“Professor Hayes?” I say a little too sheepishly. “I’m here to do the inter?—”
“Yes, I know.” His voice has a dismissive tone, and I canalready tell this is going to suck. He still doesn’t turn around when he asks, “Ms. Samantha Anderson?”
Closing the door, I clear my throat. “Samantha is currently sick, and I offered to take on the interview, but I come fully prepared,” I lie.
Something akin to a scoff escapes him, and I raise an eyebrow at his rudeness. The jerk still hasn’t bothered to look at me and keeps fixing books on the shelves behind his desk. “Like I told your editor, I only have twenty minutes. I have a meeting to attend.”
“May I sit?” My voice is as calm and kind as I can make it while I try to mask my annoyance.
Mr. Hayes’s shoulders lift and fall in a sigh. His crisp, expensive-looking dark blue dress shirt matches his movements. Finally, he turns his head toward me, and my knees almost give out as I see the face that’s been haunting my dreams since July.
His face pales, and he drops what he’s holding.
How? How is this happening? How is Ace a nickname for…Grayson…ayson…ays… “Ace?”
Chapter Six
EMMA
“What are you doing here?” he asks, and my heart skips a beat at the sight of the familiar yet unfamiliar face. He looks the same but oh-so different with the black-framed glasses around his eyes and the fresh shave along his cheeks and jaw. His arms cross over his chest. “Emma?”
I can’t help the small smile that slips. “You figured it out?”
He keeps his gaze fixed on mine and stiffens. “You’re a student here?”
“Um.” I shake my head at the seriousness in his voice and face. He looks even less like the man I met that one night with his stern expression. “Yeah, I go here.” Letting out a laugh, I open my mouth to lighten the mood when he interrupts.
“As I said, I only have twenty minutes, which are now seventeen.” He gestures to the chair across the mahogany desk.
My smile fades as it hits me that he might’ve figured out my name, but is acclimating to our current situation. I feel like slapping myself across the face for not being as collected as he is right now.
Giving him a quick nod, I move to the chair, feeling more self-conscious about how I look. Of course, he looks amazing—his hair perfectly combed and his tie perfectly straight. Meanwhile, I’m a sweaty, frizzy mess.
Sitting down, I place my bag on the ground and keep the folder on my lap, afraid to meet his eyes.
This is your job. Your one chance. Don’t let a man ruin it.
Gathering all my remaining strength and self-confidence, I lift my head and smile. I ignore the feeling in the pit of my stomach that’s making my late lunch want to come back up my throat at his cold stare.
His eyes observe me for a moment before he leans forward and clasps his hands on the desk. “Sixteen minutes.”
I almost roll my eyes on instinct.Almost.
Looking away, I open the folder of questions, take my pen from my pocket, and pull out my cell phone. “Are you okay with me recording this?”
“Yes.” His word is firm.
“Good.” I press record and try to quiet my racing thoughts. “September thirteenth, six p.m. interview with Professor Grayson Hayes.” I gently place the phone on the desk and read the first question, pretending I’m interviewing someone I’ve never met or kissed or…
Clearing my throat and mind once more, I adopt one of the many voices I use for work. “Professor Hayes, according to my research, this is your first time teaching. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And how has your experience been so far?”
I’m forced to look back up at him since “yes” doesn’t take a very long time to write down.
His lips thin, looking unimpressed, but I don’t let it faze me on the outside. “The students and faculty have been professional and kind. It’s a respectable program and environment.”
