turned so that I could lean against the wall beside the phone. I gave him the Cliff's Notes of my meeting with Peabody.

Tell him to forget this number. Tell him you never want to see him again. Tell him it's all his fault and to stay away.
My heartbeat kicked up a few notches, the pressure building inside me. The rational part of me, the part that knew that I had just written a great essay, urged me to sever.

The rest of me wanted to twirl a lock of my hair around my finger and smile at the sound of his voice.

"Every time I think I have you figured out, you pull another surprise on me," Owen said. The news of his ban from the school amused him.

"You and me both," I replied.

"So I'm not allowed on campus and you're not allowed off campus," he said, thinking out loud based on the tone of his voice.

"A Catch 22 if there ever was one."

Although it seemed the perfect solution of how to solve my problem. My problem being Owen.

"I'm not banned," he said.

"How do you mean?"

"The person they think I am isn't banned. All I have to do is show up as him."

"You know you sound like a crazy person right now, don't you?" I smiled when I said it, my body all aflutter at the thought of seeing him again soon.
No! You have studying to do! Midterms coming up. More papers to write. There's no time for men. Especially not a man like him.

All of that dimmed in importance, though. It all seemed like someone else's life, someone else's obligations. Not mine. I was just a girl feeling something I never thought I'd feel for another person.

Especially not after so short a time of knowing said other person.

"When?" I said, simultaneously hating myself and on the edge of my (metaphoric, since I was standing) seat waiting for his reply.

"Two hours. Everything takes longer when it's official."

"I'll see you then."

***

I
didn't know what to do with myself. The 4.0 GPA student part of me suggested I spend my time studying, proofreading, condensing lecture notes. Something
productive
is the word that kept popping up in my head.

However, the part currently in control had other plans. It had me pulling all my clothes out of the closet and the dresser and picking out my next outfit.

I wanted something that looked good. Something that looked good enough to want to tear off, that is (insert mischievous smile here).

Time is a rubber band. Sometimes it stretches out, a second becoming a minute, an hour. Like what happens waiting in a doctor's office with nothing to amuse you but six-month old issues of
Popular Mechanics
and
People.

Sometimes it contracts. Hours become minutes, minutes seconds, and so on.

One second it was 3:15 PM. The next instant it was 4:05. And even though my collection of clothes was pretty meager by the standards of most girls, I still had a bunch of different combinations to try on. Mostly jeans and short or long-sleeved shirts.

But they all had different fits, okay? Different fits and colors and oh God I hadn't felt that way since junior high.

At 4:30 I decided to follow the KISS method of thinking. KISS being Keep It Simple, Stupid. Owen first saw me in jeans and a shirt. He'd torn a similar outfit off me at the cottage.

That was what he liked me in. That was what he would get again.

Will he tear it all off again, though?
I wondered. I put it from my mind. One thing at a time.

That decided, 30 minutes remained until his supposed arrival. Time's rubber band un-scrunched and stretched.

30 minutes remaining then became 30 minutes late. Then 40. 45.
Where is he?
Couldn't someone with his money and clout cut through any amount of red tape? Didn't he have people to do just that on his payroll?

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and thought of calling him. Then I remembered it wasn't his cell number that I had. I shoved it back into my pocket, blowing my cheeks out while I did.

Even I could take a step back and see how weird this whole situation was. I glanced out my window, looking down at the concrete quad, hoping maybe to catch a glimpse of him making his way to my front door.

No such luck. It was empty except for a few leaves blowing into the corners.

I don't know his last name. I don't know his cell number.
How had this all happened so breathlessly fast? And to me of all people? I still couldn't understand it.

All questions and no answers,
Owen said in my mind.
He was right
, I thought.

If I closed my eyes I could still sense the old me. The one who wanted to get out this place and then onto bigger and better things. But that Allison was distant. And seen through a bank of fog that both made her hazy and dulled her calls for help.

There was still time to recover her, I knew. But not much. It would run out around when unfinished papers started coming due, when midterms went un-aced and that letter putting me on academic probation arrived.

All of that didn't terrify me to the extent I expected it to.

I really am different now.

Although his delay didn't help. 5:30 blinked on my clock and I began wondering if maybe I was the victim of some prank, some elaborate punking. Peabody would jump out and say, "Gotcha!" and then point at all the hidden cameras. Like the one that had spied me going to that parking lot.

My phone rang again and I rushed over to answer it, not thinking to look at the call display first.

"Hello?" I said. And it was good that I did say that instead of
What took you so long?
Because it wasn't Owen.

"Hello. Miss Chambers, Mr. Peabody would like to see you in his office straight away."

"Is there a problem?" I said.

"I'm not certain," his secretary said, "He told me to ask you to come and see him. Can we expect you shortly?"

"Yes," I replied.

I hurried over, glad I remembered to grab my jacket when I stepped through that cold breeze buffeting the quad.

I rushed through the office halls, taking a moment before I rounded the corner to Peabody's office to breathe.

His secretary eyed me, annoyance plain on her face. I guess she was supposed to finish her shift at 5:00 and she surmised that something about me caused the delay.

"Hi," I said, the guilt heavy on my shoulders.

"Please go straight in. Thank you for coming so quickly," she said, not meaning the second part.
She must think I'm quite the troublemaker, here twice in one day.

I did, pulling the door open and stepping into Peabody's office with its great expanse of desk and its pretension.

Peabody and Owen stood by the window looking down onto the campus, both of them facing away from me. Owen was tall and trim, his nice hair calling even more than normal attention to Peabody's baldness.

They both turned at the sound of my entrance.

"Ah, thank you for coming to see me again, Miss Chambers," a smile on his lips but absent from his eyes.

"No problem at all," I said, "Anything for this school."

"Of course," he said, his face a caricature mask. I shouldn't have given him tone like that, but I knew he wouldn't do or say anything here in front of Owen. Nothing to tarnish the reputation of this place.

He put his hand on Owen's shoulder. A bit of a reach, for him. "I'm sure you remember our esteemed guest. Because he certainly remembers you."

"Does he, now?" I said, switching my attention to Owen.

He wore a dark tailored suit, his red tie a splash of color to relieve the severity of it all. And now he looked the part of the CEO, too. Youthful still, yes, but hardened somehow. When he took me in, it wasn't with the eyes of the man I'd shared bacon and coffee with.

"Yes. Those questions you asked me keep lingering in my head," he said, stepping around the desk and offering his hand.

"Oh, at this school we teach critical thinking. We're not afraid of the hard questions, not here," Peabody said.

I took Owen's hand. He gave it two professional pumps but didn't drop it quite as fast as he should have. A signal, perhaps? His version of a secretive wink?

"That's the sort of thing I like to hear," Owen said.

"What is this all about?" I asked, wondering just what Owen had said or done to get this meeting. From the way Peabody kept wiping the metaphoric, greedy drool from his mouth I figured it involved money. Lots of money, by the looks of it.

"Please," Peabody said, interjecting himself between us. He put his hand on my shoulder. My skin crawled, but I didn't push it off. I didn't want to ruin Owen's plan. "Our guest here became interested in the Duvall Grant you received to attend our fine institution. He's interested in creating something similar in the future, and he wanted to learn more about the caliber of student such an opportunity draws.

"Which, by the way, is quite fine indeed. Allison here, Miss Chambers, I mean—forgive my presumption—is set to finish at the top of her class this year."

"Is that so?" Owen said. His eyes took in my jeans, my shirt, the light fall jacket. Those eyes flickered with doubt so real even I believed it, just a little.

Peabody scrambled, noticing it, too. "We believe that a strict dress code encourages uniformity, pardon my pun. No freedom of expression hampers freedom of thought, you see. It is, after all, the 21st century, is it not?"

"That it is," Owen said, "Still, I'm not so certain that this is the right institution for my investment. It seems as though you already receive a great deal of funds from the families of the students who attend."

"True," Peabody jumped in. He started getting flushed around the collar, and his fingers tightened on my shoulder. "Those students need no assistance, yes. But, and please forgive me for saying this, Miss Chambers, it's students from backgrounds like hers who would benefit most from such an opportunity. We could call it the Utopia Fund, if you like."

I smiled, trying to look the part of the well-deserving, life-changing grant. I felt like I had a deeper understanding of Pip from
Great Expectations
now.

"Mr. Peabody, I don't appreciate it when other people presume to know what I do and do not like. Sometimes I don't even know the answer myself. Why should you?"

He glanced with casual grace between us when he said that. The muscles in my lower back stiffened, and I began getting a little hot around the collar, too.

"Well..." I started.

The fingers on my shoulder squeezed. "Please, Miss Chambers, I'm sure our guest will be interested in what you have to say in time, after I've better acquainted him with how we run this institution."

I wanted to stamp down on his instep and see how well he managed to run around
this institution
then. I didn't. I satisfied myself instead with how much effort it took to restrain that urge.

"I think I've heard enough out of you, actually. More than enough," Owen said.

"I beg your pardon?" Peabody replied.

Owen pushed his hands into his pockets and then leaned back on Peabody's desk like he owned the whole place. He looked around, perhaps wondering where the inevitable bottle of bourbon and its accompanying tumbler were stashed. "It's not your opinion on the matter that I care about, Peabody. It's hers." He nodded at me.

The breath caught in Peabody's throat. Up until my night with Owen, I don't think I heard a sweeter, more satisfying sound.

He puffed up, the windbag filling with wind, "Sir, I can assure you that as the president of this institution, there is nobody better equipped to..."

He shut up when Owen lifted his hand.

"Not you. Her."

"I'm not so certain I have anything to say that you'll want to hear," I said, "Maybe President Peabody is more worth your time."

I said it partly to play along, to play up to Peabody's ego. Partly to bug Owen, to make him sweat for it a little more.

That earned me a pressing of the lips and the flash of a promise in Owen's eyes that he would get me back for that.

"See? What did I tell you?" Peabody said, "A sharp one, our Miss Chambers."

Owen nodded. "Sharpening takes a little material away each time, though. If you do it too often, or take too much, soon there isn't anything left worth keeping."

"Spoken from experience?" I asked.

Beside me, Peabody paled and stiffened. I enjoyed the old two-face's discomfort. Though I knew he wouldn't let it stand and soon I'd probably receive another polite summons to this office.

"Sometimes the free thinking pushes their thoughts in the wrong direction," Peabody said.

"The direction's just fine, Peabody. I don't think this little meeting is enough. You're done for the day, aren't you, Miss Chambers? I believe I heard Peabody telling his secretary something along those lines. Or may I call you Allison?" Owen said.

Peabody had an
I don't like where this is headed
look creasing his brow.

"Miss Chambers is fine with me, actually. And yes, I'm done until tomorrow," I said.

Again those fingers tightened on my shoulder, probably leaving little white bloodless marks on my skin. Owen started smiling and covered his mouth before the expression could blossom.

Owen looked to Peabody, "I'd like to borrow her for a few hours then, if she can spare it from her studies."

This time Peabody did tug at his collar. Little beads of sweat appeared on his bald scalp, threatening to drive down his cheeks and sting his eyes.

"Well," he said, "There is a small disciplinary matter. Nothing, really. You know how young people can be..." He paused there, perhaps noting for himself just how young Owen looked. Not much older than the girl beside him, he must have figured. "In any case, her off campus privileges have been rescinded for the next four weeks."

"That long? I'm not certain I can wait until then. Pressing matters with a subsidiary in Indonesia. You understand."

"I do, of course, but perhaps..." Peabody said.