Beauty and the Professor (A Modern Fairy Tale Duet 1)

“I think the dean would be very interested to know about the rejection letter that magically fell off your records. What made them change their minds only a month later? And wasn’t it generous of your father to pay for a new wing for the sociology building?”

Even in the dim light, he could see her grow pale. Some of the anger slipped off her face. “I didn’t think you knew about that.”

“Yeah, well, I can put two and two together. I didn’t want to know, though. Like you said, we were both young and stupid. We don’t have that excuse anymore. So don’t you dare speak to her about academic integrity. Don’t you dare speak to her about anything.”

She closed her eyes. “Blake, we could be so good together. Don’t you see it? I would stand by your side. Remember how we used to talk about that? I’m not afraid of a strong man, of being the woman behind one. That was our plan.”

“Plans change, Mel. People change. For what it’s worth, I told you that I wanted to make a difference. And you said—”

“I said I would make that difference even bigger.”

“Is this what we’re supposed to be doing, bickering over a fucking semester? We won’t be together, but we can find that spirit again. Of doing things that matter. Not harassing a young woman who’s had a hard enough time as it is.”

To her credit, Melinda looked contrite. “Really, I don’t know where you even found her. I can’t imagine she runs in our circles.”

“Leave her alone, Mel. I know you’re on the committee. You can challenge her all you want, but when it comes to vote, I expect you to do what you would for any other student. And since Reese Miller has been bragging about her project to any faculty who will listen, I have no doubt about the merits of her work. Are we clear?”

“My, my. You certainly get protective where this girl’s involved. I guess it is more than an easy f—”

“Melinda.”

“Fine. I’ll leave her alone. And you’ll keep my secret.” She bent down and rummaged in her leather briefcase, pulling out a manila folder.

He accepted it and flipped it open. Jesus. There was Erin, naked. His pulse pounded. “You came to my house,” he said flatly.

“No, absolutely not. You told me not to.” A pause. “I hired a private investigator. Oh, don’t look at me like that. He didn’t go on your property. He has one of those fancy long-distance-lens things.”

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. The sad part was, he wasn’t even surprised. Just angry. They may have been young and stupid, possibly still were, but Erin was light years ahead of them. Mature and brave. He was furious she’d had to face this alone. Hurt that she hadn’t come to him for help.

I’m sorry, she’d said. Well, fuck, he was sorry too. But he would fix this. He’d fix every single thing that came up, run a goddamn gauntlet if she needed him to until she finally believed in them.

Erin

She’d just gotten out of the shower when her phone rang. She dried herself off quickly and grabbed it, thinking Blake and no, not Blake. Her stomach sank. Her mother.

“Hey, Mom.”

“What’s wrong?” her mother asked immediately.

“How do you know anything’s wrong?”

“Oh, sweetie, I’ve known. You haven’t been calling as much, and now your nose sounds stuffy. Either you’ve caught a head cold, or you’ve been crying.”

Her smile pushed away some of the clouds she’d felt all afternoon. “You know me too well.”

“Talk to me.”

It was probably time to give it up, anyway. There was nowhere to go from here, nothing to be gained from discretion. She sighed.

“I made a mistake. A big one.” Or several, depending on the way she portioned it out. “I was seeing someone. He was in the military but he’d left. And then he got an offer from the university and accepted it before we knew…before we knew he’d be teaching my class. My last class. By then it was too late to back out.”

“Oh, Erin. I can’t believe…”

She laughed shortly, understanding the speechlessness all too well. “Yes. Now it looks like we might be found out. Almost. So I’ve broken things off with him.”

What a thin phrase for what she felt. Broken things off, as if it were a twig from a tree. Instead of how she felt—shattered. Split apart into a thousand shards. Her stomach clenched tight, her head strangely thick and full of cotton. Not all of this came from leaving that note for Blake. Some was the humiliation of being accused of whoring herself, as she sat in an office in her university. She’d felt so low, so unworthy. How she’d always felt, really, but all her insecurity had floated to the surface. Her eyes closed tightly. In fact, maybe that was why she’d been so damn quick to write that note. She’d felt awful, disgusting, and she hadn’t wanted to tell Blake about that. Hadn’t wanted to see him defend her, knowing that she probably deserved the censure. Or worse—hadn’t wanted to see the light of agreement in his eyes.

“Of course you did the right thing ending it,” her mother said.