Page 16 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
“Asher! What a pleasant surprise!” she greets. She eyes our joined hands curiously. “Have you come to brush up on your statistics? Unfortunately, this is statistics for science majors not business.”
Ah.
I read online that Asher completed a six-year joint Bachelor’s and Master’s of Science degree program at Wilton’s Jefferson School of Business in just three years. I didn’t believe it when I read it, but I’m starting to now. Dr. Lance teaches advanced statistics across many disciplines, including business. If Asher has a B.S. and M.S. from Wilton’s business school, they have to have crossed paths before.
“May I sit in?” Asher asks. His voice is lacking the hard edge it usually has. He sounds almost… pleasant.
But when I look at him, his face is as impassive as ever.
“Of course, of course. You may sit anywhere you’d like.”
I subtly yank my hand out of Asher’s grip, knowing he can’t grab it back with the attention Dr. Lance is giving us. She’s too sharp not to notice something like that. I briefly consider sending her a signal to call the police, but I know they’ll never arrive in time.
And Dr. Lance is far too old to take on Asher. Hell, it’s unlikely that anyone of any age can. His body is molded into a dangerous weapon that’s probably more lethal than a loaded gun. It’s definitely scarier, and I would know—I’ve had experience with both.
With his back turned to Dr. Lance, Asher sends me a warning glare. I try to ignore it, heading towards the seats. These seats aren’t stadium style, like the lecture hall’s are
. These are tiny individual desks, consisting of plastic chairs attached to undersized wooden desks with metal screws.
Everyone is already sitting down, staring at us with varying looks of disbelief. I’m not sure if it’s because Asher is one scary dude or because I brought a date to class. I find an empty desk, surrounded on all sides by people. If I sit in this one, Asher won’t be able to sit near me. I take a seat at the desk, my face all sorts of smug. I’ll get another 50 minutes of peace sitting without him beside me. With the way my day is going, that’s more than I can hope for.
My grin drops when Asher glares at the student sitting next to me. He all but jumps out of his seat and scrambles to the empty one on the other side of the classroom. Asher takes a seat at the newly abandoned chair. He reaches over, grips my desk with one hand, and easily drags it closer to him until it’s touching his desk. Then, he slings his arm around my shoulders.
I don’t react. I’m still too stunned. He just scared off some poor guy and dragged all 125 pounds of me along with this 50 pound desk with one hand. I know that he could have done it even if I weighed 150 pounds more. I am so fucked.
And this, sitting next to him and under his arm, is ridiculous. This is unnecessary. I’m not going anywhere, whether his arm is around me or not. I don’t have the guts. We both know that. We also both know that running is an illogical move. He’s doing this to spite me, and I know that I won’t be paying attention to yet another class.
Not that it matters.
Chances are I’ll be dead after this class anyway.
Of course, I don’t pay attention to the whole lecture, but I am astonished when Dr. Lance asks questions and Asher answers all of them. Know it all. Asher is in the middle of another answer when a rare smile graces Dr. Lance’s face, because Asher doesn’t just answer the questions.
He explains his answers with a level of depth and thoroughness that is both impressive and inimitable. Not even Dr. Lance, who has long since reached emeritus status at Wilton, can explain the concepts as well as Asher. And the stupid boys in the class are eating it up.
I’m the only girl in the class, which isn’t exactly a shocker, because STEM fields are always heavier on the male enrollment. Couple in the fact that bioinformatics and genomics is such a specialized field, and I’m the only girl at Wilton in the entire major.
It’s lonely and it sucks, but what can I do? Go around knocking on doors and asking girls to convert to the sciences, bible salesmen style?
No, thanks.
After a few minutes, the boys in the class stop caring that Asher is intimidating as fuck and affiliated with the Romano family. Hell, I wouldn’t be amazed if some of them don’t even know, given how focused these guys are on their studies. What they do care about, though, is getting an A. And Asher is someone that can explain convoluted concepts to them better than their professor can.
I can see the worship in their eyes.
It pisses me off.
When class finally ends, the kid Asher scared off actually has the guts to come up to Asher and ask a question about fiduciary inference. And Asher actually answers it. Ronald Fisher, the inventor of fiduciary inference, didn’t even fully understand it. But Asher does. I’m stupefied.
Who is this guy?
After fielding a few more questions like a damn celebrity, Asher turns to me and says, “Are you going to talk to me or are we going to waste another hour sitting in a lecture you won’t pay attention to?”
I sigh, unsurprised that he caught onto my plan. I don’t have another class today anyway. And then I process his words again.
“Talk? You want to talk? I thought you were here to ‘take care of me.’” My voice dips at the end, mimicking his deep tone unsuccessfully. I sounded like the prepubescent offspring of the Cookie Monster and Arnold Schwarzenegger.
He finally removes his arm from my shoulders and grabs my hand instead. We’re standing up now, and my backpack is somehow already across one of his shoulders.
