The Lie(43)

Then she gets out of the car, slamming the door and running across the street.

“Wait!” I call after her, but she doesn’t stop. And what is there to say?

My precious truth, that I love her too, would only do more harm than good.





CHAPTER ELEVEN

Brigs

London

Present Day




“Professor McGregor?” The voice is muffled and followed by a knock at the closed door.

I look up from my work, annoyed at being interrupted. I’ve been reading over my manuscript for the first time in years, trying to get back into the headspace of finishing the book. Being with Natasha two nights ago has fueled my creativity, like an energy cell that’s finally being charged, and I don’t want to lose my momentum while I have it.

Maybe if I don’t say anything, don’t make a sound, they’ll go away.

Besides, I have a feeling I know who it is.

“Hello?” the voice sounds again, and this time they try the knob.

The door opens.

Shit.

I knew I should have locked it.

Melissa pokes her head in. “Is this a bad time?”

I eye her sternly over my reading glasses. “Sort of.”

She smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

And yet she still comes in the room, walking over to my desk, a stack of papers in her hand. “I just had a few questions about grading the papers.”

I sigh and quickly pinch the bridge of my nose. I can’t exactly turn her away if it’s something to do with being a teaching assistant. “Okay, what is it?”

“Are you okay?” she asks, cocking her head.

“I’m fine,” I tell her. “Just a bit of a headache.”

Just a bit of wishing you would go away. There’s something so off-putting about Melissa. I just can’t put my finger on it. It’s probably because she told me to stay the hell away from Natasha and I never listened to her. And if I’m lucky enough to see Natasha again, I’m going to have to ask her if it was true, if she put Melissa up to it. Something tells me she didn’t, not from the way she was looking at me on Monday night.

Not kissing her was by far and large the right thing to do.

And yet I still regret it.

“Well,” she says, sitting on the edge of my desk, her short skirt hiked up to show off her legs. “I honestly don’t know what to do. I’ve never graded anyone before. I’m not sure what’s a good essay and what’s a bad one.”

I cock my brow. “Surely you know what a bad essay reads like.”

She shrugs.

I explain. “Well, just think of your essays and the grades you got. Pick your highest grade and work backward. If those essays don’t measure up, go lower. Or if you spot the worst essay in the pile, grade all the other papers against that.”

“There is just so much power right here.” She places her hand at her chest. “I could ruin these students’ lives if I wanted to. Absolutely ruin them.”

I frown at her. “You could, but you won’t. They’re undergrads. Just kids. By the end of the semester you’ll get a better idea of who is doing good and who’s in it to fail, but for now, you’re supposed to give them guidance and hope. Be as constructive as possible.”

“Don’t you think I could better grade them on your teachings if I understood your brain better?”

I crack a sardonic smile and tap my head. “Believe me, you don’t want in this brain.”

“You’d be surprised, Professor Blue Eyes.”

Everything in me stills. “What did you call me?” I manage to ask, my voice hard.

“You remember Natasha’s nickname for you, don’t you?” she asks, sounding oh so innocent.

I’m fumbling for something to say, and the longer I’m silent, the more smug she looks. “That’s fairly inappropriate,” I tell her. “Please don’t call me that.”

“Brings back bad memories, huh?”

A flash of anger burns in my chest. “You told me yourself to forget her. This hardly helps.”

She runs her finger up and down my desk. “Oh, I don’t think you’re ever going to forget her, Professor McGregor. I know what being lovesick looks like.”

“Melissa,” I say sharply. “If that’s all you wanted to discuss with me, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Then ask me to leave.”

I nod at the door. “There’s the bloody door. Use it. And next time you need actual help with something, remember to stick to the subject at hand. You may assist me in my class, but that’s all you do—assist. I’m the teacher here, and I’m in charge of your grades and your future. Don’t forget that.”

She raises her brows. “Are you threatening me?”

I shake my head, my jaw tense. “Please, if that’s all, just go. I have a lot of work to do.”

She narrows her eyes at me and jumps off the desk. “Fine. Last time I ask my teacher for help.”

She gathers up her papers and leaves my office, slamming the door behind her.

I let out a sigh of relief.

Bloody f*cking hell. Just what the hell was that about?