“Thanks,” I said, begrudgingly, but meaning it. I stood up, wiped the dust off of my palms, then stretched my shoulders.
He was a professor. Nothing more.
He gazed out of the window on the back wall. From around his frame, I could see a view of the courtyard between our building and the registrar. A few students were sitting at a bench. Another was asleep in the grass. Dr. Evans gazed out at the scenery as if he could control the pieces in a puzzle.
“Mara, is it?” he said.
I clenched the strap of my bag. Take a deep breath, I thought. It’s only a contest. If he says no, then screw him. There’s always next year. I can always ask for another professor’s partnership a year early, like Jessica…
But how did he know it was me? He hadn’t even seen me walk in.
Despite the sunlight leaking through the window, it was dark in his office, more shadows than light. Two small framed pieces of art hung on the sidewalls, a full bookshelf next to the window. Waiting for me to answer, he turned to the side, and his strong nose was silhouetted by the window.
“Dr. Evans,” I began, “It’s the Crossing Collaborations Contest. I wanted to ask you, because you’ve been influential in the power dynamics in literature, and—”
“Please,” he said sarcastically. He faced me. His dark hair was flecked with subtle grays, and the lines around his eyes were haunting, scowling at me. Fiercely blue, demanding everything I had to say. I shrank under those eyes. “I’m your only option. Save the bullshit for someone who will fall for it.”
What the hell was I supposed to say to that? But Dad had taught me not to take no for an answer when it came to what I wanted.
“Okay. Fine,” I said. “You’re the only one left. Everyone else, everyone I would rather work with, is already taken. And as I’m sure you know, there is a one-to-one limit with how many students can work with a professor in the contest.”
“I’m aware.”
He glared at me, waiting for me to finish. My neck and arms felt hot under that stare, like he could melt me into a sloshy pile of stammering embarrassment.Save me now.
Say it, I thought. Demand it. It’s what I came here for, right?
“Be my collaborator,” I blurted out.
The smallest hint of a smile crossed his lips, then vanished almost instantly. “That wasn’t a request. That was a command, Mara, and I don’t take lightly to being told what to do.”
But he was pressuring me to make a move, wasn’t he?
“Please be my collaborator, Dr. Evans, sir,” I said. “I need this.”
He sneered. “I’ve never done the contest before, and I don’t intend to start now.”
“But why?” I shot back. “The contest encourages collaboration, which is integral to the humanities, and let’s be honest, Dr. Evans. You need this as much as I do.”
A coldness crossed his face, chilling the room around us. His brows furrowed.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“You’re an assistant professor,” I said, emphasizing the word ‘assistant.’ “You’re going up for tenure this year, right? Youneedto do the contest. Even if it’s not with me.” I gestured at the room around him. “Or you can kiss this office goodbye.”
“You say that as if I need the income, Mara.”
Oh, right. Billionaire-whatever-man. Give me a break.
“I don’tneedanything this place has to offer me,” he said, staring me down, shrinking me in place. “Including you.”
My cheeks were prickly with rage, embarrassment, frustration? I don’t know. But I clenched my fists and walked to the door. Fine, Dr. Asshole. Be that way.
When I turned to leave, he was still watching me from behind his desk with cruel fire in his eyes.
“Fine. Don’t take me as your collaborator. But take someone else,” I said, rummaging the best defiance I could muster, “Either way, you should consider the contest. For your own sake. If you’ve been here long enough to be up for tenure, being here, having this job, it must mean something to you.”
A few seconds went by. I didn’t move. I stared back. But he was melting me, right there. I was losing, wasn’t I?
“The answer is still no, Mara,” he said.
I sucked in a breath and shoved the door wide open. I had a shift at the library in an hour, and I needed to eat and read for my next class before I started. I didn’t have the time to argue with an unbearable jerk. I waved to Hazel and left.
Something she had said clung to me. Dr. Evans went to Club Hades. I would find him there. My credibility in the program depended on it.
If he was hell-bent on telling me no, he would have to say it there, too.
