Chapter 21
Chapter 21:
The doors banged open.
Ethan Vance strode in. He was ten minutes late. He walked with a swagger that suggested he owned the building, chewing his gum with an obnoxious, rhythmic smack, smack, smack.
The proctor, a stern woman with glasses, glared at him. “Name p>
“Vance,” Ethan said, winking at her. “Ethan. But you can call me ‘Trouble p>
The proctor sighed. The Vance family donated a wing to the library every year. She waved him in.
Ethan scanned the room. His eyes landed on Skye. A slow grin spread across his face.
He walked up the aisle and sat in the seat directly behind her.
Skye stiffened. She could smell his cologne—expensive leather and citrus.
The exam began. Papers rustled.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Ethan started tapping his pen against the back of Skye’s plastic chair. It was a rhythmic, annoying beat.
Skye ignored him. She opened the exam booklet.
Section 1: Advanced Macroeconomics. Child’s play.
She started writing, her pen moving fluidly across the page.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Ethan leaned forward. His breath ghosted against her neck.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Beautiful. Pssst p>
Skye didn’t turn. She continued solving a differential equation regarding market volatility.
“I’ll buy you dinner,” Ethan whispered louder. “Steak. Lobster. Just show me the answer to number three. I have a hangover and the words are swimming p>
Skye’s hand stopped. Her grip on the pen tightened.
𝖬𝘰𝘳𝘦 n𝗈𝘷е𝗅ѕ 𝘰n 𝘣𝗲.со𝘮
She spun the pen in her fingers. Then she moved.
Her shoulder protested, muscle memory colliding with the deep tissue trauma from the explosion. She gritted her teeth against the flare of agony, and with a sudden, fluid motion, dropped the pen backward over her shoulder.
It fell with perfect precision, the heavy metal tip striking Ethan’s shin under the desk.
“Ow!” Ethan yelped, the sound echoing in the silent hall.
Heads turned. The proctor looked up. “Silence p>
Skye didn’t even glance back. She calmly reached into her bag, pulled out a spare pen, her hand trembling slightly from the aftershock of pain, and continued writing.
Ethan rubbed his shin. He stared at the back of her head, stunned. Then he leaned in again, but this time he wasn’t flirting.
He was watching.
He saw the speed at which she wrote. He saw the complex diagrams she drew in the margins—calculations that went far beyond what the question asked. She was restructuring the hypothetical merger in the question to maximize tax efficiency using offshore loopholes.
Ethan stopped chewing his gum.