My Mafia Boytoy

Chapter 4 - Problematic

'Do you have a problem with me?' Oliver trails me outside my law building after I handed in my TA work portion. Like he'd been stalking me.

'No.' I produce the thinnest smile. 'Why would you think that?'

As I strut on, he tags along. His hand runs through his locks of dark blond hair. 'What did I do to you?'

'Nothing. Did you do something that could upset me?'

The answer is yes. Oliver's brows come together, like a union of two conspirators. 'I don't think so. What could upset you? Tell me. I know nothing about you.'

'Death.'

'I'm good on that front. Haven't died, yet.'

'Another thing that upsets me is when a man won't stop buzzing in my ear. How did you even know I was in this building?'

'I'd just noticed you'd come here and it was a good day, and I wanted to talk to you, anyway, and by the time I caught up, you were gone. So I decided to wait.'

'It's been almost an hour of waiting in that case. That's creepy.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Are you?'

Oliver blinks. 'Yes. Truly. I can make it up to you.'

Why is everyone saying that these days? Yazmin's said that everyday since the Q&Q incident, where she let me drive home with this murderer.

I steady my nerves and meet his eyes. Too expressive for someone who kills. Who taught him how to mask this well?

'I have to study, now. We can talk later.'

'We can partner up.'

'We're in different majors.'

Oliver's majoring in political science, which has some overlap with law. I think we might share a couple undergrad courses, unfortunately.

'So? The library's right there. Give me your flash cards and I'll give you mine. I don't bite.'

No. You shoot. I will my fingers to be still, not to tremble. This is the worst scenario. Women end up as the topic on true crime podcasts by men like these who won't stop their pursuit.

Am I allowed to refuse?

'But you don't have to. If you're tired, I can drop you off at your dorm, again, to study alone, or drop you off at the library. You know? But you've probably not eaten today, either, and... are you hungry?'

'Just eaten. Thank you.'

I break away and bend round the building. As I do, he calls, 'Goodbye,' and I do not reply.

My dorm's in walking distance. Oliver is wherever he is now, in the side-front of my mind, just close enough to reach and study but shove aside when needed. Enough to investigate myself and see where that leads to.

I glance at my phone, just for a second, to see if Yaz's texted yet, before my nose digs into someone else's chin. Instantly, I break apart to apologize, words already sitting on the tip of my tongue, when I come eye to eye with Derek.

'Samara?' comes his voice, in his lilting UK accent that isn't as unpleasantly unusual as Yazmin makes it out to be.

'Derek.'

His hand carefully pulls an errant flop of my hair back onto its right side. He's a perfectionist like that, like me. 'You look like a blizzard struck. What happened?'

'I woke up.'

He smiles a little. 'I'm guessing you haven't eaten. Or showered.'

'I showered,' I say with great offence. Because my showering is an intricate order, with rituals of essential oils bestowed upon me by Mom.

'I don't bother to if my stomach's empty.'

He sidles up to me and I already know where our destination is. The food truck stationed nears the dorms that sells those hot, oily tater tots I shouldn't eat if I care about my skin. Yazmin doesn't eat them.

'You eat before you shower?'

'A little out of order, innit?'

'Extremely. You take your cereal before milk as well?'

'I'm wayward, not sacrilegious.'

I process those words again. 'You speak so nicely.'

'We go to an Ivy League. Everyone speaks so nicely. Mostly, anyway.'

'What does that mean?'

He eyes me like I ought to know. We share a mental communication of Yazmin.

'If I say her name, I'm afraid you'd Hulk out on me.'

'Have you heard her talk about the sciences? She's a genius.'

'I never said she was dumb.'

A pause buoys between us and it uneases me. I settle myself and forget the slight he gave to Yazmin, but archive it. If she makes it up to me, I might tell her later. 'How's your day been?'

He tells me about how he has a class in two hours, and he's bummed out, so he went on a walk round campus trying to sort himself out mentally before tackling his marketing class.

'We're doing this project and we're allying with real companies and collaborating with the art class who'll design the visual ads. It's worth almost as much as the final exam.'

'Isn't that a lot of responsibility?'

'It is. And the grades are based on how well the ads succeed in the real world. The best group gets a contract with the company they worked with. You have some of the top one thousand companies in the U.S partnered here.'

'Which one is your group doing?'

'Specifically some nightclub chain local here, but the company that owns it is huge.'

That snags my attention right off and I nearly trip up on the stone tile path. He smothers a laugh with his hand. 'It's not funny.'

'No. No it isn't.'

'But the nightclubs? They're here? What kind?'

'They're the kinds with a VIP section and neon drinks. It's beautiful, at least in the photos. I was thinking our group hits one of them these nights.'

I tamp down my excitement and continue an easy walk. My dorm building appears now, along with the food truck—Hot Tot—across the road, already with a line.

'And the nightclub chain?'

'Emerald.'

A stereotypically green gem. Oliver Greene. Evergreen. There was something there. Before I could probe again, innocently, he handed me the answer on a golden platter.

'It's owned by Oliver's dad, turns out. I would tell him, but he'd never let me live down the fact I'm working for his family. So keep it a secret for me, Sams.'

'Promise. It's our secret.' Like I would tell Oliver anything.

'We're going to work in the marketing office in their main building in the city on Monday. And I'm always hungover on Mondays.'

'I could help,' I blurt. 'With the work, I mean. You said it was stressful.'

'I'm not sure if that's allowed.'

'No models?'

'Models are allowed, obviously. But are you a model?'

'I could be with direction. You know how clubs host ladies' nights because they bring in club goers? So if you're marketing—'

'Stop.'

Our walk ends at the tail of the line and he spins me by my shoulder to face him, runs his eyes over me, the top of my head to the bottom of my cleats.

'You're not playing sacrificial lamb for me.' His lips are straight, not a hint of play within. 'We can hire a model if we need.'

'Then I can do other things. But I'd like to come.'

'Why?'

I think on my toes, something that isn't suspect, or would tip off in Oliver's directions. Because they're friends more than he is with me. 'Mental support?'

His eyes scrunch together. 'Mental support.'

'Don't you like my company?'

'Yes, but that's my course project.'

'I won't be a distraction. Promise.'

Finally, his lips upturn. Derek's not hard to make smile, but he cares too much. An action too out of character doesn't go unnoticed. 'I'll send you the address.'

I preen, right when someone behind tells us to move up. 'Sorry,' he says, and I nod at them in apology. We shuffle to the front.

He gets me the garlic-honey tots with the onion rings and himself the hotdog-flavoured tots with ketchup-y pulled pork. We sit at an umbrella table and he forks one up and offers it to me. I bite it off the prongs and he laughs.

'Same time tomorrow?'

'Studying tomorrow.' I swallow down the pulled pork and continue. 'But I'm not against another time. I can pay next.'

'I'd never let you.'

It was an unspoken group agreement to never let me pay. They belonged to the top companies in the world and I was on scholarship. Yet they let me mesh in with them—didn't delegate me as some pauper stages beneath them. But they made sure I never spent a dime.

I open my mouth to argue, and he triggers like a sixth sense awoke, casting pale blue eyes at me like laser beams. My mouth falls back shut and I nod.

'Good. Now what do you say?'

I giggle. 'Thank you, Derek.'

As I look down to check my phone and see my timetable for the day, my peripheral catches onto someone. I turn my head and clear as day, Oliver, standing across the road, catches my eye. Do I smile? No. Neither does he. We keep staring. It would be defeat if I drew back first.

Derek notices and waves.

After a second, he waves back then keeps walking.