Flirting with Fifty

Chapter 3

Paige had attended dozens of department parties and big-donor-alumni events over the years, first at the University of North Carolina, then at Duke, and now at Orange. She understood how important the events are for securing donations and underwriting, and she knew her role—mingle, make nice, and impress. It was a dog and pony show, but she didn’t mind doing her part, not if she could contribute to the university’s financial bottom line.

The president’s house was on a corner of the campus, a handsome 1920s Spanish Colonial Revival that had been built for the second university president at a time when Southern California was flush with money, with the wealthy Midwesterners all heading to California for the winter, wanting to escape the cold and snow.

She climbed the front steps of the stucco mansion, admiring the little white lights strung in the graceful, leafy green jacaranda trees scattered on the vast lawn. The trees were huge and handsome, planted decades ago. She was met at the front door by Rose Keller, President Keller’s wife. “Good to see you, Paige,” Rose said, giving her a quick hug. “Glad you could join us tonight.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Paige could hear voices from the living room and beyond. “I think I know where the party is.”

“Most people are on the terrace right now. Bartender’s back there, too.”

“I think I’ll wander that way.”

“What do you think of our visiting professor, Dr. King?”

Paige glanced toward the living room doorway, praying Jack wouldn’t materialize. “He seems . . . nice.”

“You don’t like him?”

“No, he’s quite impressive. I’m looking forward to teaching with him.” Paige forced a smile. “Is he here yet?”

“Yes. We had a light bite with him earlier. Walter invited some of our key benefactors to a private gathering before the party. It went very well. Everyone is so impressed by Dr. King.”

The doorbell rang and Rose excused herself to answer it while Paige slipped away, passing through the living room with its gold-stenciled beams and out through the tall French doors lining one wall.

A couple dozen guests were outside on the terrace. Paige’s gaze skimmed the well-heeled crowd, looking for friends. Greg wasn’t here yet, but most of her department was. And yes, Jack, too. He was talking to an older couple who Paige knew were university benefactors. She struggled to remember their names. Mr. and Mrs. Goldsmith, maybe? Goldstein? Jack’s gaze suddenly met hers and he gave a slight nod, the corner of his mouth lifting.

Paige felt a funny curl in her middle. She didn’t understand it, uncertain if he made her nervous or unsettled, hard to say which. But she gave him a quick nod and headed toward the bartender at the edge of the terrace and asked for a glass of Pinot Gris.

As the bartender poured her wine, she glanced past the terrace to the pool. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but lights shone in the trees, and the pool glowed with light.

It was a beautiful night, a perfect seventy-two degrees, no humidity, not like North Carolina. She’d been born and raised in central California, in Paso Robles, thirty miles north of San Luis Obispo. When she was growing up, Paso Robles had been mainly a ranching community with some grapes. Today it was filled with vineyards, the grapes increasingly claiming the gently rolling hills, but it was still considered rural, unlike the sprawl of LA and Orange County.

She glanced up as Dr. Walter Keller, the university’s president, approached with Jack and the Goldsmiths.

“And there’s the other half of our dynamic duo,” Walter said cheerfully. “Harry and Susan, you know Dr. Paige Newsome, one of our newer professors in the math department. As you might recall, we stole her from Duke. She’s extremely popular with the students.” Walter gestured to Jack. “And now Dr. Newsome and Dr. King will be teaching Dr. King’s course—what’s the name again? Chaos and change . . . ?”

“Chaos and Complexity for a Changing Planet,” Jack said, extending his hand to Paige. “Good to see you again, Dr. Newsome.”

She hesitated before taking his hand, remembering how it felt just a few days ago. Warm, strong, masculine. But she couldn’t very well ignore his hand, either. Reluctantly she took it, giving a firm shake, but the heat in his palm was electric, and she felt uncomfortable little sparks shoot through her arm, a sensation that she could feel all the way through her.

She dropped his hand. “A lovely night, isn’t it?” she said, speaking to the group.

“You must be excited about teaching with Dr. King,” Susan answered.

“Yes,” Paige said quickly. “Very excited.” She saw Jack’s right eyebrow rise a fraction but ignored it. “I’m looking forward to teaching something new. I hate getting too comfortable.”

“Change is good,” Harry agreed. “And it’s quite a feat to have you here at Orange,” he added, focusing on Jack. “How did we get so lucky?”

“I’ve met Andy Rakovski, your science department chair, at a couple of conferences and we hit it off. Last time I saw him he mentioned that he’d give his right arm to have me visit, and so here I am. Without him having to lose that right arm. Didn’t seem fair to ask him to make such a sacrifice.”

Everyone laughed, charmed. Paige smiled reluctantly. Everyone seemed to adore Jack. He was outgoing, positive, engaging. He also happened to be handsome, articulate, and charming, his charm helped immensely by his Australian accent. And then there was that dimple. Not fair, not cool.

Jack, the Goldsmiths, and President Keller moved on but then Jack somehow broke free and ended back up at her side.

“Do you enjoy this?” he asked, gesturing to the gathering on the terrace, a gathering that looked just like what it was: wealthy alumni and a gathering of math and science professors.

She looked up into his face, trying to read his expression, but he just looked relaxed. Affable. Relentlessly cheerful. “It’s not as bad as the dentist—” She broke off as a shriek came from behind her, and she and Jack—everyone—turned to see a huge curly haired dog sprinting across the terrace.

Rose Keller was the one shrieking as she chased after the dog. Her high heels made little clicking sounds as she ran. “Taffy, no. No. Taffy, come!”

But Taffy did not come, and one of the caterers began chasing Taffy, and then another. Then Dr. Keller joined in, calling for the dog in his most commanding voice. But Taffy paid no heed, thoroughly enjoying her escape.

Taffy allowed Mrs. Keller to get close, but just as she reached for the big fluffy dog, Taffy bolted again, tail high, tongue lolling. Paige could almost hear the dog laughing. Shewas trying not to laugh. One of the young caterers got close to Taffy and then the dog did a Thelma and Louise move, bounding high, before sailing into the pool. Water surged out, huge splashes. The elegant floating candles were overturned and Taffy paddled around, delighted with herself.

Paige covered her mouth and looked at Jack.

He lifted a brow, his voice dry. “You do know what comes next.”

Then it happened. Taffy climbed up the steps, dashed between guests and began vigorously shaking, drying herself, all over the Goldsmiths and the journalist from the Los Angeles Times.

Rose Keller let out a moan. Dr. Keller grimly marched on the dog, a dog that was not about to end her performance, a wet dog that was running again.

Jack crouched down, crooned Taffy’s name, and held out his hand as if he held a treat. “Good dog, Taffy, good girl.”

And Taffy, bless her heart, ran to Jack, sniffed his empty hand, and stood still for a pat. Everyone clapped as Jack took Taffy’s collar and began walking the wet dog to the house. Paige stifled a laugh because as Jack walked the prancing Taffy, he was complimenting the dog’s excellent listening skills.

Jack returned to her side a few minutes later. Guests were still laughing and reliving Taffy’s great escape.

“That was impressive,” Paige said. “You have skills.”

“Chasing a dog never works,” he answered, smiling, flashing white teeth. The fascinating dimple in his lean, tan cheek deepened. Paige’s heart did a hard, mad pump and she quickly looked away, unnerved by her response.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d found a man attractive, and now here she was, consumed with thoughts of Jack with his earthy Indiana Jones swagger. But even that comparison didn’t sit well with her as she’d had the worst crush on Harrison Ford when she was younger. She’d secretly wanted to be Mrs. Indiana Jones and share those adventures with him. Traveling the world, discovering hidden treasures, knowing interesting things. Indiana Jones, Professor Jones, made teaching look sexy, too, not that she’d ever had a teacher like him, or known a professor like him. At least, not until Paris.

And again, now.

Paige swallowed hard and turned her attention back to Jack. “Based on your knowledge of university socials, how would you rate this one?”

“A ten. Probably the most entertaining one I’ve ever attended.”