My Professor(40)

“But I’m not a memory. I’m a person. I’m still here, and after my mother passed away…I have no family. No one.”

After I’m done, I’m surprised I’ve said the words. I’ve never been so vulnerable with someone I just met. In fact, I’m not even this vulnerable with Sonya. She doesn’t know how much my mother’s death still affects me, how painful it is for me to be completely alone in the world.

Alexander’s warm brown eyes hold so much sympathy as he studies me. “I wish we could have been siblings, but if nothing else, I’d like us to be friends. I can’t change the past, but I’m in Boston for the foreseeable future. You and I can meet. Here, let me have your phone.”

I dig it out of my clutch and hand it over. As he programs his number in, I glance up over his shoulder and see Professor Barclay enter through the double doors of the ballroom. My stomach squeezes itself into a tight ball of anxiety.

“Oh god.”

“What?”

“I just saw someone I’d rather not bump into. I didn’t know he’d be here.”

He hands me back my phone then turns to hunt through the crowd, trying to follow my gaze. “Oh really? Who? I probably know him.”

I hadn’t considered that, but now I recall seeing Professor Barclay in that photo with Emmett and Frédéric in Paris. I peer over at him again, this time with the added benefit of knowing what he’ll look like: absolutely devastating. I try to shield myself against the sight of him in a tuxedo, but it’s useless. Some men were made to wear black.

“It’s the man standing beside the door. Tall, brown hair. He’s accepting a drink from a passing waiter.”

Alexander’s brows rise. “You mean Jonathan Barclay?”

I sigh. “So you do know him?”

“Pretty well, actually. He and I were at Saint John’s together, though he’s closer to Emmett’s age. They played soccer together.”

“Of course he went to that fancy boarding school,” I mutter under my breath.

Alexander laughs. “How do you know him?”

“He’s my new boss. Well, you know how it is.” I wave my hand. “My boss’ boss’ boss.”

“I see. And is it just that he’s a pain to work for, or has something happened between you two?”

I relax my face, realizing I should probably tread carefully here. “The former.”

He hums in understanding. “I can imagine he’d make for a difficult boss. I feel like I should apologize on his behalf.”

I smile and shake my head. “It’s fine. He’s fine, really. It’s just always a little awkward running into your boss out at a social event like this.”

His nod of agreement tells me he’s bought my thinly veiled lie.

An announcer steps up onto the main stage in the ballroom with a microphone and a welcoming smile.

Alexander groans before turning to me. “Listen, they’ll have us take our assigned seats in a moment. I hadn’t considered that there won’t be a spot for you. These things are so formal. I’m sorry—”

I touch his forearm to reassure him. “It’s okay. I wasn’t going to stay long anyway. I’ll sneak out while everyone finds their table. It’ll be like I was never here.”

He looks relieved. “Text me so I have your number. We’ll meet up soon, okay?”

I smile and nod. “Soon.”

Then I’m slipping through the crowd, hidden among the throngs of people chattering about which table they’re assigned to and who they’ll have to endure sitting with through the duration of dinner. I’ve just made it through the door of the foyer when I hear someone call my name.

Mr. Banks stands at the door of the ballroom, smiling in shock. Professor Barclay stands beside him, looking terse and annoyed to find me here. Night and day these two, truly.

Though I’d love to continue my swift exit, I make my way toward them instead.

“I didn’t realize you would be attending this fundraiser,” Mr. Banks says as I approach. “Are you here as a guest?”

“Yes, but unfortunately, something has come up.”

Mr. Banks glances at his business partner, probably because it’s odd that he hasn’t greeted me yet. “You realize who this is, don’t you? Emelia is one of our new hires.”

I could choke. If Mr. Banks only knew…

“Yes. Hello, Emelia.”

I nod in his direction but otherwise keep my focus on Mr. Banks.

“You both look very dapper. I hate to have to miss the evening, but I really do need to be going…”

Mr. Banks nods and motions toward the door with his champagne flute. “Of course. Do you need a ride? My driver might still be outside.”

Professor Barclay sighs in annoyance at his suggestion. “She can’t go out the front. It’s a madhouse—the photographers will still be everywhere.”

“They won’t care about me,” I start to say, but he’s already stepping forward with annoyance, and before he’s even asked my permission, he has me in hand. Without a word of explanation to Mr. Banks, who stares after us in shock, he leads me down the side hall, away from the ballroom and the front entrance of the hotel. As we walk, he takes his phone out of his pocket to call someone, instructing them to have a car waiting at the back of the hotel near the service entrance. Of course, he doesn’t fill me in. He doesn’t even deign to look at me, which frustrates me to no end.