“I trust you had no problems getting settled into your housing?” he asks.
“Yes, thank you. It’s much better than I expected.”
My furnished, one-bedroom faculty cottage is similarly decorated as the rest of campus—beige limestone on the exterior, dark wood, built-in bookshelves, and leather furnishings on the interior.
“And what exactly were you expecting?” A superior-sounding male strolls up to where we’re standing.
He’s dressed similarly to Dr. Bowerman in brown pants and a brown tweed blazer over a beige sweater. His light-brown hair is neatly trimmed, and his beard is also starting to gray.
A scotch is in one hand, and he extends the other to me. “Landon O’Toole, clinical psych.”
“Nice to meet you.” I feel too casual in my jeans and blue crewneck sweater, and now I’m thinking I should probably get my hair trimmed. “My only experience with campus housing was the men’s dorm at Columbia, and they were not concerned about our comfort.”
Dr. Bowerman chuckles. “I’ve often considered having the boy’s dormitory completely stripped and fumigated between semesters. I might do it yet.”
“Not a bad idea,” I quip.
“Welcome, Professor Winston.” A smiling, younger woman in a calf-length tweed skirt and long-sleeved brown turtleneck strides into the room. Her long, dark hair is smooth with bangs, and she gives off a very Allison inUmbrella Academyvibe. “I’m Sharon Stead, Ph.D. candidate and graduate assistant, a.k.a., department slave.”
“Call me Dirk.” I shake her hand.
“Now, Sharon, it’s not as bad as that. You have a stipend and housing.” Dr. Bowerman hands her a drink.
“It’s the very least you could do.” She gives the old guy a wink.
Sharon is fresh-faced, and her turtleneck shows off nice curves, which I notice O’Toole studying a bit too long.Interesting.
“I think you’re the first faculty member we’ve ever had with real-world experience.” Then she cups her hand beside her mouth as if sharing a secret. “Definitely the most handsome.”
Dr. Bowerman blusters something between a cough and a chuckle. “Now don’t make the man uncomfortable.”
“I can take a joke.” I deflect quickly, hoping to put him at ease. “Being a professor is new to me, so I’m just as impressed by all of you.”
“Mm-hm.” Sharon arches an eyebrow, and it’s clear she likes to stir up the mothballs in this ancient establishment.
I like it, and I’m ready to join in the fun, but O’Toole cuts us off.
“As long as we keep such jokes inside these four walls. Remember what happened to Effington last year—the reason we had an opening in the first place.”
I look at Dr. Bowerman, and he pats my back. “Your predecessor forgot the invisible line between professors and students, and we had to let him go.”
“He was screwing our wealthiest donor’s daughter,” O’Toole expands loudly. “A parent busted him in the faculty bathroom with his head between her legs.”
“Whoa.” My eyebrows rise, and I sip more bourbon.
“Our college operates through a strict endowment,” he continues. “If we lose it, we all lose.”
Frowning, I glance from him to Dr. Bowerman. “What does that mean?”
“Don’t shit where you eat.” O’Toole’s tone is flat.
“That’s enough, Landon.” Dr. Bowerman waves a hand, brushing him aside. “We’re all professionals here. We know how to behave, and as for teaching, Dirk, you’ll get the hang of it in no time. If you need anything, just reach out. Sharon divides her time between the three full-time faculty, and she knows where all the bodies are buried.”
Sharon smiles up at me, and I realize she’s more Naomi than Alison. Her attention to me clearly irritates the Tool, and it makes me want to mess with him, although not in front of Dr. Bowerman.
I’ll have to tell Scar he was wrong—he predicted the students were going to be the assholes, not my coworkers.
“Thank you. I’m ready to get started.”