Deception (Infidelity #3)

The counselor nodded. “I understand. What you saw would be traumatic for anyone. I’ve lived in New York for most of my life and have never been that close to a shooting. According to the news report, you were seen being taken away from the scene with a Mr. Demetri.”

I didn’t respond to confirm or deny her observation, though I found the use of Nox’s name interesting or maybe confusing.

As I pondered, she continued, “One of the reasons I called you to my office is because the university has counselors, ones who could help you deal with this. You’re about to embark on a very busy semester. If this situation weighs too heavily…”

I sighed as she continued with her recommendation for therapy. If she only knew that in the grand scheme of the last few months of my life, this incident was a minor blip—now that I knew the woman who was shot in our stead was going to survive. That was, until she mentioned a name I never wanted associated with me.

“Our other concern is the call I received yesterday from your stepfather, Alton Fitzgerald.”

The relief I’d felt at her concern for my mental health faded as the small hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention and my back straightened. “Why would he call you?”

“At first he was calling to see if you were here, to check on your safety.”

Bullshit. He wasn’t checking on my safety.

“At first?” I asked.

“He voiced concerns about tuition and about your missing class. He’s concerned about your handling the responsibility…”

My teeth ground together as she continued. Finally, unable to take it anymore, I interrupted. “Dr. Renaud, I graduated with honors from Stanford. This is only the first week of classes. I did well on all of my evaluations during orientation. My stepfather has no right to voice his opinions.”

“He said that you might say that. He also made it known that he had other ways to influence Columbia. We rely heavily upon donations.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that accepting you into our program was a well-thought-out decision, not one that our admissions committee made lightly. We put a lot of time into our selection process. Please don’t give us reason to doubt our decision.”

“As far as my tuition is concerned, I’m paying for my classes, not my stepfather or my mother.” Okay, it wasn’t me, but Nox. “I’ve secured the remainder of my tuition for the next three years. In the future, I’d like the name Alton Fitzgerald removed from all of my records. Speaking to him about me will be considered a breach of my privacy.”

Dr. Renaud sat silently for a moment, studying me, and then her veneer shattered and she smiled. “I like you. Show this same fortitude in your classes and I have no doubt that our decision to admit you as one of our students was a correct one. As a matter of fact, after what I just saw, I’d like to recommend you for an internship with one of your professors.”

I tried to keep up. One minute it seemed as though I was fighting for my right to continue as a student and the next she was talking to me about an internship. “Which professor? What would the internship entail?”

My stomach twisted with new nerves as she spoke about the duties required of all the interns. The work would mostly involve research, citing old cases and finding precedents to substantiate the cases in—or preparing to be in—litigation. My counselor joked that computers and databases made the research less exhausting than it had been back in her day; nevertheless, the work would require extensive time and would be unpaid. Despite all of that, she emphasized the benefits. Being accepted for this opportunity would give real-world application to my studies, making it not only an excellent experience but would also look great on a résumé.

“You may not be aware,” she said, “but Professor Walters is well known for his work in federal litigation in the fight against legalization of recreational marijuana. His research as well as sources was groundbreaking in its day. Having your name associated with Joseph Walters will open many doors.”

My name associated… will open doors?

Bryce’s warning of Nox came back to me. Was she speaking of opening doors for me, or would having a Montague, a tobacco giant, working with Professor Walters help him?

Surely that wasn’t what she’d meant.

I was just overwrought. It was the perfect ingredient for triggering my overactive imagination.

Dr. Renaud’s words brought my focus back to her as she said, “I’d be happy to recommend you to Professor Walters, but my recommendation alone wouldn’t guarantee you a spot.”

I nodded and, swallowing my concern, I considered the time commitment. Nox had his work and gladly supported me and my time for studies, but how would he feel about my spending more hours on this internship?

Why did I suddenly care?

Was I doing what Patrick said and beginning to think like a part of a couple?

In California, at Stanford, I would have willingly jumped at an opportunity like this.

“Dr. Renaud, is there an application or something I need to complete?”

She hit a few keys on her computer. “Let me email you the link.”

My chest rose and fell with the unfamiliar conflict of my future versus my present. Feigning a smile, I said, “Thank you for thinking of me for this opportunity. I’ll do some research and take a look at the application.”

“Miss Collins, these internships are coveted. Consider that as you’re doing your research.”

As I left Dr. Renaud’s office, I checked my phone and saw that I had fifteen minutes until my next class. Since that meeting with my faculty counselor had been unplanned, I decided to text Clayton, my new driver-slash-bodyguard.

Despite the warm afternoon, as I stepped against a building into the shadow to better see my screen, I thought of Jerrod. I’d grown accustomed to his presence and he’d failed me—us. The idea that the man who’d been assigned to me, who’d accompanied me for nearly the last month, was even partially responsible for the letter in our apartment filled me with a sense of doubt. I wanted to trust all of Deloris’s decisions, because I knew Nox did, but how could I be sure about Clayton? Would I be better off with someone from Montague Manor? If I did, who would it be? No matter how eloquently Alton professed his concern over my safety, giving up Brantley, his right-hand man, wouldn’t be an option.

My mouth filled with a sour taste. I didn’t want Brantley anyway.

If only I were the na?ve woman Nox assumed I was when he first told me that I would have a driver, when I first protested. If I were, I wouldn’t be familiar with the way the system worked. Yes, the man or woman entrusted with my safety would be my bodyguard, but life experience told me that no matter where he or she came from—Deloris or Montague—I wouldn’t be the person who the bodyguard ultimately reported to. Supposedly, where I sought security was my choice, but in reality all it did was determine who would receive the reports of my daily activities, Nox or Alton. Knowing which answer I wanted, I shook my head and fingered the new drop-pearl necklace dangling from my neck.

The style looked chic and simple: a large ivory pearl floating freely within a diamond-dusted platinum cage. To the unknowing, it was a beautiful, understated accessory. Only a few people knew that the pearl wasn’t real but an iridescent casing around a microchip that broadcast my location via GPS to Deloris. More than that, it recorded my movements, my respiration, and even my heart rate.

Deloris had offered earrings, beautiful pearl-looking ones with a serpentine diamond base. The issue was that she wanted me to wear the jewelry all of the time—twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I didn’t like sleeping in earrings, but I could in a necklace. According to her, it only needed to be removed when I swam.