Mad Boys (Blue Ivy Prep, #2)(59)
“Sir?” I went for polite.
“Don’t worry about the tardy or the absence. Neither will be counted against you.” The door closed behind him, cutting off my view. “If you’ll come with me.”
Come with him?
“Am I in trouble?” Academic probation the previous year had sucked, but I’d busted ass all last year and into this one to stay as ahead as I could. I was carrying straight As at the moment, and I had a bet with Bronson I could beat his senior year GPA. So far, I wasn’t winning, but I wasn’t losing either.
“Not at all, Miss Crosse. The dean and I have some questions for you. We can contact a parent or guardian if you prefer, so they can be present.”
Alarm bells went off, but I re-shouldered my backpack. “I’m eighteen.” I was emancipated before then and more than capable of negotiating for myself. We also had a manager, an attorney, an agent, and reps from the label if we ran into issues we couldn’t handle. “Although I’d like to keep this brief and not miss my other classes.”
“Absolutely,” he said, motioning for me to take point. The walk took us from the academic building to the administrative. With—yeah, I still couldn’t remember his name—escorting me, we were in the dean’s office in minutes.
“Miss Crosse,” the dean said as he stood and extended his hand.
Dean Mayfair shook my hand briefly. “I am sorry we had to pull you out of class, but the board has been meeting and after some serious consideration, I wanted to meet with you personally before we proceed with any action.”
Lowering my backpack slowly, I raised my eyebrows as I sat, and he resumed his. My escort did not sit down but stood near the wall like he would be here to witness the conversation but not participate.
Yeah, that wasn’t weird at all.
The earlier alarm bells were back and raising a cacophony. “What is this about, exactly?” Because right now, I was wondering if I should be getting an attorney or at least another witness. Business meetings that began with vague premises were never a good idea.
“Straight to the point,” the dean said. “I respect that. This is regarding a recent article written about you that included some rather…invasive photographs.”
The birthday girl and the stepbrothers bullshit. I said nothing; better to give no comments than confirm anything. He gave me a moment, but I waited for him to finish.
Sitting forward, he opened a file folder and laid out printouts of the online article and all the fun photographs. The last one, of course, was of me and Ramsey, where we were kissing.
Fantastic.
“You have seen this?”
“I have.” Admitting to seeing the article wasn’t a confession of anything. “I’d recommend against following the gossip sites. They generally have nothing good to say.” About anyone, for any reason. Negative news and clickbait were their bread and butter.
“I agree with you,” he said, nudging the page with Ramsey and me forward. “Both in principle and in practice; however, this isn’t so much about what they wrote as what is depicted in this photograph.”
Glancing at the photo briefly, I kept my business face locked on. Neutral and don’t commit to anything without verification. So many people thought pushing us around ‘cause we were kids when we got started was the way to go, except Mom actually gave me the best advice.
Never walk in like you owe anyone anything. They want you there, so make them earn it.
Right now, the dean wanted answers from me. He’d have to earn them. “All right.”
He sighed, then leaned back as he adopted a more sympathetic look. “Miss Crosse, I’m aware that this is probably not the most comfortable of topics, but Mr. Malone is a TA on this campus. He’s actually the TA in two of your classes, and he was for one class last year.”
The urge to snark at him was right there, but I resisted it…narrowly, ‘cause no shit.
“You are a student on this campus and, until a few days ago, underage. It would be highly inappropriate for Mr. Malone to pursue any relationship with you beyond that of being a teacher’s assistant and, I believe, your tutor for some time.”
“He was an excellent tutor.” Even when he was a fucking dick about it. “He really came through for me last year, pushed me to be better, and challenged what I knew. I didn’t really care for it too much in the beginning, however, I think I genuinely benefitted from his help.”
A sentiment, I had, in fact, tried to tell Captain Douchebag, except he didn’t listen. Or maybe he did, but whatever, I forgot what an entitled little bitch I can be.
“I’m very glad to hear this…the concern about this involvement…” He tapped the photograph. “I need to know if he’s kissed you before and what happened around this kiss.”
Captain Douchebag was in trouble. The too-serious looks on the pair standing here made that clear. “Can you offer me some assurances that nothing I say here will be repeated?”
Surprise stamped its way across his features. “We would never…”
I raised a hand. “Forgive me, but the number of people who have assured me they would never say anything to the press then promptly reported my grades when I was in elementary school have taught me to be wary. You are both bound by a nondisclosure agreement with the school.”