Playing Dirty

Chapter 2: The Mandate

The heavy oak doors of Dean Aris’s office felt like the gates of purgatory.

Maya stood in the quiet, carpeted reception area, taking a slow, steadying breath. She smoothed down the lapels of her black blazer and checked her watch. Her body still betrayed her with a dull, heavy ache pulsing low in her abdomen every time she shifted—a lingering consequence of her frantic morning release and the suffocating hallway encounter with Liam Vance.

She ruthlessly shoved the sensation down into a mental box, locking it away behind years of disciplined academic focus. Maya Chen did not lose her composure. She certainly did not lose it over an arrogant, overgrown hockey player with a god complex.

Commanding herself to focus, she pushed open the doors and stepped into the expansive, mahogany-paneled office of the Dean of the Law Faculty.

"Dean Aris, you wanted to see—"

Maya’s meticulously rehearsed greeting died in her throat.

Sitting in one of the twin leather wingback chairs opposite the Dean’s desk was Liam Vance. He didn’t belong in a room like this. The office was all antique wood, legal encyclopedias, and sterile professionalism. Liam, on the other hand, was a sprawling monument of raw, athletic defiance. He was slouched deeply into the expensive leather chair, his long, muscular legs splayed wide in a shameless display of territory. His hockey jacket hung open, revealing a tight black t-shirt that stretched over his broad chest.

When he heard the door click shut, Liam slowly turned his head. His piercing blue eyes locked onto Maya, his lips curving into that same slow-burning smirk that made her want to commit a felony.

"Ah, Miss Chen. Right on time," Dean Aris said, rubbing his temples as if he already had a migraine. He was a stern, gray-haired man who valued order above all else. "Please, take a seat."

Maya refused to look at Liam. She walked precisely to the empty chair beside him, maintaining a rigid posture as she sat down, keeping her knees pressed tightly together. She placed her briefcase on her lap like a shield. "Dean Aris. Is there a reason I was pulled from my morning prep to share breathing room with a varsity athlete?"

Liam let out a low, raspy chuckle, the sound vibrating the small space between their chairs. "Careful, Counselor. Your elitism is showing."

"And your lack of basic intelligence is taking up valuable oxygen," Maya shot back without missing a beat, her eyes fixed forward on the Dean.

"Enough," Dean Aris snapped, raising a hand. "I did not call you both here to mediate a playground dispute. We have a serious institutional problem, and unfortunately for both of you, the solution requires your immediate cooperation."

Maya frowned, a cold knot forming in her stomach. "What does his academic record have to do with me?"

Dean Aris pulled a manila folder from his desk and tossed it open. "Mr. Vance is currently holding a forty-two percent in his Macroeconomics elective. A core requirement for his degree. According to NCAA regulations and Westridge University’s internal athletic bylaws, if he does not raise that grade to a minimum of a B-minus by midterms, he will be placed on academic probation."

Liam’s jaw tightened. The lazy amusement drained from his face, replaced by a dark, simmering tension. "I told the coach I’d handle it, Aris. I just bombed one midterm."

"You bombed three quizzes, a midterm, and failed to submit two assignments, Vance," the Dean corrected sharply. "You are the captain of the hockey team. The boosters pour millions into this university to see you lead us to the national championship. If you are suspended from the ice, our donors get angry, and your highly anticipated NHL draft prospects this spring will evaporate."

Liam shifted in his seat, the leather creaking under his massive frame. He was completely cornered by his own negligence. For a fleeting second, a vicious sense of satisfaction curled in Maya's chest.

"Again," Maya said smoothly, keeping her tone perfectly professional, "while this is a tragic tale of athletic hubris, I am a third-year pre-law student. I don't see how this concerns me."

Dean Aris folded his hands over the desk, locking eyes with her. "It concerns you, Miss Chen, because you are the only undergraduate student in this university who took that exact high-level Macroeconomics course last year and finished with a one-hundred percent average."

Maya’s breath hitched. "No."

"Yes," the Dean countered.

"Absolutely not," Liam growled, sitting up straight, suddenly looking entirely too large and predatory as he glared at the Dean. "I am not taking orders from some uptight, neurotic law student who thinks the world revolves around her GPA. Get me a TA. I’ll pay for it myself."

"You intimidated your last teaching assistant into doing your worksheets for you, Mr. Vance," the Dean stated coldly. "You need someone who is immune to your particular brand of bullying. Someone who won't back down." He looked at Maya. "Miss Chen."

"Dean Aris, I am currently carrying twenty-one credit hours. I am leading the mock trial team. I do not have the time or the patience to babysit a hockey player who can't grasp basic supply and demand," Maya argued, her voice rising in desperation. Spending hours alone with Liam Vance was a psychological hazard.

Dean Aris leaned back in his chair, pulling out his trump card. "Miss Chen, you applied for the summer associate internship at Sterling & Cross in New York, did you not?"

Maya froze. Sterling & Cross was the most ruthless, prestigious corporate law firm in the country. A summer internship there guaranteed a six-figure job straight out of law school. It was her entire endgame.

"I did," she whispered, her throat suddenly dry.

"There are over four hundred applicants for two spots. The senior partner is a close, personal friend of mine," Dean Aris said, his voice lowering into a deadly calm. "He called me yesterday, asking for a direct recommendation. If you tutor Mr. Vance—if you ensure he passes this class and stays on the ice—I will personally guarantee that one of those two spots goes to you."

The silence in the room became suffocating. Clean, academic blackmail.

Slowly, Liam turned his head to look at her. He could read the defeat in her rigid posture. A slow, wicked, terrifyingly dark smile spread across his handsome face. He leaned closer to her, invading her space, dropping his voice so only she could hear the gravelly vibration of his words.

"Looks like you're mine now, Counselor."

Maya swallowed hard, fighting the immediate, shameful shiver that shot straight down to her core. She turned her head, her dark eyes clashing violently with his bright blue ones. The air between them crackled, thick with mutual hatred, unyielding stubbornness, and a heavy, undeniable undertow of electric heat.

"Three days a week," Maya said, turning her icy gaze back to the Dean, her voice hard as steel. "Two hours a session. He meets me exactly when and where I say. If he is late by a single minute, I walk, and my recommendation letter stays intact."

"Agreed," the Dean said with a satisfied sigh.

"Wait a damn minute," Liam interjected, his jaw clenching. "I didn't agree to her making the rules."

Maya stood up, smoothing her skirt with sharp, deliberate motions. She looked down at Liam, towering over him while he remained seated, relishing the rare moment of absolute control.

"You don't get to make the rules anymore, Vance," Maya said softly, her eyes flashing with a dangerous promise. "You wanted a tutor? You got one. Prepare to have your life made a living hell."

Without waiting for his response, she turned on her heel and marched out of the Dean's office, the heavy oak doors swinging shut behind her.

She made it exactly ten feet down the quiet hallway before the door violently opened again. Heavy, purposeful footsteps closed the distance behind her in seconds. Before Maya could react, a massive, warm hand wrapped around her upper arm, spinning her around and backing her firmly up against the cold marble wall of the corridor.

Liam loomed over her, planting one hand on the wall beside her head, trapping her instantly. His chest was rising and falling heavily, so close that it brushed against the lapels of her blazer.

"A living hell?" Liam whispered, his voice dropping into a register that was pure, unfiltered sin. His gaze dropped to her lips, then slowly dragged back up to her eyes, burning with a competitive fire that made Maya’s breath completely stall. "Sweetheart, you have no idea what hell looks like. But I'm going to have a lot of fun showing you."

Maya tilted her chin up, refusing to shrink under his dominant frame, even as her pulse roared violently in her ears.

"Tonight. Eight o'clock. Athletic lounge," she ordered, her voice trembling just a fraction of an inch—a weakness she hated him for noticing.

Liam’s thumb lightly brushed the sleeve of her blazer, a touch so fleeting it felt like a brand.

"I'll be there," he promised softly, his eyes darkening with a predatory gleam. "Don't be late, Maya."

He pushed off the wall and walked away backward, keeping his eyes locked on hers until he turned the corner. Maya sagged against the marble wall, pressing a shaking hand to her chest, realizing with absolute, terrifying clarity that this contract wasn't just going to ruin her schedule.

It was going to ruin her.