The Secret (Winslow Brothers 3)

To be honest, in a weird way, I think I might admire her for it.

“Okay, cool,” she answers calmly, but I don’t miss the way her fingers fidget with her coat.

I walk back over to my desk and shuffle through the mess of papers and files to find the stack that’s for her. “I went ahead and compared our schedules. The only class of mine that you’ll be able to attend consistently is my afternoon English 101 class with the freshmen. Though, I’d love to see you fit in a few of my other courses throughout this semester, but not to the detriment of your master’s workload.”

I hand her the thick file, and she takes it with hesitant hands, her eyes acting like my face is the sun and avoiding direct contact for long periods of time is needed for survival.

“This is probably not everything, but it will give you a good start,” I instruct, and for some insane reason, I can’t swipe the smile off my face. There is just something about her and the way she is avoiding the reality of our initial introduction that, the more I think about it, is amusing as hell. “Log-ins for my online drive, my class schedule for the spring semester, some of my teaching plans for English 101, and a few other odds and ends I know will be of use.”

She stares down at the file in her hands. Which I’m guessing has more to do with avoidance than interest, seeing as it’s a plain manila folder. “Great. Thanks.”

“I also think it would be a good idea for us to get to know each other a little better,” I say and lean back against my desk, crossing my arms at my chest. I know I’m putting her on the spot, but I’m so fucking curious if she’s ever going to break from the façade of acting like Orchid never happened, it feels like I have to push. “So, tell me a little bit about yourself, Rachel.”

Her green eyes flicker up and hold, and I know immediately that something has changed. She’s formed a backbone or found her courage or is gearing up to tell me to go fuck myself. Whatever it is, it’s beautiful. “What do you want to know exactly?”

“Just a little about you. What are your greatest passions in literature? Your likes? Dislikes?” And how often do you go to nightclubs and give men your underwear?

She shrugs. Toys with the file in her hands. “Well, I got my bachelor’s at Stanford. Took a few years off to…I don’t know…not focus on my career.” Her laugh is self-deprecating. “And literature, devouring books, writing…I love all of it. Though I’m not certain what I want to do with my master’s, I know it will lead me to where I should be.”

“And what do you do for fun outside of NYU’s campus?”

You bastard. You just can’t help yourself, can you?

“For fun? Off campus?” she questions. “I don’t know. I mean, I just got back to New York, so I’d say that answer is pending.” The hint of a fire blazes behind her eyes, and what leaves her gorgeous mouth doesn’t disappoint. “And personally, I don’t think what I do for fun off campus should be any of your concern.”

I love it. She knows when to put her foot down. Strong, curvaceous, beautiful women are my fucking weakness.

Though, because this is Nate’s daughter, you’re going to be strong. Right?

“Knock, knock,” a familiar male voice calls out from the doorway, and the timing couldn’t be any worse. Speak of the fucking devil.

When Rachel spots her dad, her brow furrows and her lips morph into a thin line. I don’t have the time nor the inclination to consider why. I’ve got a half-chub to hide.

“Hey, Nate. Good to see you,” I greet easily, doing all the speaking for myself and my panty-partner-in-crime.

“I’m glad to see the two of you have met.” His responding smile is big. “Rachel, darling, how is it going? You feel ready to buckle down and focus this semester?”

Her back goes stiff and her shoulders look like they’re carrying the weight of the world, but I don’t insert myself. It’s none of my business.

“Oh yeah, Dad. So ready,” she forces out.

“That’s great to hear. Do you think—” Nate starts to question, but Rachel cuts him off. Knowing everything I know about Nathaniel Rose, I’m surprised he lets her.

“Speaking of buckling down…” She holds up the file I gave her mere minutes ago. “I better get home and start preparing for my first day. Lots of reading and information to digest.”

Something odd is afoot here, that’s for sure.

She grabs her purse off the surface of my desk, tucks the file to her chest, and turns in the direction of my door, ready for departure.