My Professor(53)

“Thank you for the ride.”

I can’t think of what else to say. I don’t want to let her go, but I also don’t think it’s wise for me to follow her up. So much has happened in the last few hours. If I were her, I’d want to be alone, to decompress and process everything. Besides, I don’t think I can help her right now, at least not the way she needs. After all, I’m part of the problem.

I let her get out of the car and watch her go into her building. I sit at the curb, leaned forward over my steering wheel so I can look through my front windshield and check to see when the light goes on in her apartment. I watch her lone figure move behind the thin curtains on her windows, and instead of shifting into drive and heading home, I stay there for as long as I can, until I stop seeing her moving around, until her apartment goes dark and I’ve convinced myself she’s safe and sleeping.





Emmett accepts my invitation to get lunch the next day, but I’m not surprised. Back at Saint John’s, we used to butt heads all the time. I can think of a black eye he gave me once when we came to blows. Another time, I broke his nose during soccer practice, and the bleeding seemed like it’d never stop.

He’s already sitting at a table in the restaurant when I arrive, busy on his phone. He only looks up when I grab the chair opposite his, and then he waves the waiter over so we can order.

“I don’t have long. Maybe half an hour.”

“Relax.” I take a seat. “You’re not that fucking important.”

The side of his mouth hitches, because of course, he actually is that important, I just refuse to tell him so. Emmett will always be the kid I met at Saint John’s, the sometimes-asshole-I-can’t-stand who’s had my back through thick and thin.

The waiter sets waters down.

“What do you want? Steak?” Emmett asks, proceeding to order for the both of us then handing off his menu, making it clear he really is in a hurry.

“We’ll take two beers too,” I add. “Whatever is on tap.”

The waiter walks away, and Emmett levels me with a harsh stare. “Are you going to apologize for last night?”

“No. Are you?”

His short laugh makes it clear he isn’t holding a grudge.

“You were wrong and you need to apologize to Emelia.”

He leans back in his chair and looks past me, out through the front window of the restaurant. “You’re inserting yourself into something that doesn’t concern you. This is my family. You don’t see me fucking around with you and your sister.”

“You were out of line.”

His gaze slices back to me. “You know nothing about the situation.”

Our beers arrive, and we allow the waiter to set the glasses on the table, waiting until he’s out of earshot before we continue.

“So you and Emelia are friendly?” he asks. “I guessed as much on the phone, but that death grip you had on me last night really proves it. Are you fucking her?”

“Watch your mouth.”

He doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed by my threat, sipping his beer as if we’re discussing the weather.

He hums like he’s intrigued. “I don’t recall you ever being this testy about Miranda. You know she was upset when you left last night without saying goodbye.”

“She’ll recover.”

He smirks.

“Are you going to apologize to Emelia?” I press.

He considers it with a shrug. “I haven’t decided.”

“You must realize the anger you harbor is misplaced. Emelia didn’t do anything to you. And furthermore, she’s under the impression that her mother met Frédéric properly. As far as she knows, there was no affair, at least not where your parents are concerned.”

He mulls this over for a moment. I’m conscious of his phone on the corner of the table, lighting up with calls, but it’s on silent, so he ignores them. It’s always like that with Emmett, the crown prince of GHV. He carries the world on his shoulders. He likes to think he manages it all well enough, but I see the tension in his expression, the anxiety lurking beneath the surface. It’s why he’s twice the asshole he’s ever been. It’s hard to remember what the two of us were like back at Saint John’s, two idiots chasing girls and aiming most of our focus on the soccer field.

“You know, she wasn’t what I imagined her to be. Looks-wise, she’s Kathleen reincarnate. Personality-wise…” He chuckles. “She and I could be related.”

I shake my head. “Whatever bite she might have shown last night is not the norm. She’s quiet, usually. A good kid.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “So you’re to blame for her behavior then? Cornering her at a dinner party? If I had a heart, I’d feel compelled to warn her away from you. Lucky for you, I don’t really care.”

I don’t feel the need to reply, which only feeds into his curiosity.

“She’s your employee, right? Very taboo…”

“Nothing has happened.”

Not counting the incident at Dartmouth.

He chuckles then, enjoying this far too much. Then he holds up his beer as if in salute of my demise. “It will.”





Chapter Twenty