“What are you doing here?” Peyton squared her slight shoulders beneath an oversized navy blue T-shirt, bracing her fingertips on the surface of her well-organized desk.
She couldn’t be more than five feet tall. She was small and fine-boned. H
er bright brown hair was a riot of curls bobbing just above her shoulders. Her honey-and-chocolate-cream complexion housed a few freckles. Her full, bubble-gum pink lips were tight with displeasure, and her caramel eyes snapped up at him.
“I wanted to talk with you about your interview for the Monitor.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I told you I won’t grant any interviews to anyone for any publication.”
“I heard you over the phone.” Darius stepped farther into the room. He stopped when he sensed a spike in the professor’s tension level.
“Then why are you here?”
Darius tried a winning smile. Its power had melted the hearts of much colder women. “I wanted to give you a reason to change your mind.”
“I have no intention of changing my mind.” Her voice left Darius without any wiggle room.
Darius puzzled the best way to reach her. “Why don’t you want to do the interview?”
“I’m not newsworthy.” Peyton’s caramel gaze was quelling. “I’m a history professor at a liberal arts university. There are thousands of us across the country, four at this university alone who are just like me.”
“No, not like you.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but it was the truth.
“What makes me different?” Peyton’s voice was sharp.
For starters, two of those professors were men. The third was a woman, but her hair wasn’t a cloud of curls that would warm his fingers. Her skin wasn’t a warm chocolate cream that begged to be tasted, and her eyes weren’t pools of caramel in which he could drown. But somehow, Darius didn’t think it was a good idea to tell the formidable Dr. Harris any of that.
There were other things that made her unique. “To start, you left a coveted position at New York University to teach at a school with less than a quarter of NYU’s enrollment, much less prestige, and in a sleepy little town.”
Peyton crossed her arms. “I’ll remind you that you also live in this sleepy little town.”
“I was born and raised here.” And, God willing, he’d die here. “Trinity Falls is better known for people leaving. Not many people choose to relocate here.”
Peyton cocked her head. She gave Darius a considering look that made his muscles tremble. “If that’s the case, since you’re still here, you’re more of a story than I am.”
“Perhaps, but let’s start with your story.”
“Let’s not.”
“You still haven’t told me why not.”
Peyton’s winged brows lowered. “I don’t have to justify myself to you. I told you, I don’t want to do the interview. I don’t have to do it, and I’m not going to. My reasons are none of your business.”
Darius considered her. Angry color highlighted her sharp cheekbones. Her caramel gaze steamed. “I’m just curious. After you turned down my interview request this morning, I called Foster Gooden.”
Peyton stilled. Was she breathing? “You called my VPAA? Why would you do that?”
“I wanted his help in persuading you to do the interview.” Darius wasn’t proud of what he’d done, but he’d wanted the story.
“What did Dr. Gooden say?”
“That if you didn’t want to do the interview, he wasn’t going to force you.” Now Darius’s curiosity was at fever pitch.
“Well, then, this subject is closed. I need to get back to work.” Peyton’s relief was palpable.
“The thing is, Dr. Harris, I’d like to understand why you’re opposed to the article. Most faculty members jump at the opportunity to get publicity for their work.” Darius needed the answer to his question. He wanted to understand the “why.”
“I’ve asked you to get out.” Peyton’s voice carried an edge.