“Make sure you look around,” the Dean repeated. “Because there’s a ninety percent chance that someone in this room will be your future spouse.”
I watched Rose and rubbed my lips to hide an even larger grin because I knew she was incensed by the mere idea. She would be more likely to cut a dick than ride one. Rose Calloway was the heiress of Fizzle, the daughter of an international soda empire that rivaled Pepsi and Coca-Cola. But she never let the fame define her. She worked hard and she was naturally gifted at telling men to fuck off.
I didn’t believe in luck, but by some strange coincidence, she was randomly assigned to my tour group.
“You again,” she said.
I hadn’t seen her in over a year. And yet, we picked up right where we left off. We always did.
She added, “I beat your stupid boarding school this year at Model UN, you know.”
“I wasn’t there, so I’m not surprised that Faust lost to Dalton.” I had graduated one year before her.
She sucked in a sharp breath, her yellow-green eyes trying to penetrate me, a gaze that would cause a flurry of boners among the male student body. And she wouldn’t even know it. “I’m not an idiot.”
“You aren’t,” I agreed. “You’re perceptive, but ten meters to the right is Ashley Gracen. She’d school you in any match, intellectual or athletic. In the far back, fifty meters away sits Beth Anne Johnson. She’d beat your test scores without studying.” But Rose Calloway was different from all the girls at Penn. She was fashionable. But not a sorority girl. She was a genius on paper. But not a team player. She was quick to loathe others. But not against loving.
She was a complicated equation that didn’t need to be solved.
“All that proves is that you have a high proficiency to stalk girls.”
I like to know my competition. “You must possess the same skill then.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t stalk girls.”
“No, you just stalk guys. You searched the room for me when you came in here.”
Her lips pressed in a thin line. After a long pause, she said, “I did not.”
I tilted my head, my smile bursting through. And we stared at each other for a long time. Everyone nearby watched us. But we were stuck in our own world. In our own personal battle. I wasn’t sure there would ever be a winner. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see the day where one of us demolished the other.
Then the game would end. And where was the fun in that?
“Fine,” she retorted, crumbling beneath my persuasive gaze. “I was looking for you. But only because I think you’re the most narcissistic, egotistical, self-righteous human being in the universe.”
“The universe? I didn’t realize you’re so well-traveled.”
She glared. “Shut up.”
I looked her over and thought of one thing. I heard that during a health class at Dalton Academy, her prep school, she took her baby doll and stabbed the stuffing with a pair of scissors. Another person said she scribbled over the baby’s forehead and handed it to the teacher. The note: I won’t care for an inanimate object unless the boys do it too.
People thought she was nuts—in a genius “I will devour your soul” kind of way.
I thought she was fucking fascinating.
And then Caroline Haverford broke our quick-witted banter. She strutted up to my group, cupping a Diet Fizz, her brown hair sleek on her shoulders. She rode horses every day and was another notch in the WASP community. Wealthy families, socialites, equestrian, golf, Ivy Leagues, prep schools—I had been surrounded by it all for nineteen years.
She was another face I remembered. Another name I cared little about but made sure that I knew. And she eyed me with that predator look that said, What use will you be to me? Will I marry you some day and take all your fucking money?
After a cordial greeting, practically shoving Rose aside, she asked, “Do you still fence?”
“Yes, Connor, do you still fence?” The icy voice sliced the air as Rose interjected herself again. It almost brought a full smile to my face.
Before I could answer no, Caroline set her sights on Rose. “Harper Woodrow told me you’re still a virgin.”
It came out of left field, an obvious slight that caused Rose to spin towards me and silently say, Don’t you dare pity me. I wouldn’t. Not for that.
Caroline added, “I can give you the name of a guy who’d gladly rid you of it.”
“I’d rather make a necklace with your teeth.”