The next morning, Keir forced himself out of bed and prepared for work. On his way out the front door, a folded note dropped from where it had been stuck inside the frame. Not sure he was ready to deal with whatever this was, Keir hesitated before setting down his briefcase and picking up the note.
I’m really not as big an asshole as I seem. Give me a chance to explain.
It was signed Riley Quinn, with a phone number scrawled underneath. Keir’s first instinct was to crumple the note and fling it into the shrubbery. But he’d just have to fish it out later and dispose of it properly—Huntington Hill prided itself on tidy hedges. Instead, he tucked it into his pocket to deal with later and headed for the academy.
Keir stumbled through his classes, offering uninspired, stilted lectures follow
