My Professor(75)

I shake my head again.

“And this morning, did Doug or Lewis check with the printer before you arrived to pick up the booklets?”

“No.”

“It was just a print job,” Lewis says with an exasperated huff. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

Professor Barclay whips back to face him. “Exactly, and yet you made Emelia feel like shit for it in front of the entire company.”

His voice sounds so vicious I’m surprised Lewis doesn’t cower in fear. His cheeks do redden, though, and I look away, trying to give him some modicum of respect even though he didn’t afford me the same courtesy this morning.

“It was a simple mistake made by a new hire. I expect better from you.”

Lewis exhales heavily. “Understood.” He looks over at me, and his expression has gentled. “Emelia, I apologize. The stress got to me.”

“I…it’s fine.”

And it is. I just want this whole thing to go away. I want to pretend it never happened.

Lewis gives a deferential nod to Professor Barclay then skirts around him to get to the door. The conference room is empty now, and it takes me a moment to come to terms with that fact.

Neither one of us speaks.

I peer up slowly at the man I’ve missed so much the last few days. His profile faces me, and I take in his sharp black suit, his crisp white shirt, his trademark watch. My gaze roves up over his clean-shaven jaw, and then as he turns to face me, I reluctantly meet his eyes.

“Lewis is going to think you’re favoring me now.”

His expression is stern as he shakes his head. “I would have done the same for any of my employees if they were in your position,” he insists.

Right.

I look away.

“You never called me.” His voice has gentled…somewhat.

“Was I supposed to?” I ask, playing the innocent.

He takes a step toward me, and I wish we weren’t in the office. I want to know what he would do to me if we were alone anywhere else right now.

His gaze sweeps over me slowly, like he’s in no rush to finish taking me in from top to bottom. Maybe he missed me too.

“What did you do while I was gone?” he asks.

“Nothing fancy. Worked a lot. Went to dinner with Alexander and Emmett.”

He’s intrigued.

“Emmett and I came to an understanding of sorts,” I add.

“Did you?”

I shrug. “Yes. I wouldn’t go so far as to say we’re friends…”

“But he apologized?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You said you worked a lot. No dates then?”

I frown, not sure what he means. “With men?”

He smiles. “With anyone.”

“No.” I pause before asking, “What about you? Were you a good boy in Cincinnati?”

He thinks it’s funny that I called him a boy. His gaze is on my lips like he’s contemplating how to punish me for it.

“I was.”

I arch a brow. “So there’s no one else in your life? No one else you’re interested in?”

He captures my gaze. “Emelia…are we still doing this?”

“Answer the question.”

He steps right up to me, accepting my word play and upping the stakes by leaning down so he’s at eye level when he responds, “There’s no one else. In Cincinnati, I worked all day then went back to my hotel room and checked my phone incessantly, wondering why you weren’t calling me. I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

He’s so close we could kiss.

“That makes two of us,” I say, my gaze on his mouth.

“Then put us out of this misery. Go on a date with me Friday.”

I don’t even hesitate before answering, “No.”

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

Rather than getting angry, he seems amused by my refusal.

He stands back to his full height, which makes me feel diminutive when he’s this close, and then he slips his hands into his pockets with a spark of mischief in his gaze.

I narrow my eyes, suspicious of him and his game.

“Have a good day at work then, Emelia.”

He presses a kiss to my cheek. It’s so brief I barely get a good whiff of his cologne. Then he leaves me there in the conference room wondering what kind of fool I am for turning him down. Again.





Chapter Twenty-Nine





Jonathan



* * *



It’s past quitting time on Wednesday evening. I’ve been in the office entirely too long. This morning, I came straight here from the airport. I’ve been up since the crack of dawn, and I’m desperate to leave and get a run in before I crash for the night. I’ve felt restless all day, but the exercise should help.

I just have a few last-minute things to accomplish, but my mother has chosen this exact moment to call and pester me. I’ve told her as much, but she insists that pestering is subjective.

“I consider this entertaining, if you must know. Now, have you made any headway with the girl in the red dress? I’ve hunted through the society pages the last few weeks, but you two aren’t in any pictures. Why are you hiding her away?”