CARTER

I stacked the last of the case files into my briefcase. The office was quiet now. Students had cleared out hours ago. Just the sound of the clock ticking above the door.

I closed the flap when I heard a knock.

The door opened before I answered.

Eli stepped in, clutching a folder to his chest like it might explode. His hair was damp again, sticking up in places like he’d run his hands through it too many times.

“Uh—here.” He placed the folder on my desk quickly, like he was dropping off contraband.

I looked at it. “What is this.”

“The list,” he said. “Research assignments, grading sheets, uh… the stuff you asked for.”

I opened it, scanned quickly. Organized. Neat handwriting. No mistakes. “Efficient.”

He shifted on his feet. “Thanks… I guess.”

I closed the folder. “You’ll need access to the source documents.”

“Oh. Okay, sure. Where do I…?”

“At my house.”

He froze. Eyes wide. Shoulders locked. “Y-your house?”

“Yes.”

His mouth opened, closed. “Wait—you mean like… your house house?”

I raised a brow. “Is there another kind?”

He blinked fast. “I—no. I just… your house?”

“Is there a problem.”

His throat bobbed. “No, I—just—it’s your house—”

I smirked faintly, the first shift in my expression all day. “You’re stuttering.”

His face turned red. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

He glared at me, which was useless. I snapped the case shut and stood. “Let’s go.”

In the car, he sat stiff beside me, hands gripping his bag like it was a seatbelt.

“You look like you’re being driven to an execution,” I said flatly.

He jumped. “What? No. I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” he muttered.

I flicked him a glance. “Relax. I’m not going to bite.”

His face went hot. He looked out the window quickly.

Silence stretched.

I didn’t fill it.

We pulled into the driveway.

The lights were on.

I frowned.

I hadn’t left them on.

I cut the engine. Eli shifted nervously beside me.

“Someone’s here?” he asked.

I opened the door without answering.

Inside, I heard it before I saw him—Liam’s voice.

“Bro, you’re late. Thought you’d show earlier.”

He was sprawled on the couch, drink in hand, like he owned the place.

My jaw clenched. “What the fuck are you doing in my house.”

He smirked. “Relax. Just came to say hi. You don’t pick up my calls.”

“You don’t belong here.”

“Why not? It’s not like you’ve got company—”

He stopped when he saw Eli step in behind me.

His smirk widened. “Well. Well. Speak of the devil.”

Eli froze. Shoulders hunched like he wanted to vanish.

Liam’s eyes dragged over him slow. “Didn’t think you’d move on this fast. My brother, Eli? Really?”

“Shut up,” Eli muttered.

“Cute.” Liam leaned back, smug. “What, he makes you feel safe? You think he’ll fix you? You and your broken—”

“Get the fuck out,” I cut in, voice low.

Liam’s smirk faltered. He sat up. “Seriously?”

I took a step forward, eyes cold. “Now.”

He looked between us, jaw tight. “Unbelievable.”

“Door’s there,” I said.

The silence stretched. Then, finally, he slammed the glass down on the table and stood.

His face was dark now, anger burning through the fake grin. “You’ll regret this, Carter.”

“Out.”

He brushed past, shoulder knocking mine harder than necessary, and stormed out. The door slammed behind him.

The house went quiet again.

Eli let out a breath like he’d been holding it for hours. “Holy shit.”

I didn’t answer. Just walked past him into my office.

“Wait—where are you going?” he asked, trailing after me.

“To get the files,” I said.

“That was… intense.”

I opened the cabinet, pulled out the locked drawer. “That was Liam.”

“Yeah, I know who it was.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “He hasn’t changed at all.”

“No.”

“He looked… mad.”

“He always looks mad when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

I gathered the files into a folder and handed it to him.

He blinked. “That’s it? You’re just… calm after all that?”

“Yes.”

“You kicked your own brother out of your house.”

“And?”

He stared at me. “You’re impossible.”

I shut the drawer. “Good. Keeps people out.”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t.

Instead, he clutched the folder tighter and whispered, “Thanks… for standing up for me.”

I paused at the door, glanced back at him. “Don’t thank me. I don’t like uninvited guests.”

I left him and went to the kitchen.

The fridge hummed as I opened it. I pulled out a bottle of water, twisted the cap, and drank slow.

The sound of footsteps shuffled behind me.

Eli hovered in the doorway, hugging the folder like it was a shield. His eyes darted everywhere but me.

“I should go,” he said. Voice soft, quick.

I closed the bottle. “I’ll drive you.”

His head snapped up. “N-no, it’s fine.”

“It’s late,” I said flatly. “I’ll drive you.”

He shook his head fast. “No. Really. I—I can walk. It’s not far.”

I tilted my head. “Why are you running away?”

“I’m not—” His words stumbled over each other. “I just—I have to go.”

I leaned against the counter, watching him. “Stuttering again.”

His face flushed. “Stop pointing that out.”

“Can’t help it.”

He shifted from foot to foot, gripping the folder tighter. “Thanks… for the files. And for… earlier. With Liam.”

“You already thanked me,” I said.

He bit his lip. “Right. Well. I’ll… go now.”

I nodded once. “Suit yourself.”

He turned quickly, practically bolting down the hall.

The front door opened, then slammed shut.

I drank again, the cool water sharp against my throat.

Through the window, I caught sight of him running across the driveway. No umbrella. Still clutching the folder like it might break.

A smirk tugged at my mouth.

Skittish. Easily rattled.

But interesting.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

Unknown number.

I frowned, answered. “Vale.”

The voice on the other end was tight. Urgent.

The smirk disappeared. My grip on the bottle tightened.

“I’ll be there,” I said, voice low.

And I hung up.

ELI

I was still burning when I reached my apartment.

Not from the run. Not from the rain.

From Carter.

That moment when Liam walked in, and Carter’s jaw clenched so tight I thought he’d crack a tooth—God. Why the hell did I find that hot?

I threw my bag on the floor, face-first onto the couch.

“Get it together, Eli.”

I sat up, dragging my hands through my damp hair. Homework waited. Assignments. Case briefs. The life of a law student.

I forced myself to the desk. Laptop on. Notes spread out.

For hours, I worked. Typed. Read. Highlighted. Tried not to think about Carter’s voice, Carter’s stare, Carter’s everything.

At some point, I grabbed my phone and called Mia.

She picked up on the second ring. “You sound dead.”

“I am dead,” I groaned. “Tell me I don’t have anything due tomorrow.”

She was silent. Too silent.

My heart dropped. “Mia.”

“…You forgot, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“The test. Evidence Law. Tomorrow morning.”

I shot up in my chair. “WHAT?”

She laughed. “Oh my God, Eli. Did you seriously forget?”

I was pacing now. “We have a test tomorrow? Evidence Law? You mean tomorrow tomorrow? Like, in a few hours?”

“Yes, genius.”

“Why didn’t you remind me earlier?”

“I thought you knew!”

“Mia!”

She was still laughing. “Good luck, sunshine.”

I hung up on her and stared at my books like they were monsters.

No sleep tonight. At all.

By morning, I was half-dead.

My eyes felt like sandpaper, my hands shaky from too much coffee and zero rest. But I was in class early. Because if I was going to fail, at least I’d fail with effort.

The room was quiet except for the shuffle of papers and the groan of chairs. I dropped into my seat, dumped my bag on the floor, and pressed my forehead to the desk.

“Don’t die yet,” Maya’s voice said.

I turned my head slowly. She looked worse than me. Her braids were pulled into a messy bun, eyeliner smudged, eyes half-closed.

“You look like a zombie,” I whispered.

“You look like roadkill,” she shot back.

We stared at each other for a second. Then both groaned at the same time.

“This test is going to kill me,” I said.

“I already wrote my will,” Maya muttered. “You can have my hair products.”

I snorted, shaking my head. “You’re so stupid.”

She smiled weakly. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Before I could say more, the classroom door opened.

Professor Richards walked in. Old, stiff, glasses perched on his nose. The room fell silent instantly.

“Good morning, students,” he said, voice sharp. “Put your books away. Phones off. Bags to the side. We begin now.”

A collective groan rolled through the room.

Maya whispered, “If I die, tell my mom I wanted to be cremated.”

“Shut up,” I whispered back, shoving my notes away.

The professor dropped a thick stack of papers on the desk. The sound made me want to throw up.

“Test will last ninety minutes. No talking. No cheating. Eyes on your own work. If I see anything suspicious, you fail. Immediately.”

Someone muttered, “Yes, sir,” under their breath.

Professor Richards glared. The muttering died.

He started passing out the papers, one row at a time.

Maya leaned close as he neared. “Eli.”

“What.”

“If I don’t make it—”

“Maya.”

“—delete my search history.”

I choked on a laugh, covering my mouth.

She grinned. “Focus. Don’t get caught.”

The paper landed in front of me.

Evidence Law Midterm.

My heart sank.

First question: Explain the Federal Rules of Evidence 403 and provide one case example.

I wanted to cry.

Maya whispered, “We’re screwed.”

Professor Richards barked, “Miss Adeniran. One more sound and you’re out.”

Maya mimed zipping her lips.

I sighed, picked up my pen, and started writing.

Ninety minutes. Just ninety minutes.

If I survived this, I’d probably pass out in the hallway.

The ninety minutes crawled, but I forced myself to focus.

Rule 403. Case law. Hearsay exceptions. I wrote like my hand was on fire.

For once, even Maya was quiet. Her head bent over the paper, pen moving fast.

When the old man finally called, “Time,” we both slumped back in our chairs like corpses.

“Papers forward,” Professor Richards said. His voice never changed pitch. Not once.

We shuffled them up the rows.

He stacked them neatly, expression flat. “Results will be ready by this evening.”

I blinked. “This evening?” I whispered to Maya.

She groaned, pressing her forehead to the desk. “The old man’s a workaholic. Who grades that fast? He should at least wait a week. Give us time to recover before he destroys us.”

I laughed weakly. “Guess he enjoys our suffering.”

“Sadist,” she muttered.

We walked out together, bags slung over shoulders.

“Library?” she asked.

“Library,” I agreed.

But halfway down the hall, I nearly smacked into a wall of dark suit and colder eyes.

Carter.

Documents in his hand. Jaw tight. Expression unreadable.

I froze. “S-sorry,” I stammered.

His gaze swept over me, sharp and blank. Then: “Follow me.”

My stomach flipped.

Maya leaned close, whispering, “Ooooh, professor-student tension.”

I hissed, “Shut up.”

She grinned wickedly, lifted her hand, and made an exaggerated blowjob gesture.

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “You’re disgusting.”

“Love you too, sunshine,” she sang, then skipped off toward the library.

I turned back. Carter was already walking away. I scrambled to follow, almost jogging to keep up.

He didn’t say a word. Just kept walking, documents in one hand, his coat draped perfectly on his shoulders like he was born to intimidate.

I swallowed. “Um—do you… want me to carry some of those?”

No reply. Not even a glance.

Cool. Great. Talking to a wall.

We reached his office. He unlocked it, pushed the door open, and walked straight in. I followed, clutching my bag awkwardly.

He dropped the documents on his desk in a neat stack.

“Sit,” he said.

I sat.

He opened a drawer, pulled out another folder, and tossed it on the desk in front of me. “Your duties.”

I blinked. “My… what?”

“Assistant duties.” His tone was clipped, efficient. “You’ll be responsible for compiling attendance records. Preparing reading lists. Organizing research sources. Drafting summaries.”

I flipped the folder open. Notes, spreadsheets, lists. “Okay. That’s… manageable.”

He leaned back in his chair. “You’ll also proof citations. Track case law updates. Grade basic assignments.”

My head snapped up. “Wait—grade?”

His brows lifted slightly. “Problem?”

“I—I mean, don’t you usually—”

“I don’t have time to waste on multiple-choice quizzes and half-baked essays,” he cut in. “You’ll grade them. I’ll review randomly.”

I blinked again. “So, you’re trusting me with people’s grades?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… a lot of pressure.”

“Then don’t mess up.”

I stared. “Wow. Thanks for the pep talk.”

He didn’t even blink. “You’re smart. That’s why I asked for you.”

My heart tripped over itself.

Wait. What?

“You… asked for me?”

“Yes.”

“You told the HOD you wanted me?”

“Yes.”

My jaw dropped. “Why?”

He picked up a pen, started writing something like I wasn’t having an internal breakdown across from him. “Because you’re the top of your class. And I don’t tolerate incompetence.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You could’ve just said I’m good at my job. You didn’t need to insult everyone else while you were at it.”

He looked up finally. “You want me to lie?”

I opened my mouth, closed it, then muttered, “You’re infuriating.”

His mouth twitched. Barely. Almost like—God forbid—he might’ve been amused.

He pushed another stack of papers toward me. “Start with these.”

I pulled them closer. Student essays. Typed. Margins too wide. Fonts too small. My brain already ached.

“Fine,” I sighed. “But if anyone yells at me about their grade, I’m sending them to you.”

“Do that,” he said simply.

I glanced at him. Cold. Calm. Completely unreadable.

I dropped my eyes back to the essays, chewing the inside of my cheek.

I should’ve hated this.

But instead, a stupid thought slid through my head.

Working this close to him is going to kill me.

Hours.

That’s how long I sat there, drowning in badly written essays.

Comma splices everywhere. Wrong citations. Paragraphs that made me question the future of the legal system.

I groaned, scribbling a red note in the margin. “Jesus. How do these people even get into law school?”

Across the desk, Carter didn’t look up from his laptop. “Money. Connections. Luck. Take your pick.”

I scowled. “Unfair. I actually studied.”

“Life’s unfair.” His tone was so flat it almost made me laugh.

I flipped another essay. It was worse than the last one. “This one spelled plaintiff with an ‘f.’”

He didn’t glance up. “Grade it accordingly.”

I rolled my eyes, dragging my pen across the paper.

After a while, my attention drifted. A bulky envelope sat on the edge of his desk. I squinted. Big black letters: CRIMINOLOGY.

I tapped it. “What’s that?”

Carter finally looked up. “Assignments.”

“From criminology?”

“Yes.”

I blinked. “You teach criminology too?”

“No. Substitute for a while.”

I stared at the envelope. Criminology. Which meant… Liam’s.

A devilish thought sparked. What if I graded his paper a big fat zero?

I picked up my pen, twirling it between my fingers.

Carter’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t.”

I gasped. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was not.”

“You were.”

“Maybe,” I muttered, slumping back in my chair. “But it would’ve been so satisfying.”

“Grow up,” he said.

“You’re no fun.”

“Never claimed to be.”

I grumbled under my breath and went back to grading.

Minutes turned into hours. The essays blurred together. The ink on my pen started fading. My head got heavier and heavier until—

I yawned. Loud.

The next thing I knew, I was out cold.

When I woke up, the office was dim. My head was resting on the desk, cheek against the papers. Something heavy and warm was draped over my shoulders.

I blinked.

A suit jacket. Black. Expensive. Smelled faintly of cologne.

Carter’s.

My heart did a weird thing.

I sat up fast, rubbing my eyes. The clock on the wall glared at me: 4:55.

Shit. Results.

Professor Richards said they’d be out by five.

I panicked, shrugged the jacket off carefully, folded it, and set it on the desk. Carter wasn’t there. The office was silent.

Perfect time to run.

I bolted.

By the time I reached the library, I was breathless. Maya was already there, hunched over a computer, muttering curses.

“Maya!” I gasped, sliding into the seat next to her.

She jumped. “Jesus, Eli, you scared me. Were you still with professor Vale?”

“Long story. Results?”

She nodded grimly. “Portal just updated.”

My stomach dropped. “Oh no.”

She clicked the mouse with exaggerated drama. “Ready?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

We closed our eyes at the same time. I cracked one open. “You check first.”

“No, you!”

“Fine. Together.”

“Count of three.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

We both peeked at the screen.

Her groan was instant. “Shit.”

I held my breath and looked.

81.

My whole body sagged in relief. “Oh my God. I passed. I actually passed.”

Maya shoved her screen toward me. “Look. Seventy-nine. Barely. I wanted at least an eighty.”

I stared at her. “You’re crying about a seventy-nine? That’s amazing!”

She flopped back dramatically. “I wanted a distinction.”

“Be grateful, Maya. Do you know how many people failed?”

She squinted at me. “Eli, I swear, you’re like a grandma sometimes. Be grateful, work hard, blah blah.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

She smirked. “So. What did you get again?”

I tried to look casual. “Eighty-one.”

Her jaw dropped. “You beat me? Even when you didn't study early?”

I grinned. “Guess I’m smarter.”

She shoved my shoulder. “Asshole.”

I laughed, still shaky from relief. “At least we didn’t fail.”

Maya nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. But if that old man keeps grading this fast, I’m going to die young.”

I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes. “Join the club.”

For a moment, everything was quiet.

But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t stop thinking about the jacket.

About Carter draping it over me without a word.

And what it meant.

******

CARTER

He was asleep.

Head tilted against his arm, lips parted, hair falling into his eyes. Completely out.

For a long second, I stood there, watching.

Ridiculous. Beautiful.

For a guy.

I reached for my jacket before I could think too much about it. Draped it over his shoulders. He shifted slightly, sighing into the fabric like he’d been waiting for it.

I swallowed. My jaw clenched.

What the hell are you doing, Carter?

This was Liam’s ex. A student. My assistant. Off-limits in every way.

I turned back to my desk. Forced myself to work. Typed reports. Replied to emails. Anything to keep my eyes away from him.

It didn’t work.

Every few minutes, I glanced up again. At the way his chest rose and fell. The faint crease between his brows, even in sleep. Like he was still carrying the world in his dreams.

I pushed back from my chair abruptly and stalked to the bathroom.

Cold water. Hands. Face.

“Get a grip,” I muttered at my reflection. “He’s a kid.”

When I came back, the chair was empty. My desk bare. My jacket folded neatly where I’d left it.

He was gone.

I sat heavily, staring at the computer screen, not seeing the words. My mind was still back at the desk. The quiet weight of my jacket over his shoulders.

Ridiculous.

Then the door burst open.

Eli stood there, flushed, breathless. “I’m so sorry—”

I raised a brow. “For what?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, panting slightly. “I… had to check my results. Richards posted them. I didn’t want you to think I just disappeared.”

I nodded once. “Noted.”

Silence stretched. He fidgeted under it.

Finally, I said, “Arrange the documents before you leave.”

“Oh—yeah. Of course.”

He scrambled to the desk, pulling folders into neat stacks. His hands moved fast, like he wanted to impress me. Papers squared, pens lined up, everything precise.

When he finished, he looked up uncertainly. “All done.”

I gave a curt nod. “Good.”

He hesitated like he wanted to say more. Then the knock came.

The door opened and Maya Adeniran leaned in, smiling like she owned the place.

“Professor Vale.”

I inclined my head. “Miss Adeniran.”

“Eli, you ready?” she asked, eyes flicking between us.

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just finished.”

Maya grinned, then looked at me again. “See you in class, Professor.”

“Of course.”

Eli gathered his bag. They left together, voices echoing down the hall.

Silence settled back in.

I leaned back in my chair, eyes on the neatly folded jacket.

Still warm from him.

Pathetic.

ELI

Maya and I barely made it out of Carter’s office before she started.

“So.”

I side-eyed her. “So, what?”

Her grin was wicked. “You. Him. Alone. Office. Dark suit. That jawline.”

I groaned. “Maya—”

“Don’t ‘Maya’ me. I saw your face when you walked out. You looked like you just got caught watching porn at the library.”

I covered my face with my hand. “Why are you like this?”

“Because you make it too easy, sunshine.” She linked her arm through mine, leaning in close. “Come on, spill. Did he say something dirty?”

I nearly choked. “What? No!”

“Uh-huh. That’s a yes face if I ever saw one.”

I scowled. “There is no ‘yes face.’”

“There’s definitely a yes face. Yours is red.”

“I’m not red.”

“You’re tomato soup, babe.”

I tugged my arm free. “It wasn’t anything. He told me to organize papers.”

“Oh wow,” she gasped dramatically. “So sexy. Papers. God, I’m wet already.”

“Maya.”

“What? You don’t think office sex is hot?”

My brain short-circuited. “We are not talking about office sex—”

“—with Professor Vale.” She waggled her brows.

I wanted the ground to swallow me. “He’s cold. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t even smile.”

“Exactly. Ice daddy vibes. Don’t you watch TV? Cold men are the hottest. Brooding. Tragic pasts. Silent in bed until—”

“Shut up,” I hissed, grabbing her wrist. Students were passing us in the hall.

Which was exactly when she leaned closer and whispered, way too loud: “Bet he’s packing serious dick.”

Three heads turned.

Someone snorted.

I died inside. “MAYA!”

She cackled, completely unbothered. “Relax, sunshine. They’ll forget.”

I tugged her down another corridor, muttering under my breath. “I’m never walking with you again.”

“Yes, you are,” she sing-songed. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately,” I snapped, still red.

But no matter how much I denied it, my brain wouldn’t shut up.

Not about Maya’s filthy jokes. Not about the whispers in the hall.

Not about the way Carter had looked at me.

Cold. Sharp. Like he could see straight through me.

I told myself he didn’t care. That he was like that with everyone.

But then I remembered the jacket. The heat of it over my shoulders. The way it smelled like him.

And I hated myself a little for wishing he had said something dirty.

By the time I got home, I was dead.

Not literally. But close. My body was a sack of bricks, my brain a fried circuit board.

I dropped my bag by the door, kicked my shoes off, and collapsed face-first on the bed.

“Five minutes,” I mumbled into the pillow. “Just five.”

But the second my eyes shut, the world shifted.

It was his office. Papers scattered across the desk.

And me—on his lap again.

Just like before.

Only this time, he didn’t let me go.

His hand locked firm on my waist, keeping me pressed against him. His chest solid against mine, his eyes dark, unflinching.

“Running again?” His voice was low, dangerous.

My throat tightened. “I—no, I just—”

“Liar.” His hand slid higher, up my back, pulling me closer. “You always run.”

“I’m not—”

“Then stay.”

My breath hitched. His lips brushed my ear. “Stay, Eli.”

Heat. Everywhere. My pulse hammered. My body betrayed me, leaning in, wanting.

His mouth curved, cold and sharp. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me.”

I gasped.

I woke up drenched.

Sheets tangled, skin sweaty, breath ragged. My hand clutched the pillow like I’d been holding onto him.

“Oh my God.” I buried my face. “No. Nope. Absolutely not.”

It was a dream. A stupid, disgusting, hot-as-hell dream.

Of him.

I groaned into the pillow. “I hate myself.”

Before I could recover, my phone rang on the nightstand.

Maya. Of course.

I fumbled it to my ear. “Hello?” My voice was hoarse.

She cackled instantly. “Oh my God, why do you sound like you just ran a marathon? Or like—you know.”

“Maya.”

Her laugh got louder. “Sunshine, were you dreaming about Professor Tall-Dark-And-Frozen?”

I shot upright. “WHAT?!”

“Your voice says it all,” she teased. “I knew it. You totally were.”

“I was not!”

“You so were. Don’t lie to me, Eli Rivera. I know your tones.”

“Maya—”

“Bet he was pinning you against a desk. Or maybe against the chalkboard? Oh my God, yes—‘Bend over, student.’”

“MAYA!”

She was wheezing with laughter now. “Don’t hang up—”

Click.

I tossed the phone down, face flaming.

I flopped back into bed, groaning. “I need therapy.”

But no matter how hard I tried, Carter’s voice lingered in my head.

Stay, Eli.

And it terrified me how much I wanted it.

Morning came way too fast.

I dragged myself out of bed like a zombie, hair sticking up in every possible direction, brain still fried from the dream. (Yes, that dream. No, I don’t want to talk about it.)

Coffee. Lots of it. That was the only reason I made it to campus without collapsing.

By the time I sank into my seat in lecture, Maya was already there, tapping her pen like she’d been waiting to pounce.

She leaned in. “So. Did you sleep well?”

I gave her a look. “Don’t start.”

Her grin was evil. “Oh, I’m starting. You hung up on me last night, sunshine. Rude. So. Tell me. Did Tall-Dark-and-Frozen do dirty things in your dreams?”

“Maya.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Please, I’m begging you. Stop.”

She poked my arm. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You so are. Look at you. Red as a tomato.”

I flicked her forehead.

“Ow!” She rubbed it dramatically. “Abuse. I’ll sue.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll shut up long enough to pass this class.”

She stuck her tongue out but finally turned back to her notes. Blessed silence.

For about five minutes.

We headed straight to his class after.

The air in the lecture hall felt heavier somehow, like everyone sensed something. Carter stood at the front, writing on the board in clean, sharp strokes. His suit was dark, crisp, perfectly tailored. He didn’t even have to try to look intimidating — he just was.

I dropped into my seat, trying not to look.

Maya shot me a side glance. Then another.

“What,” I hissed under my breath.

She smirked. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re drooling.”

I flicked her forehead again.

“OW! Stop assaulting me!”

“Then stop talking.”

Before she could reply, Carter turned. “Settle down.”

The room went silent instantly.

His eyes scanned the rows — cold, unreadable — until they landed on me.

My stomach dropped.

“Mr. Rivera,” he said. “Stand.”

My chair scraped back loudly. I stood, heart racing. “Yes, sir?”

He tilted his head, like he was already bored. “Explain the doctrine of promissory estoppel. Apply it to Central London Property Trust Ltd v High Trees House Ltd.”

I froze.

Half the class turned to look at me.

I wanted to sink through the floor.

I cleared my throat. “Uh… promissory estoppel is when a promise is enforceable by law, even if it’s not supported by consideration. Because the promisee relied on it to their detriment.”

Carter didn’t blink. “And High Trees?”

I gripped the edge of the desk, forcing myself to think. “During WWII, the landlord agreed to reduce the rent. When the war ended, he tried to claim back the full rent. The court held that he couldn’t go back on his promise because the tenants relied on it.”

The words rushed out too fast, but they made sense.

Carter studied me. Silence stretched.

Then—his lips curved. Slight. Barely there. But real.

A smirk.

“Correct,” he said finally. “Sit.”

I sat fast, pulse racing, ears burning.

Maya leaned in, whispering, “Oh my God, he smirked at you.”

“Shut up,” I hissed.

She grinned. “No wonder you’re sweating.”

“I hate you.”

But the truth? That smirk stuck in my head like glue.

The rest of class blurred. All I could see was the way his mouth curved, sharp and knowing, like he’d been testing me. Like he enjoyed watching me squirm.

When the bell rang, everyone scrambled to leave.

I tried to follow, but his voice cut through the room.

“Rivera. Stay.”

I froze.

Maya gave me the world’s filthiest wink. “Have fun, sunshine.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, but she was already gone.

The room emptied. Silence settled.

I clutched my bag tighter and walked down to the front.

He didn’t look up immediately, just stacked papers with sharp precision. Finally, he said, “You have assistant duties.”

I swallowed. “Right. Of course.”

His eyes flicked up, pinning me in place. “Don’t look so nervous. You passed Richards’ test. You should be confident.”

“I’m not nervous,” I lied.

His brow arched faintly. “You’re stuttering again.”

“I am not!”

“You are.”

My face flamed.

The hallway to his office was too quiet. Every footstep echoed. My pulse was loud in my ears, like it wanted to give me away.

Carter walked ahead of me, crisp, straight-backed, precise. He didn’t say a word. He never said a word unless it mattered.

Halfway down, he stopped at the coffee machine.

“Do you want one?” he asked, already sliding in a coin.

I blinked. He was actually asking me? “Uh—yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

He pressed the buttons. One black for himself. One with milk for me. He handed me the cup.

I took it carefully. “Thanks.”

He just nodded, like it was nothing.

We walked the rest of the way in silence, me sipping nervously, him looking like he owned the building.

By the time we reached his office, my nerves were on overload. I was so focused on not tripping, not spilling, not embarrassing myself—

That I bumped straight into him.

The coffee tipped.

Right onto his shirt.

“Oh my God!” I yelped, jerking back. “I’m so sorry!”

Hot liquid stained across his chest, dripping down the perfect white cotton.

He looked down, calm as ever. “Relax.”

“I just ruined your shirt—”

“You didn’t.” He was already shrugging out of his blazer, unbuttoning his shirt like this was routine.

My mouth went dry.

He slipped the shirt off, and—holy shit.

Muscle. Sharp lines. Tattoos curling across his chest and down his arms, dark ink on pale skin.

I froze. Completely froze.

He pulled a fresh shirt from the cabinet, casual, like stripping in front of me wasn’t ending my entire existence.

I forced myself to breathe. Don’t stare. Don’t stare. Don’t stare.

I stared.

He caught me.

His eyes flicked up, catching mine mid-gawk. One brow lifted, slow, deliberate.

“You done?”

I choked. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t staring!”

“You were.” His voice was flat.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

I turned away fast, clutching my coffee cup like it could save me.

We sat down after that. Or, well, he sat down. I was still trying to remember how to breathe.

Documents were stacked in front of me. I focused hard, trying to drown in the words. Contracts. Citations. Deadlines. Anything but the image of ink curling across his ribs.

Silence filled the office, heavy but sharp. He typed. I scribbled. Paper rustled.

Then his pen rolled off the desk.

We both reached.

Our hands brushed.

Heat shot up my arm like electricity.

I jerked back instantly, knocking my own folder onto the floor. “Sorry—sorry!”

He picked up the pen calmly. “You react like I burned you.”

I swallowed hard. “You—you startled me.”

“I didn’t move.”

“Still.”

His eyes pinned me, cold, unreadable. “You’re jumpy.”

I hugged my notebook tighter. “You’re… you. That’s why.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You.” I gestured vaguely at his entire existence. “Tall. Cold. Covered in tattoos. Staring all the time. You’re… intimidating.”

His mouth curved slightly. “Good.”

“Good?!”

“It keeps people focused.”

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “You’re impossible.”

He leaned back in his chair, pen between his fingers. “And yet, here you are. Still working in my office.”

I glared at him, heat creeping up my neck again. “Only because I have to.”

He didn’t reply. Just smirked again, faint, sharp, and went back to his laptop.

And that stupid smirk stayed in my head the rest of the day.