Angelica Draper. Serena looked like she wasn’t breathing. Mark leaned over and whispered something to Draper. The couple downed their shots and popped a couple of their nibbles into their mouths. Then the director of advancement threw some bills on the counter and yanked up Draper with stunning force. Serena and Olivia both gasped.
“What, what?” demanded Morgan.
“They’re leaving,” said Serena, eyes still as wide as saucers. She turned to Olivia with a “did you just see what I saw?” look. “Methinks our director of advancement is a very, very bad boy.”
As Serena duly recounted every gesture, elaborating on an exchange she couldn’t possibly have a clue about, Olivia participated, but from a distance. While she giggled with her friends, Olivia clung to the burning sensation of the hand on her thigh. She reveled in that sensation. But even in the reveling, she still had enough possession of herself to note her surroundings, to note the conversation and to note that Kate had not taken her eyes off her.
The air was thick with bullshit in Redkin’s office. He was slinging it fast and furious, and I slung it right back. We were each the president and founding member of the other’s mutual admiration society. This was my second one-on-one meeting with him in my role as chair of the Student Advancement Committee. So far it was even more “admirable” than the first. When we met last week, it was with Goodlace and in the morning. Redkin couldn’t meet until five today. The place was a tomb at five; only Kruger usually stayed late. I prayed she was still in her office. Why? Why was I so squirrelly around him?
“Did I tell you, Kate, that the board was charmed by you all, but especially by you and your story? I hope you don’t mind us milking it, per se.”
He waited.
I delivered.
“Not at all, Mr. Redkin. I appreciate this opportunity. I realize that you put me front and center on this, and I can assure you that I take my responsibility seriously.”
“It’s where you should be always. And it’s Mark.”
“Sir?”
“And it’s certainly not sir, remember?” He smiled. Redkin had full lips that curled when he smiled, but his cultivated facial stubble was enough to make the smile read heart-hurting, masculine. “It’s Mark. I’m not your teacher or your dean. I’m just the money guy and my name is Mark. Say it.”
“Mark.”
“Good.”
My Spidey-senses were firing blanks. Not good. Living the high life—being cared for—was making me stupid. I can usually read things, people, fast and clear, and I wasn’t able to get a fix on this guy. What did he want? Agenda, agenda, agenda?
Mark got up, walked around his desk and leaned against the edge. His suit jacket and tie hung off the back of the chair he’d just vacated. His shirt was open at the collar. How could Draper resist this? I liked to think of myself as fully immunized against whatever he was putting out and even I “got” it.
“Apparently, I hit a home run with the board.” He shook his head as if it were a surprise.
Nice move.
“Next item is that I want to feature you and Olivia in the big Christmas newsletter. The wild contrast in your stories and the fact that you became best friends is”—he paused—“enticing. We’ll play up the whole ‘only at a place like Waverly’ angle. We’ll also use it in the alumni package. It will make the old girls swoon.”
“Well, sure, I see that.” Made sense, sounded professional. “There’s not an old girl in the city who doesn’t recognize or revere Olivia’s bona fides. I understand the Granfield clan helped build this place and kept it going over the generations. And their name is etched on half the buildings in the city.”
He looked up at the ceiling. “You’re such a smart girl, Kate. Smart in so, so many ways.”
“Sir? I mean, Mark?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I think you understand me.”
What?
He got up and walked around me and rested his hands
“What, what?” demanded Morgan.
“They’re leaving,” said Serena, eyes still as wide as saucers. She turned to Olivia with a “did you just see what I saw?” look. “Methinks our director of advancement is a very, very bad boy.”
As Serena duly recounted every gesture, elaborating on an exchange she couldn’t possibly have a clue about, Olivia participated, but from a distance. While she giggled with her friends, Olivia clung to the burning sensation of the hand on her thigh. She reveled in that sensation. But even in the reveling, she still had enough possession of herself to note her surroundings, to note the conversation and to note that Kate had not taken her eyes off her.
The air was thick with bullshit in Redkin’s office. He was slinging it fast and furious, and I slung it right back. We were each the president and founding member of the other’s mutual admiration society. This was my second one-on-one meeting with him in my role as chair of the Student Advancement Committee. So far it was even more “admirable” than the first. When we met last week, it was with Goodlace and in the morning. Redkin couldn’t meet until five today. The place was a tomb at five; only Kruger usually stayed late. I prayed she was still in her office. Why? Why was I so squirrelly around him?
“Did I tell you, Kate, that the board was charmed by you all, but especially by you and your story? I hope you don’t mind us milking it, per se.”
He waited.
I delivered.
“Not at all, Mr. Redkin. I appreciate this opportunity. I realize that you put me front and center on this, and I can assure you that I take my responsibility seriously.”
“It’s where you should be always. And it’s Mark.”
“Sir?”
“And it’s certainly not sir, remember?” He smiled. Redkin had full lips that curled when he smiled, but his cultivated facial stubble was enough to make the smile read heart-hurting, masculine. “It’s Mark. I’m not your teacher or your dean. I’m just the money guy and my name is Mark. Say it.”
“Mark.”
“Good.”
My Spidey-senses were firing blanks. Not good. Living the high life—being cared for—was making me stupid. I can usually read things, people, fast and clear, and I wasn’t able to get a fix on this guy. What did he want? Agenda, agenda, agenda?
Mark got up, walked around his desk and leaned against the edge. His suit jacket and tie hung off the back of the chair he’d just vacated. His shirt was open at the collar. How could Draper resist this? I liked to think of myself as fully immunized against whatever he was putting out and even I “got” it.
“Apparently, I hit a home run with the board.” He shook his head as if it were a surprise.
Nice move.
“Next item is that I want to feature you and Olivia in the big Christmas newsletter. The wild contrast in your stories and the fact that you became best friends is”—he paused—“enticing. We’ll play up the whole ‘only at a place like Waverly’ angle. We’ll also use it in the alumni package. It will make the old girls swoon.”
“Well, sure, I see that.” Made sense, sounded professional. “There’s not an old girl in the city who doesn’t recognize or revere Olivia’s bona fides. I understand the Granfield clan helped build this place and kept it going over the generations. And their name is etched on half the buildings in the city.”
He looked up at the ceiling. “You’re such a smart girl, Kate. Smart in so, so many ways.”
“Sir? I mean, Mark?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I think you understand me.”
What?
He got up and walked around me and rested his hands
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