Chapter Sixteen
Sierra
Griffin Lasker, professor of economics, specialist in econometrics, who happens to have the most gorgeous face I’ve ever seen grace a man, glares at the money I put in his hand like it’s a bag of anthrax. Then he glowers like he wants to strangle me.
He said time is money, so I was accommodating him, but maybe I should’ve given him more. I don’t want him to feel like I took advantage of my relationship with the college to waste his precious time.
I still can’t believe a man who looks like that is a professor of economics. He belongs in an Armani photoshoot. Or modeling Calvin Klein underwear. Those sharp, deep-set gray eyes, sculpted cheekbones and full, firm lips are wasted on a college campus. He wouldn’t have to smile to shill products. He could just brood with disapproval—like he’s doing right now—and women would throw money to buy whatever he was selling.
And just check out how broad his shoulders are. He’s tall, too, easily six-three or six-four. The impeccable suit he’s wearing can’t hide the power of his body. I bet you could grate cheese on his abs.
Or run your tongue along the ridges, feel his muscles flex and breath shudder…
Wait, wait. Hold on a second. I can’t indulge in X-rated fantasies about him right now, no matter how much libido is churning in my veins. Or how my mind is trying to figure out if we’ve met before, because something about him feels vaguely familiar. He reminds me of the rude man I met at Ted’s party, but there’s no way an econ prof would have been invited to that bash.
Focus, Sierra!
Right. Can’t afford to be distracted when Todd and Linda are hovering around like vultures waiting to rip some flesh from a corpse.
It doesn’t take a genius to know what Linda’s up to. She’s been trying hard to get me to reconcile with her precious nephew Todd. According to her, I will never know true happiness or the “meaning of womanhood” without him by my side. It hasn’t occurred to her that I wouldn’t have divorced him if I had found either of those while we were married.
This case study is a clumsy attempt to force us into close proximity. And maybe she really believes it’ll work, because that’s how she snagged my dad. They spent an awful lot of time together, a lot more than her job as the family’s bookkeeper strictly required. I didn’t understand back then because I was too young, but now I can see it quite clearly. No wonder Grandma disapproved of Linda. Grandma hated people who wanted what didn’t belong to them, and as far as she was concerned, a person already in a relationship was off-limits.
Thank God for Linda’s sloppiness. She generally finds the ties the family has with Wollstonecraft College boring and pointless, except when she thinks the connection can be used to benefit Todd. I’m not surprised she didn’t know there are two professors named Charles Phillips, and one of them goes by Chuck.
Dr. Economics looks like he’s the type who chews glass for hobby, but I don’t need a friend. Just a pretext.
And it’s great that he’s a sexy pretext. Todd’s sense of competition won’t be able to tolerate it.
“We have finance people who can do numbers,” Linda interjects suddenly, obviously antsy that things aren’t progressing the way she envisioned. “We need somebody who can add humanity to our products.”
I turn to her. “I’m not sure what you mean by ‘we’ and ‘our products.’ But if you’re ever elected to one of our boards, I’ll be sure to give your opinions proper consideration.”
Angry resentment flushes her face. She’s always found it insufferable that Grandma didn’t leave her Silicone Dream. “I’m your mother!”
“Stepmother,” I correct her firmly. She likes to talk about what a big, happy family we are when it suits her purpose, but basically ignores me when it doesn’t.
“You are always so awful, never accepting that I’m family now. I’m your mother in every way that counts.”
If she thinks I’m going to back down, she needs to think again. “When is my birthday?” I smile sunnily, so she knows I’m not bothered. Not anymore. Not really.
“What?” She lets out an I-can’t-believe-you’re-asking laugh. “Is this a test?”
“You can just say you don’t know.”
She looks around for help, but there isn’t any. Todd has no clue.
Finally, she says, “It’s a lot—”
“When is Felicia’s birthday?”
“January tenth, but—”
“Exactly.”
“Just because I can’t quite recall your birthday doesn’t mean I’m not your mother,” she insists. “I’m very busy. Things slip through the cracks all the time.” She looks around to see if anybody’s judging her.
Todd is giving her a sort of fake sympathetic understanding, while Griffin’s eyes are narrowed and trained on her like artillery pieces.