I grab his necktie and yank him up. He staggers as I whirl him around. I slam his back against the wall and wrap my hand around his throat. “Her name.”
Blond hair falls over his eyes, his lips pulling away from his overbite. “What?”
So help me God, if he stuck his dick in my girl…
Don’t go there, Emeric.
I put my face in his and let him feel the fury of my breaths. “The girl you’re fucking. Give me her name.”
His throat bobs against the compress of my hand. We’re the same height, but I have at least thirty adult pounds on him. Because I am the adult, the authority figure who’s supposed to be breaking up hallway fights, not engaging in them.
I loosen my grip, but refuse to let go. I want to crush his gangly throat just for infecting my head with images of him with Ivory. “Sexual misconduct will get you expelled, Mr. Rivard. Who’s the girl?”
“Avery,” he chokes out. “But just to be clear…we’re n-not…having sex.”
Avery, not Ivory. The names are too similar, like he was thinking Ivory and spit out something else.
I glare at Sebastian. “Who’s Avery?”
He stares daggers at Prescott. “Avery Perrault is his girlfriend. She goes to St. Catherine’s.”
Is he lying? I’m wound too tight to pick up on hints. “Tell me about the arrangement you have with her.”
Sebastian’s eyes flash behind his glasses, his tone low and pungent. “She used to hang out with me, but not anymore.”
If hang out isn’t a euphemism for sex, I don’t know what is. And if this is about Ivory, why would they lie? So she can’t contradict their story? Is there more to it? Paying her for sex goes beyond expulsion. If caught, all three would be charged as consenting adults for violating prostitution laws. My chest constricts at the thought of Ivory arrested.
I return my attention to the imbecile wheezing in my grip. “How are you spending your allowance?”
“I-I…b-buy Avery things.” He paws at my hand. “Because she’s my girlfriend.”
Every inch of my body twitches with edginess. I release him and hold out my palm. “Unlock your phones and give them to me. Both of you.”
They bandy hostile looks and do as I say. A quick scroll through the logs confirms they both communicate with a contact named Avery. Neither phone has Ivory stored in the lists.
Because she doesn’t own a phone.
I return their devices and scrutinize their tense postures and indignant expressions, searching for a glimmer of untruth. I want to say Ivory’s name, bring her into the conversation somehow, just to study their reactions. But I can’t do that without making my own interests glaringly obvious.
However, I can write them up for fighting.
Twenty minutes later, I stand beside Beverly Rivard’s desk with my hands behind my back. I don’t say a word as the boys explain their dispute over Avery Perrault, how it’s all just a misunderstanding, and everyone’s virtues are still intact, blah, blah, fucking blah.
Prescott cants forward in the chair with his arm waving in my direction. “Then he tried to strangle me!”
The dean shifts her slivered eyes to me. “Mr. Marceaux, are you aware of the no touching policy?”
“Yes.” I tilt my head. “Are you aware your son is an asshole?”
“See what I mean?” Prescott throws his hands in the air and slumps in the seat. “He’s fucking nuts.”
Beverly walks around the desk, stops at the wall of windows, and stares out over the manicured lawns. “Mr. Rivard and Mr. Roth, you’ll be written up for language and fighting.” She turns, arms folded beneath her chest, and calmly takes in their outraged expressions. “Wait in the hall while I have a word with Mr. Marceaux.”
A turbulence of emotions storms through me, and leading the onslaught is a heavy, foreboding kind of urgency. If they’re lying about the girlfriend, I won’t find the truth in this office. Nor in this school. I need to perform my own investigation of their after-school activities.
When the door shuts behind them, Beverly drops her arms and stands taller, stiffer, her sharp gaze leaping toward mine. “If you ever lay a hand on my son again—”
“That is the protégé you want me to send to Leopold?” I thrust a finger at the door. “That little douchebag won’t last a month there.”
Her head quivers with the force of her shout. “Enough!”
She touches the collar of her blouse and closes her eyes, inhaling deeply.
I amble toward her and stop inches away. Towering over her, I wait for her to look at me.
My insides burn with anxious rage, but I keep my timbre rich, my voice mellow, and my eyes cool. “When he does something I disapprove of, I’ll handle it however the fuck I want. If you don’t like that, our deal is off.”
As I stride toward the door, she says, “I’ll fire you.”
“No, you won’t.” No need to tell her I’m considering quitting. “I’m his only way into Leopold.”