Oh . . . if he only knew.
He thought I was trying to seduce him into working with me?
The idea is absurd. I purposefully wore one of my most demure outfits. I’d aimed for the least appealing look I could pull off.
My hair pulled back. My makeup minimal. My bra boob-flattening. My sweater set the color of a 1970s toaster.
I hadn’t even worn heels, which I always wear on campus since that time I was mistaken for a visiting high schooler.
But not today. Today, I’d worn my Chucks.
If there’s an outfit with less sex appeal than an avocado sweater set and Chucks, I don’t know what it is.
And, I mean, I have sexy clothes. I have a body-skimming red dress that makes men drool. I have a pair of Daisy Dukes that literally brought Clive to his knees. It was back when I’d wanted him on his knees, but still. I wore a Hufflepuff schoolgirl outfit to a party last Halloween that had stopped a guy in his tracks. The dude proposed to me on the spot. He was drunk and probably joking, but still . . .
If I wanted to get Dr. Ramsey’s attention, I damn well would have done better than this.
The jerk face.
How could that man have accused me of coming there to seduce him?
Of all of the . . .
So unprofessional . . .
I should . . .
But I wouldn't. Even if he had been unprofessional. Even if his suggestion had been outrageous. I wouldn't issue a complaint.
After all, I had put my ass right next to his keyboard. And despite his outrageous claim, no harm was done by it. He had no power over my career. He made no threats.
I may be outraged, but I hadn't felt threatened.
Instead, I’d felt all tingly and breathless.
I’d felt . . . aware.
No. I wasn’t going there.
Nope. Nada. No way.
Yes, brilliant men are my weakness. My personal brand of catnip. My fatal flaw.
Doesn’t matter. I’ve been burned by that type of guy before. I may not be smart enough to have earned my PhD, but I am darn well smart enough to have learned that lesson the first time.
And if Dr. Ramsey—the massively arrogant jack apple—is unexpectedly attractive in a burly, overly masculine kind of way, with his thick dark brown hair and steely gray eyes, that is neither here nor there. Because I will probably never see him again anyway.
Texas University has over 40,000 students. His office and lab aren’t even on the main campus. I will never run into him accidentally.
Clive asked me to talk to the guy. I did. Now I’m done.
I dampen a paper towel and pat my cheeks with it. Despite my lack of makeup, my skin is all pink and glow-y in a way that not even the sallow green of the ugliest sweater set in existence can offset.
Darn it.
I blow out a breath. I think I need a new mantra.
Max Ramsey is not attractive. He’s a bully and a jerk. He’s not hot. He does not smell yummy, like warm male skin with the faintest hint of pine. Not in the least.
