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Amara mentally blew out a big breath. No matter how much Frederik had taken away from her, he wasn’t the final authority on her teaching position, at least. Thank God. Considering what a thorough man Dean Wilson was, she now felt a bit silly for thinking he might judge her on one man’s word alone.
There was no way to hide the rush of apprehension fleeing her, and she folded her hands over her purse in her lap as she straightened up in the chair. “Thank you, Dean Wilson. I’m relieved to hear that you’re in my corner.”
He appeared surprised by the sentiment. “Of course I am, Professor Davis. I don’t pay much heed to personal accounts. Your data and methods seem sound to me. You submitted everything you had when you returned from the trip, and I don’t need to remind you that the university has a claim on your work, too. Of course I wanted to see what came of
our investment. I was very, very pleased to see the progress made toward making your strain viable and available in the region.”
Amara’s skeptical side returned in full force. She read between the lines and knew the dean was actually saying it was in the university’s best interest that her results not be dismissed. So it wasn’t so much that Dean Wilson believed in her, but more that he was obligated to believe in her.
Damn. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.
She said what was expected. “I appreciate your faith in me, Dean.”
He smiled again. “Of course. Regardless of all this, I’ve actually called you in today for a different reason altogether.”
Amara’s brows shot up.
“Yes,” he said. “I wish to speak to you about a donor.”
A donor? Now of all times? Amara’s happiness was replaced by an ugly suspicion. It seemed like he was about to pressure her to sell to the same people Frederik had and was merely buttering her up with all the high praise. That seemed the likeliest scenario, now that firing was off the table.
As much as the dean’s levelheadedness was a comfort to her regarding Frederik’s allegations, it didn’t bode well for monetary matters, and the quickest way for the university to see a return on its investment was to sell off the research.
Then again, it was possible Dean Wilson was just eager to show her accomplishments off to a potential donor to secure funding for the University.
Either way, it was worrying that she was about to be used as either an example of excellence or as a snake charmer meant to assure an otherwise cautious or undecided donor to open his checkbook.
The Dean cleared his throat softly to break up the silence that had fallen between them. “Anyway, as I said, there’s a donor here who would like to speak with you. He could very well become not only a vital supporter of your work, but also a cardinal donor for the university.”
Her true feelings must have shown on her face because his voice became more strident. “I’d ask that you give him a little bit of your valuable time, and hear what he has to say.”
He sat up, seemingly ready to spring out of his chair to fetch the aforementioned benefactor the second she agreed.
After some hesitation, she said, “Yes, Dean Wilson. That’s fine. Considering the problems I’m having with funding currently, it’ll be good to speak with someone who’s interested in the work. I’d be happy to help secure more funding for the university too, if I can.”
The dean picked up his office phone and opened a line with the front desk. “Please send our guest in. Yes, thank you.” He hung up quickly and stood. “I’ll leave you two to it. It’s important to have time for a private discussion before things move forward. Again, I have nothing but confidence in you, Professor Davis.”
He nodded once before making his way around the desk and out the door.
How bizarre and abrupt, Amara thought. She was left perched on the edge of her seat, feeling more like bait than a professor, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it now.
She stood and turned to face the door, waiting for the guest to enter. The whole interaction was strange, and out of character for the dean. Not only was he never so ingratiating and kind, the concept of privacy in a matter of funding was fundamentally at odds with his usual policy.
The door opened, and Amara’s stomach took a dive. She knew the man instantly. He closed the door firmly and stood there, his gaze taking in Amara with a possessiveness she remembered well.
Oh yes, she knew that gaze, this man. He was no stranger.
Billionaire investment shark. Quint Forbes.
He was dressed, as he always was, in a suit which undoubtedly cost more than her car. From the narrow waist and broad shoulders to the immaculately coiffed, dark hair, Quint was a man who demanded notice.
She avoided meeting his pale blue eyes that flashed brightly. She could never forget those eyes. They were the seat of his power, and this man was power personified.
Dean Wilson’s deference and uncharacteristic good grace suddenly made sense. Quint was an unimaginably wealthy man, with untold worth and business interests in multiple sectors and most countries. He was a perennial player in both science and commerce, oftentimes together.
He was most well-known as an angel investor for start-up biotech endeavors, and his support was generally seen as a one-way ticket to success.
His gaze traveled over her and he broke into a full-on smile when she finally met his eyes. “Amara Davis. It’s been far, far too long,” he said in his rumbling, deep voice.
