"Don't tell me you're daft. I said you can't touch me — after all, I own this school," Aaron said, calm as a man reading a weather report, his eyes never leaving Jordan's.
Jordan's face flushed. "Don't be ridiculous. There is no—"
"There is a way I can own this school," Aaron cut in smoothly. "Either you're chronically stupid or just spectacularly arrogant. You were clever enough to get me to pay for structures, but not clever enough to think I couldn't buy the whole university." The words were polite; the knife was sharp.
Michael snorted beside him. "Crazy bastard. Comparing those two is like saying frozen chicken is the same as frozen turkey," he muttered, rubbing his temple in mock envy. "I wish my father would just drop dead so I'd be rich and insolent like this." He was joking, but the sentiment rode a jagged edge.
"Buying the university can't be that simple," Jordan protested, though the confidence had a crack in it now.
