Page 13 of Illicit Education
“Who knew internship paperwork could be quite so tedious, am I right?” Hector smiled, elbowing me gently. “They don’t pay us enough for that shit.”
“You have no idea.”
“Oh, he does,” Marcus said as he slipped his hand into Hector’s. “He was last fall’s internship victim.”
“Victim?” I turned toward Hector. “You’ll have to explain.”
Marcus snorted. “Oh, he will. He’s been talking about your arrival all weekend.” He winked at Hector and the two of them started toward the elevator bay with Eloise on their heels.
“Oh! Rylan! Hold on.” Marisa stretched to reach back over the tall reception desk, then retrieved a package wrapped in brown Kraft paper and tied with braided twine. “This came for you a little while ago.”
Frowning, I looked down at the package, then up at Marisa. “Who sent it?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Delivered by courier about an hour ago.”
Hmm. Who would send me a gift on the first day of my internship? Greer?
No, my best friend was more likely to show up in the lobby at five o’clock, ready to drag me to happy hour to celebrate surviving my first day. But that only left one other person who knew about the internship starting today, and there was no way Greer’s grandfather would send me anything. The aging professor was as sentimental as a box of rocks.
With a shrug, I untied the twine and slipped my fingers beneath the paper, gently lifting the tape up. When the paper fell away, my eyes bulged out of my head.
“Holy shit, girl. That’s a limited-edition gilded Simona Steele,” Marisa whispered in awe. “They re-released her first novel after her tenth. It was a whole thing.”
As if I didn’t know this about my favorite author of all time. I ran my fingertips over the raised title font. “They only did one print run,” I whispered.
“I’ve never even seen one in person, and I worked here when they released them.” She ran her fingertips over the cover reverently, then looked up at me. “Who’s it from?”
Great question.There had been nothing written on the paper and no note attached to the book.
“Is it signed?” she asked.
The idea made my heart skip a beat. AsignedSimone Steele? I’ddie.
I wasted no time flipping open the cover to find the answer to Marisa’s question, but instead of the author’s signature, a bright blue sticky note was affixed to the inside cover.
It’s actually a billion-dollar industry, but who’s counting?
Certainly not someone likeme.
Ho-lyshit.
Only one person could have sent this.
He’d been tall, dark, and dangerously sexy. He’d also been annoying as hell.
And he’d mocked my love of romance novels…
Hadn’t he?
This gift would indicate otherwise, but I know what I saw. That glint of amusement in his eyes, that smirk… he’d definitely been making fun of me.
Right?
Maybe I’d misread the situation? Surely, sending me such a rare and special gift meant the Smirker hadn’t been mocking me at all. Or, possibly, he was–at the very least–remorseful for doing so.
Either way, I had no idea whohewas–or how he’d had any idea whoIam.
“Look at this,” Marisa said, motioning for the others to circle us. “Rylan already has a secret admirer.”