My Professor(23)

It occurs to me for the very first time that no, I have no idea what Cooper’s mistress-turned-girlfriend looks like. Because unlike with Professor Barclay, it hasn’t even occurred to me to check up on Cooper now that he’s not in my life anymore.

“No.”

She puffs out a short laugh. “Oh god. Wesley and I were freaking out when we first saw her. I mean…she looks…just like you. Like not exactly or anything because you’re, well…fucking gorgeous.” She holds up her hand when I open my mouth. “And stop, I know you’re about to try to refute the obvious, but I don’t want to hear it. I’ve been your best friend for how many years now? I’ve had to endure all the stares every time we walk through a crowded restaurant, the guys who literally trip over themselves to get your number. No. This girl doesn’t hold a candle to you, but if you squint one eye and cover up the other one, she could be like your cousin or something. It’s obvious he’s not over you.”

I know she’s telling me this to try to make me feel better, but it only makes me feel guiltier. “Well he’s the one who cheated.”

“The jerk.”

I shake my head then point toward her binder, ready to switch gears and move the spotlight off me.

“Is there something you need to do for the wedding?”

She looks down. “Oh. Yeah, I’m about to go over to Wesley’s. We’re working on the flowers tonight. And by we, I mean me. I just wanted to check on you before I left.”

“Thanks. You’re a good friend, Son.”

She winks. “Don’t I know it. And just between you and me…there’s some Rocky Road ice cream in the freezer.”

I moan like I’ve never heard anything more arousing in my entire life, and she laughs before it abruptly cuts off and her eyes widen with a forgotten thought.

“Oh! Did you hear the news?” I expect her to bring up something else about Cooper or perhaps something to do with the wedding. “The New York Times broke a story just like an hour ago about some previously undiscovered Gilded Age mansion commissioned by the Vanderbilts. Did you see the Instagram post about it?”

“What? No.”

I’m already sitting up straighter, leaning in.

“Yeah. It’s in Belle Haven, out on some gated waterfront property that once belonged to Alva Vanderbilt. Didn’t she own The Breakers? Or was that Alice? I forget. Anyway, I can’t remember the exact details, but the property’s just been sitting there, half-finished and empty for who knows how long. Alva commissioned some famous architect to design it.”

“Probably Richard Morris Hunt.”

“The article said it was supposed to be the ‘crown jewel’ of all the Vanderbilt estates, even outshining the Biltmore.”

“How did they just now find it?”

“That’s the thing!” she continues excitedly. “No one knew about it because it’s sitting on private property and apparently all the trees are really dense and overgrown, not to mention the house is positioned on the land in a way that hides it from the street. The Times even speculated that Alva wanted it that way—secrecy and all that. You remember how damn competitive those Vanderbilt women were. One would build a Fifth Avenue mansion and then another would build one bigger a few yards down. Jesus. I can’t remember who they said purchased it—”

“Probably the Belle Haven Preservation Society. And if they couldn’t afford it outright, they likely brought in the state of Connecticut tourism department. Just look at the Gilded Age mansions in Rhode Island—those things are cash cows now. Connecticut would have seized the opportunity.”

“Yes, you’re right. I remember that now, and they said it was purchased for an undisclosed amount before it could go up for auction. Can you imagine what it would have sold for?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “And now, of course, they’ll—”

“Restore it,” I say, cutting her off.

She beams. “Exactly. How cool is that?! Talk about a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You need to go read the article. It’s a big day in your conservation world.”

I’m practically salivating. My heart, a thing I’d long suspected to be cold and unfeeling, starts to race. “Who do you think will do it?”

Her smile drops and she levels me with an Are you dense? stare. “Who else? I’d bet a million dollars Banks and Barclay lands the contract.”

I sit back, my excitement already starting to drain.

“Of course. Right.”

There’s no one else better.





Chapter Ten





Jonathan



* * *



I’m on a flight back home from Paris, flying over the Atlantic, when I get the news that my firm won the contract to restore the Vanderbilt Belle Haven Estate.

The rest of first class sleeps as my inbox floods with emails. I’m sure my phone would be ringing off the hook as well if I didn’t have it on airplane mode.

Emails from my friends: Congratulations!

From the Banks and Barclay marketing department: Interview request. Please send your availability.

From Christopher: Get the fuck home!

The contract is a big deal. We were up against a dozen other firms from around the world, bigger firms, even, and I know for a fact we weren’t rock bottom in terms of pricing. Our work speaks for itself, though. I’m not surprised we landed the gig.