Page 58 of Unwritten Rules

“Sorry, Professor Hawthorne, sir. I’ve been on my period.”

The Sanderson cunts down front giggle like the idiots they so surely are.

I raise one eyebrow, staring down my nose at her in consternation. “And does menstruation affect your ability to turn in your coursework in a timely manner?”

She shrugs, a barely suppressed grin threatening her beautiful face. “Probably not, though seeing your face is enough to give me PMS all over again, sir.”

The little shit beside her chokes on a laugh, and I’m this close to thumping the bollocks, but somehow I rein it in, my jaw ticking minutely as I cross my arms, my brows drawing together in frustration.

“I don’t understand this new attitude problem, Mila. I’d like to see you in my office after class.”

I turn immediately, not giving her a chance to respond, only to feel the vicious intent in her next words hit me squarely between my shoulder blades.

“Excuse me, sir. I’m not the one with an attitude problem.”

I spin to face her slowly. So slowly, begging her with my eyes to just let this go. To meet me in my office as demanded when I realise the error in my actions.

Those words were a red flag to a raging bull, Hawthorne. You’ve screwed things completely!

“I’m afraid it’s you who has a perception problem.”

She climbs the stairs until she reaches the wide doors at the entrance to the room. I’m unable to stop speaking the words, albeit emotionless, considering our venue.

“Mila. Sit. Down. Class is not over yet.”

Her eyes narrow to slits. Her whole demeanour shifts, and I literally squirm under her obvious disgust.

“Shove your class up your spectacular ass, Nathaniel. I’m fucking done.”

The door swishes closed after her before I’ve even blown out the breath I didn’t realise I was holding.

The following hour and forty minutes are inhumane.

The Sandersons are killing me slowly and painfully, and just as I’m about to lose the will to live, the clock at the back of the lecture hall tics onto 4 p.m.

“And that’s a wrap, folks. Have a fantastic break, and I’ll see you in ten days.”

It’s the centennial celebrations next week here at Walden-Forbes with no formal classes. I’d been hoping to avoid everything to do with these festivities, considering the pièce de résistance is the Ball on Wednesday to unveil Hawthorne Hall, which includes the Xavier Hawthorne Memorial Library.

But perhaps, I could invite Mila as my plus-one to the event – considering Chancellor Higgins is expecting me to attend anyway, and he can hardly get pissy with me inviting a student as my guest considering he fucking owes me.

Mila will then at least see that there’s no one else I’d rather ask, and even though I can’t – no, I won’t – act on my feelings, maybe it will reassure her that there’s no one else as important in my life.

Maybe it will help convince me that friendship is the only route available if I want to keep her in my life without blowing everything to shit.

Rising to stand, feeling good about my plan of attack, I pack up my satchel and bypass the waiting Sandersons. I sigh, pretending not to see them loitering nearby in a blatant attempt to ask some more inane questions in the never-ending mission to seduce the new teacher.

I slip my phone out of my pocket, only for my heart to kick up a notch when I see a multitude of missed calls and text messages.

Unlocking my screen, I click on the newest one.

MILA

I’m by your car. Hurry.

Not bothering to read the rest, I veer sharply away from my office and reach my SUV in no more than thirty seconds, my long legs covering the space quickly.

As I approach, Mila spots me and breaks into a jog, her face crumpled into a frown, making my stomach twist in foreboding.