Which was good, right? I don’t know how long I could resist him if he did put up a fight, even though I know I’m right.
Which doesn’t make being here at this event meant to honor Max any easier at all.
It’s not like I have a choice though. As soon as Lily McPherson reached out to Max saying she wanted to visit him personally, the wheels of the university had kicked into high gear.
Gwen had immediately contacted me. Unfortunately, she’d included Clive in the same text. Just over a week later, and everyone with a shred of power and influence in a hundred-mile radius had descended on this cocktail party to praise Max and kiss Lily McPherson’s ass.
I almost felt sorry for them both.
Max because he was clearly uncomfortable with all the attention. Lily for other reasons entirely.
I mean, I saw the picture Gwen posted of Max on Instagram that morning.
I’d been in the room with him mere hours before the photo was taken. Frankly, it was a miracle my panties hadn’t burst into flames the second I saw him.
He’d looked even hotter in the picture. Collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, his freshly trimmed beard looking scruffy, hair even more tousled than normal . . . and glasses. Where had those come from? He’d had his notes in front of him, his pencil in one hand, the arm of his glasses just grazing his lower lip. And then he’d looked up just as she’d snapped the photo.
The whole thing was very sexy-professor-with-extra-broody-sprinkled-on-top.
And Lily McPherson had DMed him from her personal account—not the foundation’s account—less than twenty minutes after that picture went up? Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what she actually meant when she said she wanted to meet Max in person.
Except it took someone who wasn’t a genius to figure it out.
Because here I am, surrounded by geniuses, and it has occurred to none of them that Lily might be more interested in Max’s full bottom lip than she is in his full research proposal.
Maybe I was projecting.
Or maybe everyone here—except Lily McPherson and me—is so focused on the pursuit of intellectual greatness that they can’t imagine a young, rich, beautiful heiress hopping in her private jet and flying to Texas for a hookup.
But me?
I can imagine it all too well.
It’s what I would do if I was Lily.
I turn my most congenial smile on Dean Rogers. “You do know that this doesn’t guarantee he’s going to get the fellowship?”
Alarm flickers over the dean’s face.
Clive, who hasn’t left my side all evening, gives my elbow a squeeze. “What Holly means is that we can’t announce anything yet. Of course. But surely it’s just a formality at this point.”
I’m tempted to yank my elbow from his grasp. Clive hasn’t stuck this close to me since the early days of our marriage when he was always afraid I might say the wrong thing in public.
I didn’t like it then, but I tolerated it because I’d assumed he knew better than I did about a lot of things.
Now though? In this moment? When I’m ninety-nine percent sure Lily’s motives are more carnal than philanthropic? And I’m the only person in the room who seems to have noticed?
Now, I don’t yank my arm away, but I shift my foot just enough to press the heel of my pump onto his loafer as I say, “Let’s not forget that Ms. McPherson is just one person on the committee. And this is her first year. Her personal opinion might not hold much weight when it comes to the final decision.”
I dig my heel in a little harder on the word “personal.”
Clive grunts, jerking his gaze to mine.
I smile sweetly while looking pointedly at the other end of the room where Lily clutches an empty tumbler in one hand and strokes Max’s bicep with the other. He doesn’t have his cane with him. Even though I’m the one who pointed out how rarely he uses it, I don’t know how I feel about that.
I swear to God, I can see Lily squeezing his muscle from across the room. The woman is that obvious. Like he’s an avocado she’s thinking of buying.
Max is looking down at her with a frown.
