Undisclosed Desire: An Alpha Billionaire Romance: + bonus novel (30 page)

JACKSON

I can't see her anywhere. This is the second time I can't find Lana in her regular seat when class begins. It has become my ritual to spot her, acknowledge her presence and nod toward her, sitting in the third row, straight and attentive, her blue eyes glued to me and her shoulders tense.

Today, this ritual is disrupted by her absence, and I find myself scanning the auditorium. The last time this happened, she just showed up late for class, which was strange enough for someone like her. Today, it seems, she didn't show up at all.

I start my lecture, checking the rows again and again to make sure that I didn't miss her. Even fifteen minutes into my class, the doors in the back spill open to let in another student who couldn't manage to get out of bed on time on a Monday morning.

But none of them are her.

Lana has been avoiding me ever since our little session in my office. I don't know where she lives and have nothing but an e-mail address for her, because those were listed on the attendance sheet I received for my class at the beginning of this semester. It has been a full week and I've not seen nor heard anything of her, which would not have been unusual before, as we never interacted outside of class, but it is now.

I expected her to come to me again, or at least show her face in my proximity, so I could come to her. She knows where I am. I'm not on campus every day, because it's neither necessary nor possible, but I have to be there for consultation hours and faculty meetings that have relevance to me.

Lana knows that. She knows when I'll be around and she knows where to find me. Yet, she keeps her distance, after leaving my office with teary eyes and that hauntingly beautiful look of humiliation.

It's exactly what I wanted to see. Her, wax in my hands and hazy with lust, just to let her go without that release she so desperately craved.

It wasn't easy for me either. I wanted her to come, I wanted to see her explode on my desk, to lose her inhibitions completely even if it was just for a few seconds. The beauty of it is unimaginable as long as I haven't seen it.

I thought she was just being careful and smart about this. To be seen with me outside of class could still pose a risk, even if we were just talking to each other. Gossip is strong and uncontrollable, and it would be all the more notable because I'm never seen with anyone else.

I'm aware of all the eyes that are constantly on me when I walk across campus. While the initial excitement among the swooning crowd of ludicrous admirers has subsided, there are still plenty who take note of me.

Enough time has passed for me to become accustomed to their attention. While I still carry that young boy with the broken heart inside of me, he had to make way for the person I have become today a long time ago. The boy who fell to the ground, accompanied by laughter and disgust, is long gone. He passed that very moment when my gaze locked onto Aileen Watson and her ugly grimace.

Nonetheless, it still aches. The pain of losing something that beautiful - my innocent infatuation with a girl who was nothing but an idea of something - will never leave me completely.

However, breaking the Aileen Watson's of this world helps a lot in dealing with that pain.

In a way, she made me the man I am today, and I never thanked her for that.

It started with a physical change to my exterior. There was no Jackson Fatson left by the time I entered my senior year of high school. In that regard, I had turned into the exact opposite.

It took me years and it was as hard as they say, especially for someone with as little money as I had and a mother who couldn't care less about her own, let alone her son's, nutrition. I ran in secret and I ate less of what was provided at home, but learned to fill my stomach with less harmful fuel. I added push ups and crunches on my runs, but I couldn't afford to join a gym until after financial success became a part of my life.

Once that crippling exterior was left behind, I had to get past my inability to follow a regime that wasn't for me. The way they teach you at school is not the way I learn and thrive, but I had to meet the right teacher at said school to be made aware of what could be
my
way.

I was hoping to become that teacher for some of these kids here, but so far Lana appears to be the only one who wants to listen. What attracted me about her was her resemblance to Aileen and my strong urge to break women like her, but what keeps me hooked on her now is so much more.

I wonder if Lana would have reacted the same way Aileen did back then? I want to believe that she would not have. I really want to believe that.

I dismiss the students a few minutes earlier, too distressed about Lana's absence to conclude class the way I had planned. Of course, they don't care. They flee out of the auditorium without any further questions, except for the usual group who tends to hang around and pester me with small talk before I'm allowed to leave.

Just like every Monday after class, I check my phone for any urgent messages that might demand my immediate attention. My affiliates know that I'd be less present for the duration of this semester, but I couldn't assign all of my responsibilities to my co-founders and Mondays are still the worst days when it comes to catastrophes and developments that call for me.

However, not today.

I browse through the few e-mails I received and decide that none of them ask for an instant reply or even another thought.

Good. I have other things to take care of right now.

I head for the faculty lounge, because I need to drop off some papers. My plan is to get in and out as quickly as possible, but when I walk in and find Lilia Esquin sitting in one of the lounge chairs, casting me a bright smile as I walk through the door, I'm surprised with by idea, a plan of action that could help me solve the Lana-dilemma sooner than later.

"Hello," Miss Esquin sing-songs in my direction as I walk past her to the shelf that awaits my papers. I drop them off in the assigned box and turn to her.

"Hello, there," I say, applying the nicest voice possible. "Miss Esquin, if I remember correctly?"

She nods excitedly, sitting erect within a second as she beams at me.

"Yes, exactly," she says. "I'm surprised you remember..."

"From the sociology department, right?" I add, smiling at her as I approach. "May I sit with you for a moment?"

She nods, slightly confused but seemingly happy as I take a seat next to her.

I have a goal, information that I want to try to retrieve from her, but as is always the case in these situations, I won't be able to get to my goal without a little chit chat first.

So, I engage her in a little small talk about the school, about how long she has been working here, how she ended up here, how she decided on teaching sociology and so on. Like most people, Lilia Esquin is more than happy to talk about herself and flattered by my sudden interest in her and her life. She talks without interruption, and makes it easy for me to lead the conversation to where I want it to be: her students.

I test the water by trying to educe as much as possible using her talkativeness in regard to her students to my benefit. Soon, I find her dropping names left and right, about kids who annoy her, kids who impressed her, kids who surprised her.

To my disappointment, Lana Harlington isn't one of them. It would've been so much easier to talk about her without having to bring her name up myself. I don't want to raise suspicion in any way, but I want to know if there's anything Miss Esquin can tell me about Lana's whereabouts. It's a slim chance, because I don't even know if Lana is among her students at all, but I'm willing to take the risk of wasting a few minutes of my time with her in the faculty lounge if it could help me to locate Lana. I'd hate to wait another week for a chance to see her, and I'd hate it even more if she decided not to show up for class again. If she misses another one, she's jeopardizing her chance of passing the class at all, due to the standard attendance rule that - ironically - she caused me to introduce.

The longer Lilia talks, the more I find myself zoning out, but just as I'm beginning to lose hope on retrieving anything helpful from her, I'm drawn back by her mentioning a party that left most of her students hungover in her classes the following day.

"Those sociology majors sure know how to make the best of their dorms for throwing the best parties," she says, giggling as if she was a freshman attending said party. "Well, I should know. I still remember when-"

"It was a dorm party?" I interrupt.

Miss Esquin looks at me, a hint of surprise on her undoubtedly pretty face. I'm sure she's never run short of admirers, which only proves how very little she's my type.

"Yes," she says. "Most of the Sociology majors live in Cleveland hall. They try to keep students with the same major close to each when they assign housing and-"

"Is it just the undergraduates?" I want to know. "Or the graduates as well?"

"Oh, graduates are more scattered around other houses, or live off campus, but-"

"But some of them live in Cleveland hall?" I follow up.

She nods. "Yes, sure. Some, if not most."

"I see," I murmur.

Some, if not most
. That's not a definite answer, but it’s a start. Together with what Lana told me about her Monday schedule, I now have two pieces of information that could possibly lead me to her.

I endure a few more minutes of small talk with Miss Esquin, quickly diverting the topic away from her students and their living arrangements. She was casting me weird looks for asking in the first place and I certainly don't want to give any impression that I’m showing a little too much interest in that regard.

When I manage to excuse myself, leaving behind a visibly disappointed Lilia Esquin, I decide that I’ll pay a quick visit to Cleveland hall this evening. I’ll be sure to be there, shortly after six, which is when Lana’s last class of the day ends.

LANA

"You don't look too good," my sister comments, throwing me a skeptical look over the rim of her glasses. "Are these final classes draining you?"

I shake my head, unenthusiastically playing with the food in front of me. Why do I keep ordering pasta in this place? It has proven to be a bad idea so many times before, especially when cheese was involved, but I keep falling for the simple but promising taste of Fettuccine Alfredo, one of my favorite dishes when I was a child.

"No," I say, staring down at my plate full of regret. "I just haven’t been sleeping well lately. Don't know what it is. Maybe it’s the moon."

"The moon?" Harriet exclaims, incredulous. "You know there's like a billion studies that have proven that the whole moon and sleeping disorder stuff is utter bullshit and that-"

"Yeah, yeah. I know," I say, looking up from my plate and meeting my sister's strict eyes. She's looking more and more like our mother with every day she gets older. The same sharp and kinda big nose, the same hazel eyes, framed by thick and surprisingly dark eyebrows and the same mouse like expression. Except for the brown hair, I have very little in common with the two of them, which I'm grateful for. They look exactly like the people they are - strict and one-sided scholars, who could also pass as librarians. I'm sure it's only a matter of time until my sister starts wearing her hair in a tight bun like my mother does.

"I wasn't being serious when I said that," I try to explain. Jokes, just like sarcasm are beyond my sister's comprehension.

"Oh, I see," she says, nodding with relief. "Well, if it doesn't get better, you should see someone about it. You'll need to prepare for finals soon."

"I know."

If it weren't for Mr. Portland and the confusion he brought into my life, I'd most likely be preparing the materials to study for my finals already, even though there's still plenty of time for that. Just like the route I walk to class, I always liked to include some extra time for my study period.

"Have you spoken to Professor Warwick yet?" Harriet asks, still looking at me over her glasses.

I look at her quizzically. "About what?"

She rolls her eyes. "About being your doctoral adviser? I thought he was your first choice?"

I freeze and stare at my sister, tasting her words. Why is it that they make me so... unhappy? Harriet talking about me pursuing a PhD as if it were already a done deal makes me feel like a steel clamp just slammed shut around my heart.

I was so set on following this path just a few month ago. I knew nothing else and had she said the exact same words to me back then, I would have felt nothing but the urge to follow through with them.

But now I find myself in a place where I'd forgotten about all of it. About Professor Warwick, about my potential PhD, about having to make the necessary preparations so I could start the next level right after obtaining my master's degree. It was all gone, replaced by an alternative plan posed by Mr. Portland.

Mr. Portland, who, just a week ago, buried his face between my legs, licking and fingering me until I was close to orgasm, spanking me so hard my ass was still red when I got home - and who then sent me away unfinished. Leaving me hungry and utterly embarrassed.

My cheeks are burning. Fuck, I can't think of him now, not with my sister in front of me.

"No, I haven't," I say, finally replying to her question. "I'm... still thinking about it."

"About what?" She asks, while scraping the remains of her food onto her fork. "You think you might want to go with someone else after all?"

"About the PhD," I reveal, gathering all my courage. "I'm not sure if I want to do it at all."

Harriet freezes mid-chewing and looks up at me, her eyes wide in shock.

"What?" She utters. "What do you mean?"

She contorts her face in sheer disbelief, looking at me as if I'd lost my mind. Maybe I have. Maybe I'm talking crazy, dazed by a forbiddingly handsome man who not only seduced me with his sexual appeal, but also with his maverick ideas.

"I don't know," I murmur. "I've just been thinking. Maybe a doctoral degree is not the right thing for me."

"But how are you supposed to become a professor if you stop now?" Harriet asks, bewildered.

I raise my left eyebrow and look at her with a similar look as the one that I so often see on Mr. Portland's face.

"I wouldn’t
be
a professor, if I decided to not continue on to get my PhD." I say. "There are other things I could do, Harriet."

"Like what?" She asks, letting her fork fall onto her plate with an loud clank. "Did you tell mom and dad?"

"Many things!" I declare, painfully aware how immature I must sound. "And no, I didn't. There's nothing to tell them, because I haven't decided."

"You should talk to them before you do anything stupid," she warns. "Like seriously... dropping out of school?"

I huff at her.

"I'm not dropping out!" I protest, my voice in a desperate, high pitch. "All I'm saying is that I'm not sure whether a doctoral degree is the right way for me to go. I never said anything about not getting my master's degree. Jeez, Harriet!"

She rolls her eyes again, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms in front of her chest. "This would be a huge mistake, Lana. Trust me."

"Why?" I seriously want to know, leaning forward and raising my chin defiantly. "Because mom and dad might get angry? Or because you can't think of anything else I could do that would make me as happy as you are - or maybe even happier?"

"Yes to both!" She exclaims. "What on earth will you do with a degree in social studies? Like seriously, it's not like the free market is waiting for someone who has never done anything but do research on society. You have never even worked except for your job at the library."

"I have a minor in Economics," I remind her. "I didn't focus on cultural studies like you did."

"A minor in Economics," Harriet repeats, laughing as she rolls her eyes for a third time. "Yeah, sure. That'll help."

"It might," I argue. "Besides, nothing is said and done yet. There's no reason for you to freak out like this."

"I'm not freaking out," she says, uncrossing her arms as she leans over to me. "I'm just worried you might do something stupid. Where's this coming from so suddenly? You never mentioned that you had any doubts about doing this before."

I shrug. "I don't know. I never really thought about it. But now that my graduation is coming closer, I thought it would be time for me to re-evaluate a few things and-"

"Is it a boy?" Harriet asks, furling her eyebrows. "Did you meet someone?"

"What?" I exclaim, my voice squeaking at the worst possible time. "Why would you say that? That's... I mean... How-"

"Oh God, it's a boy!" Harriet concludes, rolling her eyes so hard this time that it almost looks painful. "Please don't tell me you fell for one of those damn hippies in the humanities department."

She looks at me with an expression of disgust on her face.

"No!" I insist. "And please, Harriet. Stop blaming this on me falling for someone. I didn't. It's not that at all. I'm just thinking about where I want to go in life after I graduate from this degree - why is that so hard to believe? Just because you never second guessed taking the same route as mom and dad have, doesn't mean that I can't."

"Fine," Harriet says. "Just promise me you won't do anything stupid."

I frown at her. "I won't do anything stupid."

While I may still decide to follow up on that doctoral degree, saying that I won't do anything stupid might still be a stretch.

I've avoided Mr. Portland for the past week and I even skipped class - for the first time in my life – so as to not have to be confronted by him. I know he's waiting for me, but I don't know how to face him. The idea of having to see his face today in class, in front of all my unsuspecting classmates was too much  to bare. I chickened out, lying every person I talked to today, including my roommate. Celia wouldn't judge someone for skipping class, but she would've bugged me with a thousand questions, because she knows me well enough to sense that there must be something seriously wrong with me to do something like that. Especially skipping the class of the teacher she still refers to as Mr. Awesome would have made her more suspicious than ever.

"I gotta go," I announce, glancing down at my phone on the table next to my plate. "My next class is starting soon."

My sister lets me go without another word of warning, but I can tell by the way she's looking at me that she's worried - and she'll most likely share her concern with my parents.

At least I only have one class left for the day before I can get home and try to catch up on the sleep I've been missing.

A relaxing evening with a glass of wine and no further emotional turmoil. That sounds wonderful.

***

I shuffle toward Cleveland hall with my head hanging low, alternating between staring at my phone and the pavement beneath me as I drag myself home. It was no lie when I told my sister that I hadn't slept well for the past week.

I was so agitated and confused because of what had happened at Mr. Portland's office, and I still am, truthfully. But now that Monday is over and I have another six days before I have to worry about seeing him, I feel as if a heavy weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

That is, until I approach the entrance of my dorm building and see him sitting there. He's sitting on a bench next to the path that leads up to the entrance door, about ten feet away from me, demonstratively holding a newspaper up to his face and studying the content of it.

I know that he saw me - and I know that he's here because of me.

I freeze mid-motion, standing at the curve that leads to my dorm and staring at him as if a monster spawned in front of me.

He's here for me, but how the hell did he know where to find me? How does he know I live here, in this particular dorm building?

I was going to have a nice, relaxing evening, hoping to make use of the time that's left for me to think about a strategy to deal with what has happened between us. Now, he's robbed me of that much needed time and space by appearing out of nowhere, unannounced and unexpected.

I'm suddenly so furious at him, gone is the shock and worry that I just felt moments before!

I march up to him with long strides and angry steps.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I bark at him, returning to my old self, the same Lana who approached him after that first day of class.

Mr. Portland chuckles and calmly folds his newspaper before he looks up at me with the sweetest smile imaginable. He's dressed rather casual today, wearing dark jeans and the exact same sweater he lent me a few weeks ago beneath an expensive looking leather jacket with a light and thick fur collar.

"Is that any way to address a teacher of yours?" He asks without the slightest indication of anger.

I frown at him, quickly checking our surroundings. Students are walking across the campus in the distance, and while no one is currently within earshot, I know that people will be returning to the dorm as the last classes of the day are ending. Celia will be among them.

"Sit with me," Mr. Portland says, placing his hand on the free space on the bench next to him.

I shake my head. "I can't, I need more-"

"Sit with me," he repeats, putting a frightening emphasize on the first word. His eyes narrow to slits as he looks up at me. Threat is written all over his handsome face. "You sit down
now
or your next punishment will multiply the last one by the hundreds, Lana."

Fuck.

I blush and follow his order, plonking myself down on the bench like a sulking child, arms crossed in front of my chest.

"Good girl," he says, and my insides instantly catch fire.

Fuck. I don't want this. Not now. I can't handle this.

Yet, my cheeks are burning, my heart is racing and my mind is trembling while I'm sitting next to the man who is more than capable of turning my entire being, and everything I thought I knew, upside down.