My Professor(29)

“It’s fine.” She forces a heavy sigh. “I think I’m just in shock. Boston? Seriously? Do you have to go?”

“I already signed the contract.” I stand up and walk over to grab her hand, trying to get her to smile. “C’mon, you’re telling me you’re not excited to get your apartment back to yourself? Get a little alone time with Wesley?”

“I’ve loved having you here!”

“Sonya.” My tone says, Stop the bullshit.

She laughs. “I’m serious! It’s been fun. You’re like a cat. You mostly want to be left alone somewhere warm, like your bed, but occasionally I can coax you out into the living room with the promise of food.”

I nearly choke at how accurate this is.

“So you’re really doing it? Going to work for Professor Barclay?” Her eyes widen as she considers something. “Have you two seen each other yet? Did you have to interview with him?!”

I shake my head.

“No interview. Not that it would have mattered—he’s not going to remember me, Son.”

She exhales an exasperated, “PAH!” My cheeks heat as she continues emphatically, “The guy was obsessed!”

“The guy,” I stress, “asked me to drop his class.”

She waves her hand as if trying to get me to keep up. “Be-cause he was obsessed.”

“It’s irrelevant. He doesn’t even realize I’m working there. Our past won’t come up.”

She laughs, openly mocking me. “Okay, so that’s how you’ve spun it in your head. That’s good. I like it. Let me know how long you’re able to keep up that delusion. I bet you two have a run-in within the first week.”

“SONYA!” I lean down and thunk the wooden coffee table with my knuckles to stave off the bad luck. “Now you jinxed it!”

She doesn’t even have the decency to look remorseful.





Chapter Twelve





Jonathan



* * *



It feels good to be in Boston and back in the full swing of things.

My suitcase is unpacked and stowed away.

My old running route through Boston Common served me well this morning.

My favorite coffee shop got my order just right when I stopped off on my way to work.

“Excited to meet the new kids? You going to play the bad cop? Or should I?”

I peer over at Christopher as we continue walking.

“Bad cop? You? You don’t strike me as someone who easily instills fear.”

“Are you serious?” He holds his arms out wide. “Look at me—I’m a fighter.”

“You’re soft. Admit it.”

“SOFT?” He flexes his arm through his suit jacket. “I work out four days a week with a personal trainer and box in the ring the other three.”

“That’s not what I mean.” I wave my hand down his attire. “You’re wearing a designer suit. You get your head shaved at an appointment-only booked-out-for-months barber twice a week. You pay someone an obscene amount of money to walk your dog.”

“Yeah, so? Just ’cause I work long hours, doesn’t mean LuLu has to suffer.”

As we reach the first-floor conference room, I pat his shoulder like I’m consoling him. “Like I said…soft.”

Then I pull the door open and let him walk in first.

This meeting is an all-hands, something we do very rarely at the firm. Accounting, public relations, engineering, human resources, architects, conservationists—all here, filling the room, either in chairs or standing in the back. It’s a tight squeeze, but I won’t make them suffer long.

If I had it my way, none of us would even be here.

I wasn’t in favor of a company-wide meeting, but Christopher thought it’d be a good idea for two reasons: 1) to remind everyone of what I look like. Yes, yes, Daddy’s home now, kids. No more pissing around on the company dime. 2) to introduce the new staff members to the company so everyone’s up to speed.

Human resources thought ahead and grouped all the new hires at the front of the room in a row of seats so it would be easy for everyone to see them. I glance down the line, taking them in one by one, slightly concerned by how young they seem. They’re fidgety and nervous. I read their name tags. Meera. Jade. Hugo. Inés. Emelia. Zachary— Emelia.

My gaze leaps back to her as my pulse thunders in my ears, deadening the chatter around the conference room.

Emelia Mercier is sitting in a chair facing me. In the Banks and Barclay offices. Here.

My brain stumbles over itself trying to keep up.

Christopher has started talking and greeting everyone, but I’m consumed by the shock of seeing her again. I don’t trust my eyes.

I look away, out into the crowd. I speak aloud when Christopher waves for me to pick up where he left off. I go through the motions of introducing myself, welcoming the new hires, and updating everyone on our goals and objectives for the upcoming year. I’m good at public speaking. I don’t doubt my ability to capture an audience and hold their attention even when my focus is elsewhere.

And my focus is definitely elsewhere.

For the duration of that meeting, I pay close attention to Emelia.

She hasn’t looked up once. Her attention is down on her pad of paper. She’s taking notes, I think, or using that as an excuse at least. Her short dark hair hides some of her face, but not enough to stop me from recognizing her instantly. My little Emelia. Today, her lips are the same color as the last time I saw her: cherry red. She’s wearing a white silk blouse with round buttons running down her chest, a black skirt, black stockings, and pale pink ballet flats.