The Dean’s List Read online

  The Dean’s List

  Kelly Collins

  Copyright © 2015 by Kelly Collins

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Michelecatalanocreative.com

  Cover photo by Darren Birks Photography

  Thank you to my husband and family. Your love and support makes the difference.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Thank you for reading.

  Sneak Peek into Honor Roll

  Do you need more of Making the Grade?

  Get a free book.

  What happened to Paul?

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  I’m told that sex sells. Tell that to the cheap bastards who come to The Grind and gawk at the bikini baristas. While I froth their coffees and warm their cinnamon buns, they stare.

  I dumped the jar that contained way more quarters than dollars on the table. The change clattered across the worn Formica and plopped onto the pleather bench of my favorite booth. It was here that I tallied my tip totals while the afternoon sunlight slanted in the window.

  Today was a bear market day. Forty dollars would hardly pay my weekly transportation costs. How was I supposed to make my rent and eat?

  Pride had kept me from asking for help, but I was going to have to call Jade. From the little I’d seen of her lately, she appeared to be weathering the economic downslope better than I. She’d have a plan; she always did. I dropped my head to the table with a thunk, closed my eyes, and silently asked the universe for a solution.

  “River, are you trying to knock yourself out?”

  Jade’s appearance startled me. I’d been asking for a solution, and here she was, standing in the center of the dead coffee shop with the smell of stale coffee and burned toast filling the air.

  Without effort, she slid in beside me and dragged me into her thirty-eight double Ds. The way she stayed upright defied everything I’d learned in physics.

  “Oh, Jade, I’m so glad you’re here.” Catlike eyes the color of moss peeked from behind the curtain of her raw, honey-colored hair. “I’m running out of options. I need a real job, and I need it now. I need one that pays a shitload of cash and lets me off when I have to study. Classes start next week. I need a miracle.”

  Desperation accented every syllable. I wasn’t one to exaggerate, and Jade knew it. For me to say things were bad, they had to be beyond dismal.

  “Girl, there aren’t any miracles; only solutions. How bad is it?”

  “This month, I have to decide if I want to eat or ride the bus. It’s a conundrum because if I walk, I get hungry; if I ride the bus, I get hungry. I’m just so tired of being hungry.” I hardly recognized my voice. The whine sounded more like a sulky teen than the independent woman I was. “My student loan is due. My phone is close to being silenced. How in the hell do you survive?”

  Jade leaned back, gaining distance. Her expression was guarded. Her eyes skimmed my body. Today was career day at The Grind, and I’d dressed up as a naughty nurse. My stethoscope hung from my neck all the way to my bare belly. My white bra was embellished with two red crosses, one on each breast. My panties had a matching cross that covered my crotch. We pushed the line when it came to city code, but a girl had to eat.

  Jade eyed the girl behind the counter who was busy studying her recent manicure. On the counter sat her empty tip jar.

  “You look better than anyone who works here, and you’re obviously making more money.”

  “This outfit used to make me bank, but with the stupid stock market falling, gourmet coffee isn’t a must-have for a lot of brokers. I’m hoping tomorrow will be better. It’s pasty day.”

  Maybe if I wore the tassels and gave demos on how they spun, I could make enough to buy a used textbook for my International Business class, as well as a bus pass. Big dreamer. At this point, I couldn’t afford the lead in my mechanical pencil.

  It hadn’t always been this bad. I’d lost the Sunday shift from last semester, and with fewer tips, which had previously been an added bonus, my situation had become dire.

  She gave me a warm, sisterly look—the kind that said, I could take care of this. And I was desperate enough to want to climb inside Jade’s world and take shelter. She had it together. Somehow.

  “What if I could help you get a job where you wore more clothes, most of the time, and made more money in a week than you do in a month?” Jade spoke in one long sentence, her pitch rising to the finish. When she reached the end, she held her breath and waited.

  “I’d tell you to sign me up. It would have to be a step up from working here. The average customer at The Grind is middle-aged, white collar, and horny. Nice enough, but they don’t come for the coffee.” Yep, the brew was just a bonus.

  Jade looked out the window, seemingly absorbed by the rush of Wall Street traders racing back from lunch. She let out her breath and then inhaled until I thought her lungs might burst. She was sucking in more than oxygen. Courage?

  “Let’s talk white collar and horny. What I’m about to tell you can’t be repeated. I swear if it gets out, the FBI, CIA, and Homeland Security will come to arrest you. They’ll fight over you and tear you from your top to your toes.”

  “If you’re trying to scare me, you’re failing. You don’t have the fear factor. You wear Hello Kitty pajamas and drink caramel lattes, for God’s sake. Who could be afraid of someone who likes cats and caramel?”

  “Don’t underestimate the strength and power of a caramel macchiato. Show me a double, and I’ll show you fear. The caffeine alone is deadly.”

  From the deep recesses of her purse, she pulled out two energy drinks and handed me one. They were the kind of drink you bought for purpose rather than pleasure, and I wondered why I would need three hundred milligrams of caffeine after my shift had ended.

  “Are you an assassin? Is that how you keep so damn fit?” I popped the top on the can of Bang and thought it ironic.

  “No, I’m not killing anyone, but if you don’t pay attention, I might begin with you. Remember when I told you I was working in hospitality?” Her voice softened to a purr. “Well, that’s the truth. I’m very hospitable.” The words brushed past her lips like a lover’s kiss.

  “What the hell are you talking about? Aren’t you the concierge at that fancy place on Fifth Avenue?”

  I swore she said she was the concierge. Maybe she’d said something about customer satisfaction. Hell, with the clothes she wore, she had to be raking in the tips.

  “I never told you I was the concierge. I told you I was in charge of making sure clients’ needs are met. I tried to get a job when I graduated, but you know a bachelor’s degree doesn’t cut it anymore. That’s why you’re here.” She slipped from the booth and sat acros
s from me. Something big was going down, and she was distancing herself. “Have you ever heard of The Dean’s List?”

  The high-octane drink was beginning to thrum in my veins. “Um, yeah…I made the list in my sophomore, junior, and senior year. As a freshman, I was still figuring things out.” What did that have to do with making moola?

  Jade scooched and settled into the far corner of the booth. I moved so I sat directly in her line of sight.

  “No, think about rumors. I’m talking about ‘The Dean’s List.’” She emphasized the word Dean’s. “Think in terms of secret societies, like the Illuminati or the Freemasons.”

  “Are you trying to recruit me for a religious sect? Count me out. Religion and I don’t see eye to eye.”

  Jade knew I was the poster child for what not to do as the daughter of a pastor. When I was caught blowing the mayor’s son behind Dad’s pulpit, I was told I was going to hell. But I gave that boy a boner-fied religious experience.

  “Shut up and let me explain.” Her black look silenced me. “The Dean’s List is an exclusive group of people who meet to propel the university and its students toward success.”

  “Perfect, what can they do for me?” Her guarded look told me she intended to dance around the truth. In fact, I knew Jade well enough to know she’d create an overpass to avoid it completely. “Get to the point.” I didn’t have time to dawdle. I needed to decide whether to ride the bus home or jump in front of it.

  She tapped her fingers across the tabletop like she was typing an overdue thesis. “The Dean’s List is about students seeking ‘sponsorship’ from members in their field of study. These members can be very ‘accommodating.’” Her use of finger quotes around the word ‘sponsorship’ and ‘accommodating’ had me tilting my head.

  “You’re still speaking a different language. Plain English. Now. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were asking me to prostitute myself.”

  “Let me explain.” Her shocked expression told me I’d hit a bull's eye.

  My heart pitched forward, then tumbled swiftly into the hollow pit of my stomach. I kept my voice low. “Shit. You are asking me to become a hooker. There’s no way you’ve been dishing yourself up for dollars. No. Damn. Way.”

  Prostitution wasn’t a gig I could see Jade participating in. She was always so…so above board. I’d have been less shocked if she’d told me she was a man.

  Her eyes shifted to every corner of the shop. Her body relaxed when we appeared to be alone. There was no one close enough to hear her secrets. Hell, The Grind would be like a morgue for the remainder of the day.

  “Shhh, ‘prostitution’ is such an ugly word.” Her voice became uncharacteristically small. “I have a couple of advisors, also known as mentors or sponsors. They’re successful members of their community. They work in hospitality management—my specialty. They donate obscene amounts of money to the university—my program. They take care of their own—me. And in exchange, I take care of them.” She pulled the high throttle drink to her lips and drank like a marathon runner who’d just crossed the finish line.

  “You screw men for money? How many men? Does the school support this?” I leaned forward and mouthed the words. “Do you screw them on the regular?”

  How did I miss her pimpin’ her kitty for cash? We hadn’t hung out as much over the last few months. I had missed her, but we were both busy with studies and our part-time jobs. Or so I’d thought. This is not what I’d expected.

  She slapped the table and glared at me. I hadn’t seen that look since the day we graduated from high school, when she told me we were moving to New York.

  “River. Listen.” Her voice demanded compliance, and I’d listen because whenever Jade had a plan, my life inevitably got better. “I know this is sounding weird to you, but it’s important this doesn’t go anywhere. Got it?”

  “It’s a little late to get my sworn affidavit, don’t you think? I never told your mom you spent Fourth of July being a groupie for that grunge band. I never told Mr. Esly your grandma didn’t really die when you skipped finals week. You know me.”

  She reached over and held my hand just a little too firmly. Handholding could only mean some serious shit was going down.

  “Okay, well...The Dean’s List only takes graduate students. Educated men and women. No giddy juveniles. Like you, I was broke. An opportunity came along, and I took it.”

  “You. This. How long?” I would consider myself the worst of friends if she told me years.

  Jade made no excuses. It wasn’t her way. “Several months.” She released my hand and leaned back in the booth. With her fingers laced, she turned them inside out and pressed them forward.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  The disgusting sound of knuckles cracking made me cringe. My discomfort gave her the edge, and she knew it. She had my full attention.

  “Get on with it.” She was going to try to sell me on the possibility of selling myself. Had my life come to this?

  “Three positions are open, and interviews are happening now, but there are only two positions you qualify for since you don’t have a penis.” Her tone was matter of fact.

  “I have to interview to be a prostitute?” My heart pounded so loudly, I was certain Jade could hear it across the booth. A prostitute? Really?

  She gave me a slow, disbelieving head shake. “How many times have you had a one-night stand and received nothing but a hangover and dirty snatch?” She lifted her perfectly plucked brows in question.

  “You make it sound like I’m already a whore,” I swear she flinched at my reply. “I’m not loose. I’m experimental.” I tried to lessen the tension I was feeling with witty commentary. “Hell, the average woman has had six sexual partners by the time she’s thirty. At twenty-five, I’ve had eight. So…I’m an overachiever.”

  “I never said you were a whore. I’m only telling you that you can earn a lot of money being an overachiever.” A sly smile lit up her features. “Your number, when divided, doesn’t add up to one a year. That’s so far below ho—we can’t count it. You’re treading on virgin territory, and we can change that.” Her eyes danced with delight.

  “I don’t get it, Jade. How did I not know?” I let my head fall forward in shame. I had no idea what my best friend had been up to.

  “I had to keep the secret in order to participate. I had to participate in order to survive.” Her strong voice had lost its power. “Right now, you’re where I was several months ago.”

  “And you want me where you are now?” Could I consider it? Could I afford not to? Elbows on the table, I laced my hands and rested my chin on the flat of my knuckles. The busy sounds of New York dimmed as my mind raced and raged and rallied.

  Could I?

  “I’m listening, tell me the rest.”

  “My boss asked me yesterday if I had any pretty friends who could fill the empty positions. I thought of you, but I wasn’t sure. With your dad being a man of God, I didn’t know if you’d risk his wrath. I know your relationship with them isn’t perfect or pretty, but…”

  “‘Isn’t pretty’ is like saying herpes is a form of chapped lips. Seeing them twice a year doesn’t keep me connected or establish a relationship. Go on.”

  Jade was the star debater in high school. She could sell a purple cape to Superman. I was curious to see how she’d sell this.

  “You’d be set up with people who have influence in your field. Being an MBA, you have a broad reach, and with your looks, you’ll have a big audience. We’re talking about lots of men with boatloads of money.”

  “Lots of men? Okay. Great. But are you forgetting this whole thing is illegal?” I looked at her with wild-eyed shock.

  “It’s not illegal. Who doesn’t barter for goods and services? It’s muddy at best. You might barter for clothes, jewelry, vacations, cars, and of course, there’s also cash. They’re gifts, and the mentors can be very generous. We’re talking Prada and Gucci, Channel and Dior. Sleeping with a
date is not illegal.”

  Gifts of that magnitude weren’t given to girls like me. I was thrift store and Goodwill—the hand-me-down princess.

  “Why would a man pay that much for one night?”

  “We give them something they can’t get anywhere else. It’s like going to the on-campus shop and buying a monogrammed sweatshirt. You know what you’re getting when you shop there. It’s high quality, not cheap, and it behaves the way you expect it to. Think of yourself as a luxury purchase.”

  “I’m not a sweatshirt, Jade. One size doesn’t fit all.” Of all the things to compare me to, couldn’t she have come up with something more alluring than a sweatshirt?

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re adaptable. You can fit in anywhere.” Jade pulled her ringing phone from her purse, looked at the screen, ignored the call, and tossed it back into her purse. “Don’t let your parents destroy your self-respect.”

  My parents? They annihilated my self-esteem long ago.

  “I’m intrigued. What do I have to do?”

  “You get to eat at Michelin Star restaurants, stay in five-star hotels, and come all the time. Who wouldn’t love that?”

  So, the mentors were good lovers. Her argument had merit. But could it be that simple? Could I do casual sex for cash?

  “How many men do I have to entertain?” What else would I call it? Escort? Date? Lay? It all came down to money for sex.

  “You can do as many, or as few as you wish. I started out with several and then worked my way to two. I’m engaged in ‘school activities’ four nights a week. On occasion, my mentors have me travel with them.”