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At least it finally sounds like there’s some sort of happy hour happening here. Although I still feel like my chances of getting murdered are disturbingly high.
Finally, a door came into view at the end of the hallway, the obscured glass appearing lit from within. Fern could make out the brass plaque that read ‘Faculty Lounge.’
“Here we are!” Mara jumped over a small stack of yellowed TIME magazines, but as soon as her hand touched the doorknob, they were interrupted.
“Ms. Parker.” A rich baritone voice flooded the hallway from behind them. Fern froze and went weak in the knees without even seeing whomever the voice belonged to. Her stomach flipped, and her thighs clenched together of their own accord.
There was a subtle command in that tone, and Fern was both shocked and appalled at her own instantaneous reaction to it. She didn’t dare turn around.
Mara turned her head without a second thought, looking not nearly as affected as Fern was by the mysterious voice.
Oh, no. If there is a fucking god, please do not tell me that is…
“Dr. Welsh!” Mara smiled, holding out her hand in Fern’s direction. “I was just bringing Fern to meet the rest of the staff.”
“I’d like to spend a few minutes with Ms. McEwan privately, first.” Dr. Welsh’s deep voice melted Fern’s bones. She still hadn’t turned around.
“Of course.” This didn’t seem to disturb Mara in the slightest. “Fern?” She looked towards Fern with a quizzical expression as if she was just now noticing that it was weird Fern hadn’t looked at their boss.
Fern cleared her throat and slowly turned around—and stared at the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
Dr. Calum Welsh looked to be in his mid-forties, although he was as fit as a man half his age. He stood almost a head taller than Fern, which put him at well over six feet tall. His hair was swept back from his forehead, the salt and pepper strands standing out in the hallway's low light. He had rugged features, a heavy five o’clock shadow, and Fern could swear she saw a scar on his cheek.
Everything about Dr. Welsh looked like he belonged in the wilderness, not a library. Yet, he stood before her in a three-piece tweed suit, complete with worn, leather elbow patches and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He didn’t wear a tie, and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone.
It took Fern a few seconds to even realize that he was supporting himself with a cane. The silver handle was intricately carved and almost glowed, but she couldn’t tell what the design was.
If it wasn’t for the obscene amount of sex appeal that he was flooding the hallway with, Fern would’ve thought the outfit was more befitting of C. S. Lewis in his later years than her boss.
Her boss.
Fuck.
Dr. Welsh remained almost expressionless as he took in the sight of Fern in front of him. She didn’t know it yet, but he was taking the biggest gamble of his life by bringing her here. He kept his shock off his face, but his blood pressure rose when he looked at her.
It had been a little cruel of him to demand—ahem, request—that she meet him on the day of her arrival, but he was too impatient to wait any longer. He had been waiting centuries for this.
The only thought in his head now was that it had been worth the wait.
Fern had a statuesque posture; she might not move as gracefully as a creature like Mara, but he imagined in another life she would’ve made an unparalleled archer.
Some of her hair had fallen free from the hair tie, curling around the delicate lines of her face. She had a shocked expression that only widened her green eyes, her mouth dropping open into a little pout.
The tension between them was now thicker than honey, and they couldn’t blame it on the stale air or stacks surrounding them. Calum couldn’t help but think of all the things he wanted to do with that mouth…
Stop it. You have a job to do, a job that Fern has to do, and you’ve already disappointed enough people for several lifetimes.
If there had been any openness in Calum’s expression, it hardened. He gave Fern a brisk, militant nod.
“Ms. McEwan?” He stepped to the side and gestured in the direction of his office. Mara’s eyes were dancing between the two of them, a mischievous smile painting its way onto her face.
“Go on,” Mara encouraged Fern. “You can meet everyone else later.” Fern said nothing but merely nodded, taking a few steps toward Dr. Welsh. He turned around and disappeared into the open doorway behind him, leaving Fern to stumble into his office.
The door swung shut, the sound making her jump. Dr. Welsh’s office was no better organized than the rest of the department—in fact, it looked like this was ground zero.
A huge ancient oak desk sat in the middle of the room, spilling over with papers. Two chairs sat in front of it, one covered in books and notebooks while the other was empty.
Like he had been waiting for her.
