Chapter 3: Negotiations

Adeline’s POV

There are about a thousand million curse words ringing through my head. All of which are vastly different and unique than the one before it. Why? Well, it’s not often that a student is called to the dean’s office specifically for no apparent reason whatsoever.

I feel like a little kid waiting for their parents’ divine judgment on something. Suddenly every single awful thing I've done while on campus that could possibly land me here in a huge, massive, steaming pile of sh—

“Miss May?” My head shoots up from where I'm sitting. The old lousy wooden chair beneath me creaks when I suddenly stand up. I would have cursed if I wasn’t glad for the noise it made in the otherwise still air.

“Yes?” I answer the receptionist. An old, frail woman who looks like she had been sitting behind that desk since the dark ages.

“The dean is running late; you can go inside in the meantime.”

Odd. I thought, how very odd. They are just going to let a random student inside the dean’s office with no supervision whatsoever. What is going on exactly?

“Yes, thank you.” I quickly rush out. Because despite my skepticism about the situation, I'm about to start any argument or confrontation with the woman in front of me. She looks old and frail, but there was a wicked fierceness behind her horn-rimmed glasses that I’d rather not tackle at seven in the morning.

So, I give her a slight smile and move towards the door to the dean’s office. I turn the golden brass handle and push the creaky oak door open. The office itself is large enough, befitting a man in charge of one of the most prestigious universities of them all.

Suddenly my heart stops as a sudden realization hits me. They aren’t going to kick me out because I can’t pay for my tuition anymore, are they?

No, no, that’s not right. How can they even know? I only lost the final semester money last night, and I doubt the nightclub I'm working at (or recently got fired from) will sort through my papers already.

Never mind that, Adeline. It doesn’t make sense for a college as large as this to narrow in on one student who can’t pay for her final semester.

My musings are halted when I notice some movement on the couch in front of the dean’s large oak table. There is a man there, but it isn’t the dean.

I'm even more surprised when I walk forward to introduce myself only to find that the man was sleeping. His eyes are shut, and his breathing is soft and shallow. I didn't notice the slight scarring beneath his left eye from the other night. That sharp expression, guarded even as he rested, is still there. His skin is clear and looks so soft.

I find a pang of jealousy shooting through me. So unfair.

But what is he doing here? The same man I saved from bleeding out in an alleyway now resting in my dean’s office?

The slight dimness from the barely open blinds isn’t giving me enough light to properly make out his face. More than that, his hair falls onto his face and obstructs my view fully. I feel a sudden pull toward the man in front of me and a desire to know where I had seen him before.

So I reach forward to brush his hair from his face, but just as the tips of my fingers make contact with the soft strands, my hand is snatched and halted. My eyes widen for a moment at the quick movement before I make eye contact with the man in front of me.

“You!” I say with a gasp as I move closer, trying to shake off my embarrassment by focusing on the fact that it was the same man from the previous night in front of me.

“Me.” He deadpans.

“I thought you died!” I say, shocked, “Aren’t you supposed to be in the hospital?”

“It seems I’m hard to kill,” he says, and I can tell there is a bit of irritation in his voice as he says that. Well, pardon me then, I'm just trying to make conversation. I nod my head and blow air into my cheeks before turning from him and sitting in the other chair.

“Did the dean call you as well? I didn’t know you went here. You look a bit—”

“No,” He interrupts me, “The dean didn’t call me.”

“Oh,” I say. “There, why are you here?”

“I’m looking for a mate.”

There is a pregnant pause, and I feel my brows pull together in confusion. When I turn from the man sitting beside me, my eye catches the picture frame on the dean’s desk with him and his dog. The dean is a single man who lives alone with his golden retriever. That is about as much as we all know about his personal life.

“Well,” I say slowly, “We’re all adults here, and I’m not sure if the dean swings that way, but—”

“What?” The man interrupts me, completely caught off guard at what I was saying. “I don’t want to mate with the dean!”

I turn to him with an irritated face. Why is he yelling at me?

“Well, it was implied!” I yell back, equally as agitated.

“It most certainly was not,” the man says again, getting closer to me this time.

“Well, who else could you have been—” I roll my eyes halfway through the question until it hits me.

When the idea pops into my head, I freeze and turn to the man in front of me. He seems to be looking at me like he is finally glad I managed to catch up.

“Me?”

“Well done,” he says as he leaned back into his chair.

“But I don’t even know you. Besides, I’ve still got some time to find my mate. And also—” I point an accusatory finger at him, “If you followed me here and are making crazy proposals just because I saved your life, you’re totally out of line, sir.”

“Would you stop calling me that?” He snaps at me, “We aren’t that far in age.”

“How would you know?”

“Do you suppose I just go around asking random females to be my mate without knowing some things about them?”

I want to be creeped out by this, but the man is strange, to begin with, so I wasn’t.

“Do you?” I ask with a raise of my brow.

“No!”

“Then why do it this time?”

The man sighs as he stands up and leans against the front of the dean’s desk. “I’m not just looking for a mate… I’m looking for a fake one.”

His statement shocks me into silence.

“And I’m here for you because, well, you looked like you’d be less trouble. Women of my own social status would ask questions and expect things like love and adoration. Neither of which I can give them.”

I'm too stunned to speak, so I only listen as he continues. “I need someone willing to focus on a purely business relationship. And as far as I could tell, you’re in need of some work.”

“You’re going to pay me to be your fake mate?” I clarify. I'm able to follow along with the words he's saying, that doesn’t mean they aren’t completely insane. He nods his head.

“How much?” I ask. Wait. Why am I asking for specifics?

The man in front of me offers a number. A very glorious, gorgeous number.

I pause, and he takes the opportunity to speak again. “My name is Zale Seoh, alpha of the Carmine Pack. So that you know I’m good for my word.”

I sputter at the new information. I know the man in front of me is a powerful wolf. He emits the aura itself. There is no denying how strong he is just by being in his presence alone. Being an alpha isn’t going to be a long shot of a guess for me. But to hear him say it…

For an alpha to even look at me and consider me being their mate… well, fake mate.

I look at the man in front of me—Zale. I mean, really look at him. He is dressed in a suit, long legs accentuated by the dark blackness of his pants, he wears a white shirt beneath a black blazer with the buttons popped at the top.

When I lift my gaze up to meet his gorgeous face, I'm met with a raise of his brow.

“If you don’t say anything I’m going to take your silence as a yes. You clearly have no issue with the way I look.”

I blush at his words but didn’t deny it. I didn’t say anything else either. He sighs again and leans closer to me.

“Look, I read your portfolio. Help me, and I won’t only help you with your tuition but also allow you to work as one of the main researchers in Carmine.”

I feel déjà vu suddenly. Hasn't this happened before? Haven’t I been scammed out of everything I had for the same promise? But he was an alpha… maybe…

I nod my head. “When do we start?”