Marcus didn't argue further, just started the car and followed the cab.
In the back seat, Grayson reopened the text Isla had sent him the day before. Just a flat notice that the laundry was done and dropped at his office.
Nothing else. No warmth, no small talk.
Irritated, he tossed the phone aside. He'd been resting with his eyes shut, but something sharp and unwelcome flared behind them now.
I want to know exactly who she's meeting at lunch.
Isla stepped out of the cab at the campus gate. Before she'd even crossed onto school grounds, a familiar voice called out warmly, "Isla."
Standing just outside the entrance was a guy in a crisp white shirt and casual pants, his easy smile practically glowing on its own.
"Senior?" Isla glanced over, surprised, and waved. Marcus Whitfield.
Marc
