My Professor(42)

Even still, when I walk into the office later, I search for her, not of my own volition but because of some innate need. I can’t resist the urge the same way I can’t resist my next breath. She’s with her team, speaking with Lewis and Doug. She looks lovely, stylish, young. She doesn’t see me walk past, and I’m glad for it. I overstepped on Saturday. I should have let her leave through the front door of the gala and not bothered to get her a car. She would have made it home fine. I didn’t need to call my driver and check to see if he’d watched her get into her apartment safely.

To continue my efforts to stay away from her, I try an abstinence diet the rest of the day. I don’t pass by her desk if I can help it. In fact, I don’t even leave my office. I have my lunch delivered. Candace brings it in for me, commenting about my workaholic tendencies getting the better of me, but instead of listening to her, I lean back slightly in my chair to see if I have a clear sight line down the hall—straight to Emelia’s desk. I do, but she’s not there. Fuck.

Christopher finds me after lunch. We’re supposed to review plans for the Boston Harbor project. I ask him a question about the electrical layout, and when he doesn’t know the answer off the top of his head, I heave an annoyed sigh.

He laughs at my over-the-top reaction. “Jesus, what is with you? Don’t get me wrong, you’re usually an asshole, but lately, you’ve been worse. Do me a favor and go on a damn run or something.”

“I’ve tried that.”

“Right. Well what about Miranda? Can she come to town soon? Maybe she’d fix the problem.”

Miranda isn’t who I want, and fate knows it.

It’s after six PM by the time I let myself leave my office, and the rain from earlier hasn’t abated. I pull out of Banks and Barclay’s underground parking garage and crank my windshield wipers. Traffic is crawling because of the weather, and rush hour isn’t helping. I’m completely stopped in bumper-to-bumper traffic just outside the building when I look in my rearview mirror and catch sight of Emelia walking on the sidewalk, fighting against the downpour. Her umbrella is whipping in the wind, and then she drops something on the ground and has to double back to pick it up.

In my head, I chastise her for not taking better care of herself, for not making a contingency plan for a rainy day like this.

Keep driving. She’s not your problem. She’ll get wet, but she’ll survive.

Traffic moves, and instead of following it, I swerve gently toward the sidewalk and throw open my passenger-side door in time to accidentally scare the shit out of her.

My tone is more annoyed than I would like when I tell her to get in.

Emelia’s wide eyes sweep back to where she came from and then ahead, as if assessing her options.

A car behind me lays on its horn.

“Get in, Emelia.”

She flinches at my tone before closing her umbrella and climbing in. She manages to get water everywhere in the process.

“I’m sorry” is the first thing she says as she closes the door and buckles her seatbelt. At first, I think she’s apologizing for the water, but maybe she’s apologizing for not listening to me the first time I told her to get into my car.

“Why were you walking?” I ask as I merge back into traffic.

The cacophony of horns that joined in after the first one finally goes silent.

“I always walk.”

“Next time, call an Uber,” I say gruffly.

“Next time, I’ll do exactly as I please.”

Her whispered retort doesn’t diffuse the situation. She should know better by now.

She’s facing the passenger window, her body leaning as far away from me as possible. She won’t give me her face, and I’m repressing the urge to demand she look at me. All day, I’ve wanted to see her, and now that I finally have the chance, she won’t let me.

“You’re soaking wet.”

“If you’re worried about your car, I’ll pay to have it detailed.”

She shivers and I switch on the heat, making sure the vent is pointed toward her.

“Did you not check the weather today?”

“I didn’t think it would be so bad. If you’re going to keep on like this, just let me out here. I’ll walk the rest of the way home.”

I make a point to ensure the doors are locked, and I swear the side of her mouth curves up in a private smile.

Emelia, you seduce me with nothing more than that, a half-hidden, barely there smile.

I squeeze the steering wheel tighter then turn down the music, annoyed by the slow sad song that’s playing.

A few moments pass and I think we’ll slip into silence, but she shifts slightly, allowing me a glimpse of her profile. I peer over to see her inspecting her surroundings.

“You have a very nice car.”

“Resorting to flattery?”

“Just trying to make polite conversation. We’ve never done it. I wanted to see if it’s possible.”

“It’s not.”

Politeness is not in my wheelhouse.

“So then silence it is? Fine. You can pretend I’m not even here.”

“Impossible. You’re still dripping water all over my car.”

Traffic slows ahead, and we’re back at a standstill.

She turns fully toward me, probably fed up with my antics.