When superstar Kade Hendrix steals Ivy's song, she falls into his world of public scrutiny-and his arms-just as the rest of her world falls down around her.
Ivy is sure superstar Kade Hendrix won't notice his number one fan in the crowd of his intim...
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Stepping out of my room in the morning for classes alerted me that something was irrevocably wrong in my world.
Heads whipped my way and whispers were exchanged when I passed by large groups of people.
This was college, where most people were too absorbed in their own problems and lives that giving another person a second look was reserved solely for frat parties and eye-rolls when someone answered the prof like a know-it-all one too many times.
My dress swished across my knees as I was suddenly regretting my choice to ice out Constance and Isaac.
But pulling my phone out to check social media proved to be my second mistake.
Caleb had posted something on his Instagram story that was currently being screen-grabbed and posted to other accounts that I followed, and I was the main subject of said photos, not like anyone would have known it had it not been for everyone tagging me in everything that was being re-posted.
The pictures weren't as promiscuous as the first set that were leaked by Caleb after freshman year, but they were showing enough skin that the idea was hard to ignore.
Photos of my cleavage in a dimly lit room, my bare legs and the photo cutting off just before something indecent could be shown, and one of my hands trailing up my thighs.
They were more tasteful than the full on picture I'd sent him with my face in frame not long after these had proven not enough for him, but it still didn't make it any less humiliating.
It wasn't long before I was sitting cross-legged in the mildew scented office of the newly appointed student affairs counselor who had been hired recently to combat the growing demands of Title 9 complaints.
A girl with red rimmed eyes came rushing out of the door with tears dripping down her cheeks like raindrops.
And then it was my turn to enter.
"Oh, Ivy. Nice to see you again. What can I do for you?"
Mrs. Kinshaw was a striking woman in her early thirties if I had to guess with waist length raven black hair and sharp cat eyes.
The first time I'd met with her, she'd told me there was nothing she could do for me, and it was the memory of those moments where she'd berated me for taking pictures like I had in the first place that had me bristling with anger.
It wasn't like I could talk her into doing anything more for me than giving me the form, so that's what I was there to do.
"I want to fill out the paperwork for Title 9. Sexual harassment and—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down Ivy. Why don't you sit down and talk to me and we can discuss what happened."
"No, thank you. I just need the forms and I'll drop them off with the guidance counselor at the end of the hall to make sure they're filed correctly. I remember I followed up last year, and it seems like no one got the papers I filled out last year. Wonder why that is?"
