Maya Thompson stacked her books in a beautiful alignment, the scent of old pages and chalk still lingering in the air as students fled out of Professor's Laird's Advanced Literature class. Her pink highlighter that looked precise and ruthless clicked shut in her hand as she reached for her planner.
Order. Structure. Control. That was the way she survived Bellwood University, with its polished halls and cutthroat expectations.
"Miss Thompson."
She froze at the sound of her professor's voice, smoothing her expression into something neutral before turning. Professor Laird stood behind the podium in a tweed jacket that was rumpled and a folder tucked beneath his arm. His glasses had slipped low on his nose, giving him the vaguely distracted air of someone always thinking a few pages ahead.
"Yes, Professor?" she asked, slipping her planner into her bag.
"I've recommended you for a tutor position."
That earned a blink. "A tutoring position?"
Laird nodded, moving around the desk to hand her a sheet of paper. "Freshman. Literature 101. Faculty-approved hours, compensation through the student employment program. Based on your GPA and class standing, you're more than qualified."
Maya scanned the form and stopped dead at the name.
Logan Hayes.
Her pulse ticked upward. "Logan Hayes?"
Laird, ever unreadable, raised one brow. "Yes. You know him?"
Maya laughed softly, though there was no humor in it. "Everyone knows him, sir."
The infamous Logan Hayes, he was part of the legacy family, with a lot of rumored scandals, and the maddeningly smug smirk he wore like a cologne. He was wealthy and handsome. He also had a reputation for skipping class, coasting on his last name, and leaving chaos in his wake.
She'd heard the stories. Everyone had.
Laird eyed her with the kind of measured patience that made her spine straighten. "He requested literature. Specifically. And your name came up."
"Requested?" she echoed.
Her mind reeled. What game was this? Logan Hayes didn't strike her as the type to voluntarily study, let alone request her.
"I'm not sure I'm the best fit," she offered, carefully. "I mean, I can recommend someone else."
"No." Laird's tone cut off any protest. "This is not a suggestion, Maya. You'll meet with him today after class in the tutoring center. One hour."
With that, he turned back to his briefcase, the conversation dismissed like a closed book.
Maya stood there for a moment, her fingers tightening around the paper. 'One hour with him.'
She had already tried rejecting the offer and even if she could say she didn't feel comfortable tutoring someone with a reputation for arrogance and manipulation, where would that end? Bellwood was already a delicate balance of class lines and judgements. She didn't need to tether herself to someone like Logan Hayes.
But...Her rent was due.
And the tutoring hours would keep her afloat, just a little longer. She couldn't afford to lose the extra income or the professor's favor.
Besides, she reminded herself as she pushed the paper into her bag, he was just a boy. One hour wouldn't kill her.
TUTORING CENTER, THIRTY MINUTES LATER
The room was made of glass with all minimalistic furniture and quiet voices that discussed beyond. Maya arrived early, as she always did, and claimed the seat with her back to the wall, where she could see the door.
She pulled out her notes, preparing out a structured syllabus, and reminded herself to breathe. This wasn't a big deal. It's just a student and it's unlike any other task or tutoring session.
At precisely 4:03, the door opened.
Logan Hayes didn't walk in. He sauntered.
His hair was all tousled and he was dressed in casual expensive clothes, like he woke up perfect and he knew it. His smile was a slow curl, that seemed unreadable and intimate, as if he already knew things about her she hadn't said.
"Maya Thompson," he said, voice like velvet soaked in bourbon. "We meet at last."
She didn't rise neither did she smile. She just directed her eyes to his and gestured right back to the seat across from her. "Take a seat. We're already three minutes into your hour."
Logan chuckled lowly and amused before sinking into the chair.
And as their eyes locked, Maya had a feeling that one hour was about to turn into a decade.
---
The pages of The Tempest lay open between them, the familiar weight of Shakespeare a comfort in Maya's hands. She tapped a pen lightly against the margin, highlighting a passage in a delicate fluid script.
Logan, for once, was quiet. Which was unexpected.
Maya glanced up from the annotated text, surprised to find him actually reading, his brow faintly furrowed as if he were genuinely engaged. He was not posing or being cheeky, he was reading.
Maybe the rumors had been exaggerated. Maybe the rich, smug, unbothered boy who slouched through lecture halls wasn't all there was to Logan Hayes.
But Maya wasn't dropping her guard.
"All right," she said, with a professional tone. "Prospero is a control freak with a superiority complex. Thoughts?"
Logan leaned back slightly, elbows on the armrests of the chair, like he belonged on a throne instead of the wooden seat. His gaze met hers and it wasn't challenging. But he was amused.
"I mean...he's kind of a narcissist," Logan said. "But who wouldn't be, if they had magic powers and got dumped on an island?"
Then Maya raised a brow. "So your sympathy lies with the man who enslaves spirits and gaslights his daughter?"
His lips twitched. "When you put it like that, it's almost like you're talking about me."
Maya blinked. Was he-?
She decided not to rise to it, not yet.
"Let's focus," she said, flipping a page with the kind of precision that said I don't have time for your games. "Talk to me about Miranda. What does her role tell us about innocence, or lack thereof?"
To his credit, he didn't deflect. At least not immediately.
"She's...naive. But not stupid. I think she's just never had to question her father's version of the world," he said. "Kind of like someone who's never had a mirror, but thinks they know what they look like."
That made her pause because it was surprisingly insightful.
She studied him for moment. The angled jaw, the blonde tousled hair that somehow made him look both too polished and disheveled. His eyes were gray-blue in color, cool as a lake water in autumn. His eyes held hers with a curiosity she didn't like.
"You've read this before," she said slowly.
Logan shrugged, one shoulder rolling with a kind of practiced ease. "Prep school. And again last summer. My mother likes Shakespeare."
"So you lied to Professor Laird?"
Another shrug. "I just said I needed help. I didn't specify with what."
A flicker of irritation danced along her spine. She hated wasted time. She hated being manipulated. But before she could snap, Logan leaned forward.
"I'm not here because I can't read the material, Maya."
Her name in his mouth felt twisted. It had a softness like a slow drop of honey with just enough heat to melt steel.
"I'm here," he continued, "because I like the way you read it."
The air between them shifted with a tilt, like the slow roll of thunder on the horizon.
She narrowed her eyes. "You don't know how I read it."
He smiled, and it was the kind of smile that unraveled women who should've known better.
"No," he said. "But I'd like to."
Maya exhaled and glanced back at the book. Focus, she told herself. He was charming in the way hurricanes were beautiful, destructive, chaotic, and impossible to look away from.
Still, she wouldn't be one of the girls who mistook that smile for substance.
She tapped the passage again. "Back to Miranda. You were saying?"
He leaned back again, but his gaze didn't waver. "You always this intense during tutoring?"
"Only when the student is wasting my time," she said sweetly.
He laughed then. A real one. It didn't sound like a mocking laugh. His laugh was warm, rich, and undeniably pleased.
Maya fought the little flicker of satisfaction that sparked deep in her belly.
This is just a tutoring session. She reminded herself again and she redirected her focus back to the conversation, keeping her voice even and her notes sharp.
But somewhere, buried beneath her discipline and logic, a small unsettling thought took root. What if Logan was exactly the kind of distraction she had spent her whole life preparing to avoid.