I could laugh at the idea.
It’s hard to deny, but it’s even harder to believe.
A man like Professor Barclay seems like he’d never have a reason to be jealous of anyone, ever, but my suspicions are confirmed after the meeting when I find an email waiting at the top of my inbox.
It’s from him.
Meet me in my office at 11:15.
Not even a please.
Anxiety flares hot inside me.
Is he kidding?
Icannotgo into his office, and there are about a million reasons why. There is absolutely no time I would ever need to go speak to Professor Barclay on my own. I report to Lewis, Lewis reports to Professor Barclay. I mean, Jesus, half the time I don’t even report to Lewis—I report to Doug whothenreports to Lewis. The fact is, I’m a plebe, and he’s the boss. Disappearing behind a closed door with him would look bad on all fronts.
As if that’s not enough to keep me away from his office, there’s also the underlying motive to be the one person in Professor Barclay’s life who isn’t at his beck and call at all times. Yesterday, I was on my knees for him. I won’t do it two days in a row.
I respond simply,11:15 isn’t a good time for me.
At 11:15 on the dot, I pick my mug up off my desk and take my sweet time walking over to the break room. Meera and Inés are crowding the coffee pot, looking at something on Inés’ phone. Inés looks relieved to see me.
“Oh good—you can be the tiebreaker. Do you think this dress is too risqué to wear to my boyfriend’s father’s birthday? Meera thinks I should find something else.”
The dress in question has a halter top with a deep V-neck and a skirt that’s barely there. The model wearing it looks like she’s on her way to a music festival, not a family get-together.
“I mean, it’s pretty, and I see why you’d like it, but I’m not sure if I’d go that route.”
She groans. “Okay, hold on. What about this one?”
She starts swiping through pictures on her phone.
“Emelia?”
I turn to look over my shoulder and find Hugo dipping his head into the kitchen, looking alarmed.
“Your work phone is ringing off the hook. I’ve let it go to voicemail twice, but the person seems insistent. Do you want me to go answer it?”
My eyes widen in panic. No one, and I meanno one, has my work number.
“No!” I say, already rushing out past him, my coffee mug long forgotten on the break room counter.
I hear my phone ringing from down the hall and pick up the pace. Once I reach my desk, I answer the call without bothering to take a seat or get comfortable.
“Emelia Mercier,” I say with a clipped tone.
“You’re late.”
Professor Barclay’s voice sends a shiver of delight down my spine, even if he does sound seriously pissed.
My brows furrow. “Did you check your email?”
“The email is irrelevant. I said 11:15. You should have been outside my door at 11:10.”
“And you should get your eyes checked, because I told you that time wouldn’t work for me.”
I swear I hear a dark chuckle on the other end of the line, but it’s too faint to make out.