Page 10 of Don't Be in Love
“I know,” I exhaled.
“This is a terrible idea,” she tsked.
“James was a lot nicer about this when I told him. Supportive even.”
“Well, that’s James for ya.” A door-like creak sounded behind her. “I think he left,” she celebrated with a high-pitched whisper.
“Happy I could provide some help.”
“Eternally grateful.” A muffled noise passed over the speaker before she returned. “Alright, I’ll talk to you later. I have to get back to this mug set.”
“Send me a picture when you’re done.”
“Will do—oh, and Dorian.”
“Yeah?”
Her voice switched to her Semi-Responsible Sister Tone. “Be careful. You only just met this girl. I just … I don’t want it to end up like Victoria.”
6
Don’t Trust His Friends — Adelaide
The first two tutoring sessions were … fine. He didn’t laugh in my face when I showed him my vibrant graphics that broke down a social media marketing plan—paid vs organic media, campaigns, social media SEO, branding—so I guess that was something.
All that mattered was that it wasn’t going to interfere with my shifts at the bookstore. The job that Mia and I had Sabrina to thank for since she was close with the two women—Iris and Dotty—who owned the place. We’d only been working there for three weeks but I could live in the shelves if the offer was extended. My clothes would probably smell like dusty paper and the scented firewood plugin Iris insisted on keeping in at all times. But at least it meant more time with Iris and Dotty every day.
The older women lived together, trading jewelry and watching the same reality TV every night like exhausted college roommates.Iris’s husband passed away ten years ago, and her two daughters and three grandchildren lived outside London. She moved in with Dotty after that, who had lived alone her entire adult life, never marrying. Living the dream,Dotty had said.
For bosses, they were laid back. Or at least Iris was because she was the only one who signed off on Dorian staying while I worked. She was alarmingly excited. Apparently, she kept up with the tabloids.
It was concerning.
Nonetheless, Dorian promised he’d do the work I assigned him from the semester project while I continued my shift at the bookstore. Whether or not he planned to keep that promise when Monday rolled around, I didn’t know.
That was a tomorrow problem.
My main concern right now was trying to find where the Entertainment Media class was. I would’ve asked Mia to help me get there since we’re both in the class, but every time we had a moment to talk this week, I was so focused on updating her about Dorian.
She was both horrified, and envious. He’s in your class, recognized you immediately, tried asking you on a date, and then blackmailed you into tutoring him? Why haven’t I found any guys like that?
Today’s class together would be a nice distraction from the Dorian situation. If I could figure how to get there.
I should’ve taped the locations to the bottoms of my boots to make sure I wasn’t late for class. But Townsen was set up like a hedge maze made of stone. And I didn’t do closed spaces with zero direction.
All the buildings were connected through corridors and outdoor hallways that led to gardens and courtyards. Not a single building stood alone. It was confusing.
I pulled my phone from my bag to reread the class location. And … I was going in the completely wrong direction. Wonderful. I took an abrupt right into the next corridor andshit.
The fall backwards was long with my heeled loafers. Landing on my tailbone, my bag and books hit the marble floor.Ouch.
“I am so sorry, that was completely my fault—” I stopped short, taking in the familiar person sitting across from me on the floor. He had a head of hair that was as white as snow.
In a soft British accent, he replied without looking up. “No, no, it’s alright—” Lifting his head up, realization spread across his face. “I know you, don’t I?” He pushed himself up from the ground.
“I, uh … ”Say something. Lie!
He began collecting my books. “Adelaide, right?” There went that. “We met at the pub Saturday—or at least you and Dorian did,” he laughed.
