She thought I was getting too much of Hunter’s attention before? Well, she’s really going to hate me if this blows up in my face. Because I refuse to fail, run away, and let her think she won. I will do it or bust a goddamn gut.
My dad didn’t raise a chicken, and I reject the idea of showing Maverick that if the going gets tough, it’s okay to tuck tail and run. He’s going to be my little fighter.
No. Fuck Cassandra. Fuck every son of a bitch who thinks they have a say in what I do, whom I talk to, or where I go.
It’s sink or swim, baby, and I refuse to drown.
The second I walk into business ethics class, I know something is up. Instead of sitting in their seats, everyone is standing in pairs of two with a sheet of paper in their hand. They talk animatedly with their partner, and that familiar sickness starts squirreling around inside my stomach.
“Ms. Rose,” Mr. Erikson calls, gathering my attention.
Turning in the direction of his voice, I see him leaning on his desk with both hands braced against the hard, unforgiving surface. He gives me this strange, secretive glower. Mr. Erikson never really liked me all that much because of the whole seat debacle on the second week of school, and I can’t say there’s any love lost on my end, either.
“You’re with Prince.”
I grumble under my breath. It seems no matter how hard I try, I can never get away from that butthole. Yes. Prince is a butthole with a capital B.
“Sure,” I reply, my voice filled to the brim with sarcasm. “That’s a smart idea.”
“Ms. Rose!” he scolds, his piercing voice making me cringe.
Huffing, I stomp over to his desk and take the paper he’s now holding out to me. Without peering in his direction, I mumble, “Well, let’s go.” I take off out of the room.
I’m not sure where we’re supposed to reconvene, but I can take a guess at where we’re heading. When we do these partner things, we always go to the stadium so we can break up into our groups and have a little privacy while we do our work. The classroom is simply too small, so Mr. Erikson believes it’s a good idea to take over a sports field. You know, to make everyone comfortable by not having us all up each other’s asses.
It doesn’t really matter to me. I’m stuck with the guy I want nothing to do with. A football field between us wouldn’t give me the adequate space I need, and now I’m forced to sit right beside him.
“What happened to leaving?”
I don’t reply. Something tells me he’s just trying to spring a trap, and I need to be the smarter person and not fall for it. Epic fail when looking back on previous other instances.
And I’ll be super honest—just because I hate his past and present actions, it’s hard. Acknowledging him is ingrained into my very DNA, and it’s difficult trying to rewrite the sequences.
Each structure has a strand specifically for Hunter. I know it’s crazy, and some would even say it’s stupid—but they haven’t lived my life. No one knows the things Hunter has done to brand himself so deeply that it’s difficult to see only the pain and not what else he’s done.
“Still not talking to me?” Hunter’s voice is like sin and chocolate. You can’t help that it draws you in, but then when you get that first taste, you’re a prisoner forever.
Releasing a sigh, I veer off the field and head toward the bleachers. Soda cans, candy wrappers, and half-eaten hot dogs grace the ground. I can’t hold back the look of utter disgust at how people treat stuff that’s not theirs. Legit, there are trashcans near each end of the bleachers, and two right in the middle. There’s no need for this.
Scooting trash over with my foot, I hesitantly sit down. I mean, it’s not that dirty, but it’s still far from clean. “So,” I take out the paper and start reading the first question. “Which principle of ethics do you think is more important for a business?”
Ignorant question, really. Hunter doesn’t get to choose how he runs his business. He’s due to inherit his dad’s kingdom, and the business practices have already been instated for quite some time. Even if he wanted to change things up, it’s already too late. People are used to the way they do things now.
While Mr. Erikson makes us pretend we have our own business, this man truly does. Technically. So, I’d say it’s probably hard for him to take an educated guess as to what he would base his business on.
Hunter sits down in a huff. “Gonna be like that?”
Everything in me deflates at hearing the hurt lingering in his words. “Let’s not do this.”
“Do what, Harloe? Huh?” My eyes jerk to his, watching as he wrestles with whatever he's feeling inside. It's difficult seeing him like this because he's always been so strong and untouchable. “You’re going to leave. Again. Tuck your goddamn tail between your legs and take off like a chickenshit.”
Hunter has no idea of the hardships I've had to go through since he kicked me out of his life. If I were a pettier person than I am now, I'd let him in on the secret—our little secret. But I'm not, and I refuse to do that. He hasn't been there since the beginning, and there's no use in bringing him in now.
“You are the reason I left last time, and you know it. How was I supposed to ever show my face again after the way you treated me?" I whisper-hiss. "You’ve been making my life hell, and you just won’t let up.”
It's difficult not to go postal on him.
"Since when have you ever taken the easy way out of anything?" I give him a scathing look, to which he quickly amends, "Before that day, of course. The Harloe I know wouldn’t run away from shit. She was fierce. Didn't put up with anyone's bullshit."
"Just like I told you when we first saw each other—people change all the time. I’m not that girl anymore.”
He nods, snorting. "Yeah, no shit."
Hunter goes silent as he stares out toward the middle of town. Where the stadium is positioned, you can practically see everything. That's why this used to be my favorite place when I was younger. It's right on the outskirts of the university's campus, and therefore, not many people wander out here. Usually, they're all too preoccupied with other things.
Clearing my throat, I ask the question again, hoping Hunter will move past this. “Which principle of ethics do you think is more important for your business?”
He leans his arm on his upturned knee, running his finger across his upper lip. It's a tic I have long since grown accustomed to seeing on him. It's his thinking face. But what he's thinking about now, I'd hate to know. Lord knows what's going through his mind. Whatever it is, I'm almost positive it's nothing to do with the question I just asked. For the second time, remind you.
"Do you ever regret it?" he finally asks through a tired sigh, as if he's just exhausted with life in general.
Taking my lip between my teeth, I nibble on it—a nervous gesture of mine. "I'm lost, Hunt. Regret what?"
He looks at me from the side of his eye, scanning me up and down. I can't decide if he's trying to spot bullshit or if he's actually studying to see if I'm telling the truth. But what I'm supposed to be admitting to, I have no idea. It seems I'm just as lost as he is.