Cruel Legacy (Cruel 3)

“Thank you. I enjoyed your latest article as well. I was glad to see The Journal of Philosophy taking such a progressive stance,” I told her.

She smiled up at me. The same smile she’d been wearing the whole conference. The one that said she was the prettiest woman in the discipline and she was used to being flirted with. That we had similar interests and right now would be a good time to ask her out.

But I didn’t. I kept walking. Into the noisy bar full of relatively nerdy philosophy professors, drinking too much and discussing theory at volumes unnecessary for the space. That was just how these things went.

A pair of colleagues came to say hello to us and invited us to dinner the next day. We both agreed easily, and they shot me a knowing look before they left. Perhaps everyone here thought that Angelica and I would be involved by the end of this thing. Or that we already were. It couldn’t be that I thought she was an excellent scholar and enjoyed her work.

Then again, I was the person who wrote about sex professionally. What did I expect them to think?

I rubbed my temple and thought about the scotch waiting for me in my room.

“Are you okay?” Angelica asked, touching my sleeve.

I hastily removed my arm. “Fine.”

“You know…I’ve never done this before.” She took a step closer to me. “Do you want to get out of here? Go get a drink?”

I stared down at her small pink lips, the chocolate-brown eyes, and rosy cheeks. The look of desire painted on her face more than the makeup. It’d be so easy. If the entire idea didn’t make me nauseated.

“Actually, I’m seeing someone,” I said, putting more distance between us.

Space from Natalie didn’t mean this space. Time to figure out what was going on with Natalie didn’t mean acting like an idiot. I didn’t want a damn thing from this woman in front of me, except her company on philosophy panels. What she was asking for, she would never get.

“Oh,” she chirped, straightening. “I didn’t know. With your research, I thought—I mean, just…forget I said anything.”

Color rose in her cheeks, and then she awkwardly stepped back and disappeared into the crowd. Well, I couldn’t have handled that worse. That scotch was sounding more and more pleasant.

I headed to the front desk first to pick up a package that had been delivered for me. I’d received a text earlier that day, but I hadn’t had time to leave the conference center to collect it.

The man behind the VIP counter lifted his head at my approach. “Ah, Dr. Kensington,” he said, holding up his hand. “Let me get your package.” He retrieved a padded envelope. “Here we are.”

I took it out of his hand and looked at the innocuous envelope. “Do you know who sent it?”

“I wasn’t here when it was delivered, but I was told that a woman dropped it off earlier this morning.”

“Huh,” I said with a shrug. “And no clue as to the contents?”

“Are you concerned? Should I have it tested?” the man asked in alarm. As if anthrax were inside it.

“No, no, it’s fine. I was just curious. I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“Well, let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you,” I said before carrying the package upstairs to my suite.

I dropped it off on a counter and was surprised to hear the clunk it’d made when it hit the wood. Well, now, I was even more curious.

But first, scotch.

It had been a long day. One panel discussion of a chapter of my book. One panel where I was the discussant for three rather dry papers and thankfully Angelica’s. And three other panels that I’d been cajoled into attending. It had been four too many for one day.

A headache was forming at my temples. I knew it had more to do with trying to escape the fact that I’d left Natalie behind in New York than the panels. I’d been tempted to text her every day since I arrived, but what would I say? Sorry for abandoning you in the city without a word?

And then the longer I put it off, the harder it seemed to be to find the words. Maybe the words weren’t right in a text anyway. It was a conversation we needed to have in person. If I hadn’t had this conference, I would have already booked a flight home. Jet lag be damned.

I took a long sip of the scotch and sighed with relief. I’d been wanting that all day. It had been a long while since I’d been this desperate to day drink. It was amazing how watching your life fall into shambles could do that to a person.

I sank into the leather chair and stared out the open window overlooking the Seine and Notre Dame on the island beyond. What was left of it. I felt for the cathedral. Like my insides had also been burned through and I needed to once again be rebuilt to my former glory.